My experiences as a child of flying bombs (doodlebugs) and my father's experience of the bombing of Marylebone station, London

My name is Michael Pearce, and I was born just before the Second World War broke out. I have recorded my memories of air raids and scenes from when I lived at 81 Yeading Avenue in the Parish of Roxbourne, which was part of Rayners Lane in the now London Borough of Harrow. These are my memories of events towards the end of the war when pilotless flying bombs began to descend on various parts of the country.

My early life had been dominated by air-raids, but these had diminished as I progressed through infants into primary school. In 1944, when I was six years of age, a new German weapon reignited fears - the V1 flying bomb - known more commonly as the "doodle bug". This was Hitler's last attempt to cause widespread death and destruction in England. Before I record my personal memories, I quote from a book written by Norman Crump, 'By Rail to Victory', published by the London and North Eastern Railway in 1947, in which my late father William Pearce, who was a railway signalman in London on the old Great Central Railway, described his experiences. Norman Crump first of all sets the scene with the following paragraph:

"Early on the morning of 13 June 1944, Permanent Way Inspector Manning, of Stratford, saw what he thought was an enemy aircraft approach at a rather low altitude through a ring of searchlights and the anti-aircraft gun barrage. It took no evasive action, but continued straight on its course. As he afterwards explained to his own chief and also to pundits from the Air Ministry and Ministry of War Transport, it resembled a small aeroplane with a light in its tail. It made a noise similar to that of a two-stroke motor-cycle back-firing. Ultimately it seemed to have been hit, for the engine cut off and the light went out. It dived straight down on to Grove Road railway bridge, where it exploded. The explosion demolished the bridge and the surrounding houses".

Where I lived in Yeading Avenue was close to the flightpath of enemy air attacks on RAF Northolt and the sight and sound of doodle bugs became fairly familiar in these later days of the war. We had become used to heading straight for cover - either in the air raid shelters at school - or in the Morrison shelter at home on hearing the first wailing sound of the warning siren. Our initial fears were soon overcome as we got used to its droning noise and could guess fairly accurately whether it was going to fall nearby. In fact, it wasn't long before the doodle bug began to be treated with contempt. During daylight, the air-raid warning would bring everyone out or to their windows. Ears straining for the tell-tale noise of its engine and then once spotted the flame issuing from its rear. We would watch these with fascination, with a feeling of relief that it was passing us by but with some concern about those who could be on the receiving end if it fell on a building with occupants. I can remember frequently standing at the window of my Mum and Dad's bedroom at the back of the house, looking out over the allotments and local arms dump and seeing the doodle bug quite distinctly. Its cylindrical shape, short wings and the flaming tail. I can also remember seeing the flame go out on more than one occasion, knowing that it would soon fall somewhere close by, in Eastcote or Ruislip.

My Dad had to run the gauntlet whilst carrying out his duties in the busy Marylebone Station signal boxes and in the early years of the war, Neasden Marshalling Yard and Marylebone Goods Station, where he frequently worked, were both hit - the latter was demolished in April 1941. The shallow tunnel from Marylebone Station, which ran through Hampstead and St. Johns Wood was also hit in several places. A bomb fell right through Lord's Cricket Ground into the tunnel underneath. It did not explode, but the bomb, to the surprise of onlookers was brought out of the tunnel, dangling from the jib of a crane. Another bomb fell in Carlton Hill and made a large hole in the tunnel roof and the debris of three neighbouring houses crashed down into the tunnel. Just as it was cleared, another bomb fell on St John and St. Elizabeth Hospital, penetrated the roof of the tunnel and exploded inside. Once more the tunnel was completely blocked, and it was clear that its repair would take many weeks. Trains from Aylesbury that would usually have come into Marylebone were terminated at Harrow on the Hill, but there was a problem for trains from Wycombe, as there was no station suitable near to London. Consequently, a temporary station was constructed out of railway sleepers at Neasden. My Father was heavily involved in all of these activities - often working twelve-hour shifts.

In broad daylight one morning, a flying bomb fell just outside the Marylebone passenger signal-box, killing Jim, the signalman, and Arthur, a railway fitter. Dad was the next signalman on duty and when he arrived to relieve Jim, discovered his colleagues were dead and the signal-box almost demolished. Dad recorded in his diary that a collection was set up for Jim's widow and four children to which some of the passengers subscribed and a sum of £51,10s was raised. While the signal-box was out of action, a squad of men had to be mobilised to move the points by hand and hand signal the trains. The bottom part of a signal box contains the signal assembly linked to metal rods that control the points that change the railway line directions. It also contains the cables that operate the stop and go signals. Once these controls were repaired, the signalmen had to operate the frame in the open air for a fortnight until the box itself was re-erected. Throughout the war my dad was really exposed to constant danger - both at work in these strategic areas and travelling to and from the signal-box. The railways and main railway centres were constantly targeted by the Germans, whether it was bombing raids in the early days, or the flying bombs. No telephones or means of contact - I can imagine the shock he received on arriving for work and finding the signal box demolished and his close colleague, who he was about to relieve, killed outright. I can remember him coming home and telling Mum stories about these bombing events and about how he and his colleagues were all coping.

Norman Crump, the author of 'By Rail to Victory', interviewed my father about this incident and included this unedited account:

"During this time the "Flying Bomb" menace had seemingly reached its peak and the experience of those engaged in this work was typical of that much lauded British comradeship and humour which has, so it is said, often caused the "Day to be won". Thus it was, as we brewed our tea in open cans, trimmed hand-lamps for the night's work, indulged in light-hearted back chat in anticipation of "nocturnal doodles" and swopped experiences as to how we had slept during the day, that night's shadows began to fall. Surrounding buildings quickly obscured themselves into the velvety blackness of the night, and platforms were being filled with coaching stock marshalled for the morning's service. Each man carried out his allotted task smoothly and reliably whilst our chief, the District Inspector, handed out a word of praise where it was due, which unfailingly reminded him of a joke which was related with a sophisticated originality. A spirit of unexampled optimism prevailed and as the sirens sounded their ominous warnings and the searchlights flashed across the sky we were, to a man, reconciled to whatever fate had in store. In the meantime work must carry on. Points had to be reversed and clipped to free an engine from its train. "The two-stroke burr of the doodle bug would sound close at hand. The crash warning bell would sound. At this time twelve gongs on the bell constituted this warning. By the time the sixth gong had sounded and we had ducked in the six-foot shelter or an any convenient spot that provided some sort of protection the "doodle" had passed by and by the time the twelfth gong had sounded it was time to commence the "danger past signal". This arrangement has since been sensibly altered to three and one."

Note: A fuller account can be found in my memoir, 'When Bombs Fell on Roxbourne'.