Buttsbury Council School

zoom

zoom

zoom

zoom

zoom

My Buttsbury School Report 1941

When it dawned on people that perhaps the war wouldn’t ‘Be over by Christmas’ they started to make long-term plans. For us as a family it meant moving from Leytonstone, in London, to a rented bungalow called ‘Belle-Vue’ at the junction of Mountnessing Road and Bluebell Wood in Billericay, Essex. This was near to some family friends – the Lawsons, who were long-time friends of Mum and Dad simply because both couples had been married at the same church on the same day, and they had kept in touch ever since.

To my sister Peg and me the Lawsons were ‘Auntie’ Flo and ‘Uncle’ George, and they had two daughters: the eldest Irene, and Winifred, both lovely girls. We had stayed with them before the war on numerous occasions so Billericay was not entirely unknown to us and we settled into the rural life. As far as I was concerned this was the one of the most carefree periods of my life when I look back on it – oh the freedom! Fields to play in, ponds to fall into, trees to fall out of, cow-pats to tread in, bird’s eggs to collect (not then illegal): was there no end to this paradise? The bungalow itself was in a plot of land (well it would be an insult to call it a mere garden) which seemed the size of a football field – and probably was. This was half-filled with mature (and climbable) fruit trees – mainly apples but also cherry and a couple of plum trees – I guess in all there were 15 or 20 fruit trees, not to mention the currant-bushes, gooseberry-bushes, and the raspberry-canes; absolute heaven.

At the age of seven or so you quickly adapt to new surroundings, so it was easier for me than for Mum and Peg, added to which I had no worries about the war – England always won anyhow.

Of far more immediate concern to me was that I now had another school to attend: Buttsbury Infant School in Perry Street, which I suppose was a couple of miles walk from our bungalow. But for some odd reason the kids of the little community of bungalows around us were graced with the services of a free taxi to transport us to school, but only in the mornings – we were expected to make our own way back home in the afternoons. This taxi was a big old Austin Sixteen into which we managed to cram about 8 or 9 kids – wouldn’t be allowed nowadays.       I’m told that on one occasion when walking back from school in the afternoon a bunch of us kids were strafed by a German fighter aircraft; a nearby adult more or less swept us all into a ditch to take cover. I must admit I don’t have a personal recollection of this incidence, which could simply be because I was so terrified that it was blotted out of my memory. But I have no reason to doubt it.

The school was a single-storey wooden building consisting of three classrooms built of what I believe is called ‘Essex-Boarding’ (ie overlapping planks) with a covered but open sided veranda connecting them to each other, the whole was then weatherproofed with creosote, giving a dark finish. I spent three happy years there but the only classmates I can name are: twin-boys called McDonald, Mary Thirkettle, Jill Byford, brother & sister Lenny Wren and Jenny Wren (!) a boy known as ‘Minky Minor’, and Ann Percival who lived near us in a bungalow in the unmade lane called ‘Bluebell Wood’.

However, I do recall the dear old soul who was my teacher throughout: a Miss De’Ath.     How could you forget a name like that? She was a nice old lady with her hair severely pulled back into a bun, and sporting ill-fitting false teeth set into orange coloured gums. She must have had chronic indigestion, because she always seemed to be sucking Rennies, which left little white traces on her orange gums – not an attractive effect.

Being wartime even in school we all had to ‘do our bit’ for the war effort, so every now and then the whole class of us kids would be given the puzzling task of ‘unravelling’ small squares of rags which meant pulling all the threads out until all that was left was a pile of loose threads. We were told these would then form the stuffing for cushions of some sort – a bizarre form of war effort I think you’ll agree.

Another weird form of ‘war-effort’ consisted of knitting small squares from odd lengths of wool which were stitched into a sort of quilt as a blanket for ‘our brave soldiers’ – yeah I’m sure, but at least we learnt how to knit, even if it was only plain stitch. On the academic side though, we always had a daily session of mental arithmetic which turned out to be useful in later life.

I was more fortunate than a lot of kids because my Dad, who was in his forties, was stationed in England, in the Dagenham/Barking area of London in fact. His RAF-crew, and scores of others, were flying a barrage of balloons, in his case to try to defend the Ford works at Dagenham, and Barking power station. So whenever he managed to get some leave he would borrow an ‘Autocycle’ which was really an early form of moped. By means of which he could get from London to us in Billericay, perhaps twenty miles or so. And when possible he would time his arrival so that he could come and collect me from school on the back of this Autocycle – which filled me with absolute delight.

There was a period early on: the so-called ‘phoney war’ which ended when the Nazis invaded the Low Countries on 10th May 1940. Shortly thereafter we had the Dunkirk evacuation, followed by the ‘Battle of Britain’. From the relative safety of Billericay we had a worm’s eye view of this conflict, and a new pastime for us boys was collecting war souvenirs. These took the form of bits of wrecked aircraft, cartridge cases, bits of shrapnel etc. We collected these with not a thought of the dreadful suffering going on over our heads. I suppose kids are thankfully protected from the grimmer realities by their own innocence.

At this time there was a real threat, amounting to an expectation, of a German invasion, and I remember lots of troop-movements up and down Mountnessing Road where our bungalow was. The reason for these troop movements didn’t occur to us kids – at least not to me, so we weren’t worried about the threatened invasion. We just enjoyed seeing all these military vehicles racing about and waving to the soldiers.

The ‘Battle of Britain’ ended when Hitler abandoned ‘Operation Sealion’ his plan for the invasion of England in September 1940. He then turned his full fury on London and what became known as the ‘Blitz’ was unleashed. Once again, from Billericay we could see the night sky aglow over London as it burned. With most of our relatives still in London (including Dad) Mum must have been sick with worry, but she managed to conceal it from me which must be why I can still think of this time with such affection.

It is only as an adult I have come to realise that due to Mum, the two things I never felt throughout the entire war were: firstly I was never frightened by the war (although Mum must have felt very scared at times never once did she transmit her fears to me), and secondly despite the rationing I never felt truly hungry, well no more than growing kids are always “starvin’ ‘ungry mum.” Mum probably went short of what should have been her full ration in order to fill my hollow legs. So this is my tribute to her.

(Henceforth the narrative is no longer concerned with Buttsbury School)