Memories of a Child
from 
The Isle Of Dogs In World War Two

for
‘My Mum’

Part 1

The Isle of Dogs, is an area in The East End of London. Some write that it was given that name because Queen Elizabeth l used to run her dogs on the Island when she was in residence at Greenwich Palace. but there are those who say it has changed over the centuries from The Isle of Docks. However no one really knows for certain, but I like to think of Queen Elizabeth with her courtiers crossing The Thames in their Royal Barges and letting the dogs run. It certainly conjures up a more interesting picture.

‘The Island’ is called an island because the area is surrounded by water. It is based in the ‘U’ of the River Thames shown on the maps of London. To leave the island you had to cross over a bridge or under the river by a foot tunnel.

When war was declared, I was twelve and a half years of age and was a pupil at Millwall Central School. My name was Violet Smith, and we were a family of six. There was Mum and Dad and I had three younger brothers and I remember us as a close, loving family.

I must say the war did a lot of harm but as the saying goes, ’Out of Evil Cometh Good’ and the one good that came out of the bombing was the demolition of houses ridden with bugs, mice and fleas. Most of these slum houses were owned by The Church and I can understand why my parents were non believers and could see no good in religion, when the Church authorities allowed such houses to exist and collect rent for them.

The area has now changed and part of it is called Dockland. New very expensive town houses have been built where once the wharves were, and by their side are moorings for the owners’ boats. I have heard it called a ’Yuppie Area’ This is a name given to the affluent young who grew up when work and money was flowing in abundance.

As a child I would sit at The Island Gardens which was a park at the end of our street. The gardens had a play ground with a cafeteria and the gardens were beside the river. This is where the underground tunnel to Greenwich is situated. It stands as it was, and the war has not changed it.

As a child before the war, I would sit on one of the park benches on my own, and watch the boats go up and down the river laden with cargo. The Thames was always dark brown and murky, with bits of old wood and rubbish floating along with the current. Hours would go by and I would write down the names, and draw the flags of the boats as they sailed along the river. My thoughts would carry me away to the countries where the boats had come from and as I was a child with a lively imagination, quite a lot of my time was spent in day dreaming.

There was a particular smell around the wharves, and I have always been receptive to all sorts of aromas. For myself, a smell is the easiest way to evoke memories of the past.

One such smell was of something called Locus. There would be lots of it lying on the ground in the street near the wharves and we children would pick it up and eat it. It was sweet to taste and many years later, when on holiday in Spain, I saw this particular curved shape fruit hanging from big trees. The fruit was a nice fresh green colour but it was black and dried when we used to eat it. We had no idea if it was really suitable for human consumption but we all ate it and no harm came to us. I think it was ground and used as cattle food. In those days we children never thought of hygiene, and maybe a few of the germs we picked up gave us some protection from diseases. Who can tell?

Lots of children would go to the wharves and play on the barges moored by the river. We were never allowed to go near them because it was dangerous and children had been known to drown or get crushed between two barges. We never knew of any child who got hurt but that was the story Dad told us and that was good enough to keep us away.

We were lucky children as a park backed on to the end of our garden and although a great deal of poverty existed in the East End of London, children always had plenty of parks to play in.

There was Greenwich Park with Plum Pudding Hill, and The Island Gardens where the large domed entrance to the foot tunnel was situated. This tunnel was there for people cross the water to Greenwich. Down in the round lift and a walk through the tunnel and then up again in a lift, and there you were across the water and at Greenwich. We took it all for granted but I was always aware of the river above us as I walked through the tunnel. Sometimes I would play a game with myself imagining that the tunnel suddenly cracked and all the river came rushing in. This would make me run fast through the tunnel in order to beat the imaginary water.

White glazed tiles covered the curved shaped walls of the tunnel which were always wet with condensation and I used to think it was the river seeping through till I learned different. We children would shout out loud while running through the tunnel so we could hear the hollow sound and echo our voices would make. It was all so exciting and the use of the tunnel was free for everyone to use, and still is today.

Greenwich is of course famous all over the world for the Greenwich Meridian, but that did not mean much to us children then, even though we were taught about it at school.

Not far from Greenwich is Blackheath and that was a very special place for us as once a year a big Fair took place on The Heath. Those were the days when you could win really big prizes, and Mum and Dad would take us there. It would be dark at night when we would all go and the fair would be lit up like fairyland. Mum and Dad would give us all sixpence to spend, and that gave us lots of rides and goes on the glass cabinets which stood with the little electric cranes inside them. We would try to manoeuvre the cranes and pick up one of the gleaming prizes that lay there amongst the jelly beans, it was all a matter of skill, but I never saw any one pick up anything. Mum and Dad would join with us on the rides and as they had married in their teens, they were only young themselves, and so enjoyed it all as much as we did. It was good to see Mum and Dad happy, as I knew it was hard sometimes for Dad to provide for us all. Women stayed home and looked after the house and family in those days, so there was only one breadwinner and times were not easy.

