A Lost Adolescence: Surviving the Blitz

By Joy Aavang

Within these pages is a first-hand description of the way life was in England, and the London area, during the WWII conflict through the eyes of a young girl who survived those horrific times.

 

Understand what it was like seeking shelter from aerial attacks, sleeping in air raid shelters and attempting to have some form of education while spending school days inside the bomb shelters. Later, dodging V1 rockets (doodlebugs), and V2 rockets as they were aimed constantly toward those danger zones.

 

Learn what it was like going to and from work with threat of exploding devices ever present.

 

Feel for yourself the unbelievable relief, joy, and yet sadness as well when the war ended.

 

All this is written in easy to understand descriptive storytelling form as though the author were sitting next to the reader. Be transported into that historic and difficult time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 27, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452066318

Joy Aavang

Joy Aavang has led quite an interesting life to date, full of experiences growing up in England both before and during WWII, and later as an immigrant in the United States.  Her sense of patriotism, inspired by her WWI combat veteran grandfather and United States Marine veteran husband, encouraged her to become a chronicler of veterans’ experiences, now available in three volumes entitled “FLY THE FLAG FOR ME”.   Her involvement in Storytelling resulted in her authoring another book “IT’S IN THE GENES”, which includes stories of her family, (many taking place before she was born).  These are stories from England before and during WWII, experiencing bombing raids and six years of war, following with her early years in America.   Whether giving her audience insights into living in England, describing hair raising and life threatening experiences during the WWII Blitz or telling stories of those in the service of their country, her stories are full of love, humor, family and human interest. Joy is inspiring, entertaining and informative.   Joy Aavang has been awarded numerous honors, including the VFW Citizen Recognition Award, Mason’s Community Builder Award, Inspire by Example by National Volunteer Week, and Certificate of Appreciation by the Illinois Department of Veterans Affairs, and also served with Americorps Vista Volunteers.

Book preview

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2010 Joy Aavang. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 9/23/2010

ISBN: 978-1-4520-6631-8 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4520-6630-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4520-6629-5 (hc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010911779

Printed in the United States of America

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ABOUT THE COVER

The cover, designed by Steven E. Aavang fits so very well with the contents of this book. Steven used ‘memoir’ as his base by laying out one of my own albums first, showing pictures already placed on the pages of happier days before the war. Next a collection of pictures taken during the war scattered about in readiness to find the proper place for them. He had me hold the picture of myself exiting the air raid shelter as if I was deciding where to place it, but pausing to reflect about that time in my life. This made the cover even more personal. I was extremely happy with the finished product, so much so, in fact, I decided to share with you my enthusiasm and the thoughts behind the design.

About the Book

Within these pages is a first-hand description of the way life was in England, and the London area, during the WWII conflict through the eyes of a young girl who survived those horrific times.

Understand what it was like seeking shelter from aerial attacks, sleeping in air raid shelters and attempting to have some form of education while spending school days inside the bomb shelters. Later, dodging V1 rockets (doodlebugs), and V2 rockets as they were aimed constantly toward those danger zones.

Learn what it was like going to and from work with threat of exploding devices ever present.

Feel for yourself the unbelievable relief, joy, and yet sadness as well when the war ended.

All this is written in easy to understand descriptive storytelling form as though the author were sitting next to the reader. Be transported into that historic and difficult time.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

In this book I have written many of the incidents that stand out in my memory of the six years during WWII. These events of which I write were my own personal experiences. I have attempted to write it as though I were talking to an audience during one of my programs in hopes it will be easier to understand.

In order that my readers will have a better understanding of not only myself, but my family, I chose to give a short description of my family and events that happened leading up to the outbreak of the war in September 1939.

I enjoy spending a good deal of time giving programs in various schools and also to adult audiences. The interest shown has been very rewarding and strengthened my decision to write of my experiences.

I sincerely thank you for your interest.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank my family for their patience during the time I was writing this memoir. There were times when the memories came flooding back so strongly it must have been difficult for them to understand the emotional turmoil that occasionally ran rampant within me.

I thank my son Steven for encouraging, nay, insisting that I write this. He was the one who reminded me that this personal and first hand information was necessary, not only for adults but also for students studying history. WWII changed the world and should never be forgotten.

Thank you to my granddaughter LynnAnn Petryniec who so patiently scanned and copied all the pictures I required for this book. I am still amazed how calm she was when, after copying and captioning forty photos we were told our dpi (dots per inch) was not sufficient. Consequently we were forced to redo the entire collection needed. It was not the first time during this preparation she had smiled and said Not to worry, Gram! Thanks Lynnie.

Special thanks to Lloyd’s of London for so generously allowing my use of the photo of the ‘seal’ and to Heather Howard-Williams their Information Officer who truly went ‘above and beyond’ to find the photo and obtain permission for me to use it.

I thank Pinewood Studios for so kindly allowing me to return and take photographs both in the Mansion as we called it, and in their beautiful grounds where I spent so much time those many years ago.

A special thanks to all the veterans who have served and fought to preserve this freedom we enjoy, and to those young men and women who still place themselves in harm’s way to make sure we continue to keep that freedom.

We must never let our guard down. We must cherish that freedom and appreciate those who made it possible.

THANKYOU!

To forget that war, not only is impossible, but it would be immoral.

(By a survivor of WWII – U.S. Military)

We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.