Fairs such as the ones I knew as a child do not seem to be around any more and the fairs today do not offer the big prizes that were there for us to win years ago. A plastic toy of little worth will not make a child’s eyes light up as ours did.

It is very sad that children today have no knowledge of those wonderful Fairs of bygone days which gave such pleasure to many children who lived dull and drab lives.

Many children lived with fathers who came home drunk, spending more on drink than they gave their wives to live on, they would cause havoc and violence in the home, and would produce babies after babies which they could not really afford to keep. The older children were often forced to live their childhood as drudges, cleaning and helping the poor mothers to look after the little ones, and sometimes having to miss school to look after sick mothers.

For many children a lively imagination was the only way they could add colour to their lives, and I believe that it is due to the use of the imagination that the East End of London has produced many well known personalities in the Arts.

Our house had a shop at the front and behind was a park. This park covered a large area and there was a recreation ground for football, a big open air swimming pool, a playground with swings, slides, roundabouts and a sand pit. Over in another area were the Tennis Courts, and a big grass park where we girls would dress up and play’ May Queen’s and have picnics after school. In the summer holidays we would play out all day long. We never thought about being abused, or kidnapped as children are today, and so we kept our childish innocence a bit longer. Of course we were told not to go with or speak to strangers, and this was drummed into us regularly.

We lived in the middle of a row of six shops. At the corner was Mrs Kirk’s shop. This was our shop for sweets, and groceries, though she never sold the unsalted butter Mum liked and I used to go to a shop further along ’our street’ to get that.

On cold winter nights we would play’ I spy’, looking into the shop windows which were lit up.

Every season had its games. Whipping top, hopscotch, marbles, roller skates, cigarette card swapping, hula hoops, Yo Yos and many more too numerous to mention.

There was a ’Pub’ on the corner of the other side of the park entrance and I used to love hearing people singing on a Saturday night on their way home after the Pub closed. My bedroom faced the street and I would listen to them singing the same songs Mum and Dad would sing with us on a Sunday evening.

Some would be drunk, and they all sounded happy. My parents never went to ’the Pub’ but would have a drink at home with friends or family when it was a special occasion. They used to think it was shocking to see children outside the ’Pub’ while their Mums and Dads were in there drinking. This was a part of life that was the East End, and one that many children grew up with, understood and accepted. So long as they had a packet of chips and a lemonade while they were waiting they didn’t seem to care.

With my bedroom facing the street, I felt comforted by the light of the buses as they passed the house. Their headlights would move across the room as the bus went by and because I was afraid of the dark I would imagine all sorts of horrible creatures lurking in my bedroom. The bus passing would comfort me and so make me feel less frightened. I would lie awake and wait till the last bus had gone. Then all would be still and quiet. Mum and Dad would be in bed asleep and I knew I was all alone. I would lie there sometimes till it was morning afraid to go to sleep but I never told Mum about this as you kept things to yourself in those days, but it was a very bad time for me.

Some nights the toffee apple man would come round the streets, always walking in the middle of the road with his barrow. We would hear him call, "Two a Penny Toffee Apples," just after we children were tucked up in bed. Mum would get cross when we would call out, "Can we have a toffee apple plee ease Mum?" "No! you can’t, it’s not good for your teeth." was her usual reply, although she did surprise us a few times and brought one up to us.

His call was loud so we couldn’t miss him but why did he have to come so late we wondered.

At times during the holidays a man would come round the streets with a horse and cart. It was only a little horse and on top of the cart he had a roundabout, which was also small. It could fit eight children squashed together on the little seats. We had to climb up a little wooden ladder to sit on the seats while he turned the roundabout with his hand. Round and round we would all go. The ride did not last very long but we all loved it. An empty jam jar was the price for a ride and we would rush to get as many jars as we could from relatives and neighbours before he moved along down the street.

I often wondered why he wanted the empty jars but I never asked so I have never found out.

The Isle Of Dogs was made up of many nationalities and religions. People helped each other and if the man of the house were sick and could not work or when the mother was ill and the children needed care, people mucked in, and no family was left in trouble. If a man were very drunk and violent there would be men from other families who would go and ’sort him out’. It was a close community and looking back, I feel privileged to have been a part of that life and had the opportunity to experience the close knit community spirit that existed in the East End of London at that time. It made me grow up understanding what poverty and social inequality does to people and how unfair life can be for some.

Around Easter time Irish Catholics would take out the windows of their upstairs room and in it they would make a display of Jesus and Mary, with candles, and with flowers. It would be all draped with lace, and the windows would look like beautiful framed pictures. The Priest would walk round the streets and bless the houses, while swinging a container with a sweet smelling incense. Some of the children would follow the Priest from street to street, stopping to look at the wonderful window displays which were lit up and looked like fairy grottoes. Well, as I imagined a fairy grotto would look.

I think it was on a Good Friday when two of the older girls, would take a big thick barge rope which they would use as a skipping rope. It would extend across the road from one side to the other and they would swing it so that we could all jump in and skip. The grown up women would take it in turns to hold the rope as it was very heavy.. Everyone would be expected to jump in as the rope was turning. This would go on along all the streets, not just ours, and it was something to see with Mum’s and Aunts jumping in and having a go.

Grandma had lived on ’The Island’ in a house in Stebondale Street, for many years. She had her livingroom in ’The Airey’.

This was down steps under the house, and it never saw much daylight or sun. On nice days people who lived in Airie’ s would sit on the top of steps and watch the people go by. It was the time for neighbours to stop on their way to ’Mrs Kirks’ and have a chat. Grandma had the downstairs room and two bedrooms on the first floor, and in the rest of the house lived another family. At the back was a scullery where the washing was done in a copper. This worked by lighting a fire under it to heat the water and so the washing was boiled.

The scullery always smelt of sunlight soap and boiled beetroot. It had a damp stone floor and this is where Gran had done her washing for all her family.

One toilet served both families and it was out in the garden. This was the same for all the people at that time and everyone had a ’Jerry’ under the bed to use during the night.

I was about eight when we came to live in Stebondale Street, on ‘The Island’.

Recently I read in one of ’The Island Trust’ magazines, that Stebondale Street was the hardest hit out of the whole Island during the war.

Every day brought a new scene for us to look at.

Through our streets beautiful Draught horses, carried heavy barrels of beer from Whitbread’s Brewery. You could not help but stare in wonderment at these beautiful animals, which were always so well groomed and handsome. Tall, big horses with enormous hooves and Drays reaching high up in the air, so high we had to lift our heads to see the drivers. The Drays were always driven by big strong men who wore leather aprons, and sat proudly holding the reins and guiding their charges.

The horses had big leather halters round their necks and their manes were plaited and knotted with different coloured ribbons. Big leather straps hung around their necks which were covered with beautiful brass ornamental emblems. These are horse brasses and are now copied and sold to the many who like to display them in their houses. The originals are very collectable and it must be quite something to hold one of these authentic brasses knowing that at one time a beautiful Draught horse wore it proudly, and its owner polished it with pride.

Our street had cobble stones when we first came to live there, and I loved to listen to the sound of those horses hooves on the cobble stones. It was really something special to see such large animals trotting so gracefully, while carrying such heavy loads.

Sometimes they would leave droppings on the road and it was a common sight to see someone rushing with a bucket and shovel to collect up the manure. This was not to make the road clean but to have some manure to put on their allotment.

Sadly we do not see these beautiful horses now, but they can be seen on special occasions like the once a year Ale Festival at Earls Court, London.

These wonderful scenes were free for me to enjoy as a child, now they live only in my memory. How I would love my children and Grandchildren to have seen this picture, but now all I can do, is try to tell them about it through this book.

Sometimes Buskers would come along the street, walking in the road to entertain us. I remember Mum, when two men dressed as women came along one day. "They are Aunt Sally’s," she said. "Don’t look at them. Come indoors." I never knew why she said this, and still don’t know to this day. I did ask Aunt Con and she said Grandma used to say the same to her but she never knew why either.

I used to love to entertain the local children. They would sit on the pavement and I would dress up and dance and sing for them. I loved the films and grew up with Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers and all the wonderful Zeigfield show girls who could be seen at the cinema in those days.

Those days you would see the main picture and a ’B’ film., and during the interval a wonderful enormous Wurlitzer electric organ would rise up slowly from below the stage.

The organ would be white and glow with different coloured electric lights and the organist would wear a white suit. With a microphone beside him he would announce the songs he would play, and that would last for about ten minutes.

The organist would end with his signature tune and wave, and as the organ slowly descended back down under the stage you could hear the music slowly fading away. These were wonderful outings with Mum and Dad, and it was real value when you went to the cinema in those days.

During this entertainment the audience would have the opportunity to buy ice cream and sweets from the girls who came round with their goods on trays which hung from their shoulders. They wore white overalls and little caps on their heads and always looked clean and smart.

It wasn’t always easy to get into the cinemas and sometimes people would have to queue and this could take a long time especially if it was a good film and a Saturday night. The evening could end with disappointment if a sign was suddenly be put in front of the queue informing the public that all the sixpenny and one shilling seats were now sold out. The cinema attendant would call out, "Sorry, no more seats but there are some left in the one and sixpencees."

Some people would move over to the shorter queue and would stand in front of the sign that read ’One Shilling and Sixpence’, but often for a family of six the difference would be too much and feeling let down we would all go home.