Winston Churchill

Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves, that if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will say, THIS WAS THEIR FINEST HOUR"

Winston Churchill

Previous Books by author

Fly the Flag for Me

Fly the Flag for Me - Volume II

Fly the Flag for Me - Volume III

It’s in the Genes

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 1

A lost adolescence? Looking back, perhaps there were many things missed. My adolescence was lost perhaps, yet there is no learning experience in any way shape or form to be compared to those six years (1939-1945) of WWII. Among many other unusual situations, my education was interrupted by the war yet I feel, in some strange way, I learned more from a six year intense lesson in survival, acceptance, patriotism, and even insight, than the same number of years in a college environment could have even touched.

I advanced so very quickly from ten years of age to adult maturity, almost overnight in fact. There certainly was no adolescence. Until I was asked about those years I thought little about it. It just seemed to be the way it was supposed to be. I knew no different. Perhaps it was a good thing at the time.

Our home, during WWII was situated a short train ride from London, and I am referring to the old steam engine trains. Trains and buses were our means of transportation in those days. There was no such thing as family cars for the middle class families and, in many cases, the upper class. If we could not use our bicycles we used public transportation, or walked.

We lived in a town considered a danger area after WWII was declared since it housed a most important aircraft factory, where many of the famous Spitfire and Hurricane planes were constructed. In light of our close proximity to London, plus the fact we had extremely important factories relating to the war effort, we obviously became a favorite target of the German Luftwaffe bombers, such as Junkers, Heinkels, and Dorniers. I am, however, getting a little ahead of myself.

My grandparents raised me from the time I was three months old. My biological mother was by then alone and it had become necessary for her to move to the London area where an excellent job opportunity awaited her. My grandparents offered to raise me and I absolutely adored them. I knew no other parents and even called them Mam and Dad. Mam is actually quite Yorkshire (North Country) since in the South of England one usually heard it pronounced ‘Mum’. I was born in Yorkshire and my family had lived there all their lives until the mid 1930’s when work became harder to find. Most of the work in the area we lived seemed to be coal mining or farming.

My youngest uncle, Ernie, was the only one of my grandparents’ children still living at home when I was added to the family. There were five other siblings, George, Tommy, Clary, Grace (my mother) and Ciss. Ernie was much younger than his brothers and sisters. He was born toward the end of WWI. Tommy and Clary both died from the terrible flu epidemic that ran rampant in both America and England during and after that conflict. It was a terrible loss for my grandparents who often spoke to me of their lost sons.

Ernie was eleven years old and I three months old when we became what we considered ‘brother and sister’ and remained so always. I was but a toddler when I became his ‘tag-along’ until he began serious dating. Even when with his school chum Tommy Wood, still they often allowed me to ‘tag along’, until he began dating. How horrified I was when I could no longer go with him once he entered the ‘dating game’. I never quite understood why he chose those girls instead of me. Nor even why I could not go along with them as well. I always behaved myself when I was allowed to go and could not fathom his insistence that I stay home with Grandma. Oh well! Their loss!!! (Or was it??)

My Grandfather, on the other hand, took me almost everywhere unless he was attending British Legion meetings, an evening at the pub, or something of that sort. On most of those occasions I was ready for bed before he left home. I really did not mind staying with Grandma who always seemed to be contented with her lot in life and had a most happy disposition. I believe my grandmother’s sole purpose in life was to care for her husband, children and, as in my case, grandchildren.

Her days were absolutely crammed with her mission. Cooking, cleaning and caring for us. It seemed she always had sewing, knitting and mending to do, as well as rug making. I was taught to hook rugs before I began attending school, although unfortunately, I do not think I would be very adept at it today, it has been so long since I tried. I was always so excited when I saw her sitting by the fire cutting up used clothing, even suits, into small strips. I knew that meant it was time to make a new rug.

Granddad had made her a wooden rug hooking frame that could easily be taken apart and stored between use. He would bring it out and quickly put it together for her, and attach the heavy burlap used as her base, stretching it as taut as it should be. Always there was an extra hook left out for my use when she would reach a section that did not require a specific design and I could use my amateurish skills without spoiling the pattern. Yes, each of her rugs would be hooked in different patterns of her own making. Grandma would always watch me carefully after I was given permission to help, to be sure I had remembered correctly. Mostly I was content to hand her the strips of cloth as she requested them and watch her methodically punch them into the burlap in a perfect rhythm. A truly amazing lady.

Grandma was an excellent tailoress, as she was referred to in those days. Today, she would be called a seamstress. It had been her profession before her marriage and she never lost that talent, making many of my school clothes as she had done for her own daughters before me. In what little spare time she had, it seemed she was always helping a neighbor or friend and sometimes visiting the sick. I was indeed fortunate to be raised by such loving grandparents.

It had become increasingly difficult to find work in the area of Yorkshire where we made our home, and the men did not wish to work in the coal mines. Granddad had spent years working in those mines as had another son Tommy. Ernie knew his brother had lost three fingers in a mining accident when he was just barely in his teens and had no desire to enter that employment. Granddad had already felt he had enough of that type of work.

For years he had farmed, both for farmers and also when he had a very small farm himself. That particular farm was actually land he rented. There was not a house there and we continued to live in the small village of Normanton, not too far from that property. I remember occasions when I went with him and although very young, probably about two years old, I would follow him on the path around a quarry. There was no fence and the path was very narrow and I was forced to walk behind him and was