Wouldn’t I just love to be an entertainer like that organist or be a film star? These thoughts would be with me after a show and I would dream of all the wonderful things I could do.

At ten years of age everything seemed possible to me, and that is the way I used to think. The world was my oyster, and I told myself, all I had to do was to become grown up.

Well I was not grown up yet and the next best thing I could do was to pretend and entertain my friends.

So, When the Poppy’s Bloom Again would be sung at the top of my voice while wearing my red tap shoes and some old lace curtains draped around me. I would dance and sing thinking I was Ginger Rogers, or Judy Garland, and the children would sit on the cold pavement and watch me. ’Star Struck’ that is what I was but I was not alone as this was the time when most little girls felt the same way.

That was the time when film stars dressed beautifully and would never be seen unless they were made up and wearing the very latest in fashion. Photos taken would show them smiling, looking glamorous, with beautiful furs draped around them and jewellery worn to excess. This was the way it was in those days and fashion was from head to toe. Hats, matching gloves, handbags, shoes and with hair never out of place. This was also the time of the Eugene Permanent Wave, fabulous furs, powder puffs, compacts, cigarette holders and silk stockings. Nylon had not been invented then and it was pure silk stockings for those who could afford them or lisle stockings for those who had to make them last.

People tried to present themselves with a good image and I loved to see my mother dressed smart and looking like a film star.

Of course how you dressed made an impression in those days, and it is a sad reflection to know that the poor were already stigmatised by this style of living.

Mum was very conscious of being clean and I can recall the day when she called me to the window and with an air of secrecy opened the curtain and told me to watch out of the window.

"See that Indian man selling the candy floss, well you watch him. See now how he has just licked his fingers and now he is touching the floss, to sell to that child. Now you can understand why I do not want you to buy that stuff from him, can’t you?" said Mum. That picture was worth more than a thousand words to me. Mum was clever and that was sure.

I dare not think what she would have said if she had found out about ’The Locus’ we ate off the ground.

My school was at Millwall and to get there it was necessary to go on a bus and cross over a bridge. These were enormous swing bridges that opened to let ships pass through.

Many times our bus would have to wait while a big ship passed. After the ship had gone through the bridge would be let down so the traffic was able to continue on its journey. Sometimes there was more than one ship passing and this would make us very late for school, however this was not a real problem as people were used to this and no one bothered. All we had to say when we arrived late at school was, "Sorry Miss, we had a Bridger." That was the term used. If we saw that it would be very long and make us too late we would get off the bus and walk along the docks and cross a bridge further down which had not yet been opened and we would finish our journey to school on foot.

I was really happy at Millwall Central School for I was free at last from the ’name calling’ I had suffered at my other school. "Chinese Eyes! Chinese Eyes!" they would call after me. The bullying and ‘name calling’ spoiled those early years for me, but somehow I still managed to do well at school, considering how unhappy I was.

My parents were very proud of me and they saw I was a good student and always did my best. My marks and position in exams was always very good and once I came top of my class. I was very happy and proud of my new school and I looked forward to at last being able to be free to study without having to cope with the unkindness I had been subjected to.

My uniform in the summer was a Panama straw hat with blue and white check gingham dress, a navy blue blazer, with white ankle socks and black shoes.

In the winter I wore a navy blue velour hat, matching gabardine coat, a striped blue and white tie, navy blue gym slip and a white blouse. Around my waist I wore a girdle which matched my tie. Black woollen stockings and black shoes completed the school’s regulation uniform, and I felt privileged and proud to wear it.

The school emblem was an enamel badge with a design of a windmill on a wall. This was worn on the front of your hat.

I can remember being very worried up to the night before I started my new school. Mum and Dad had fulfilled all the requirements laid down by the school. I had for the first time a brown leather satchel, and my name was written inside with ink and all the necessary equipment was inside it. However there was one thing missing and that was a fountain pen. I had wanted so much a Conway Stewart Dinky pen. This was a small fountain pen and I really wanted one. I am sure had I asked Mum and Dad they would have got one for me but instead I was given a big fountain pen just the night before I started school. I was so worried that I would not have a pen at all that it was a relief when I was given one. In those days children were aware of the financial strain it was for parents to just buy the school uniform, so you did not ask for a special sort of pen. We could not be disappointed about anything for long, as we were taught to appreciate and be thankful for what we were given. So I counted my blessings and forgot about the ’Little Pen’ I had wanted. French lessons were a breeze and I learned very quickly, I had a flare for the language so I was told. I remember after the first few days at school, one girl asked me if I could roll my rrrrrrrr’s. I thought she said, "Roll my eyes." It was quite funny when I said, "Yes" and proceeded to roll my eyes. This made us laugh and I have never forgotten that. I enjoyed the indoor sports and was made Vice Captain of a team.

Part 2