Found another interesting picture on site - childhood & evacuation - photo gallery. p33 entitled World War II - My Story. Many names mention; so have pasted below details as it is directly connected to Beckenham, Penge, and Anerley. paduard.
VE Day street party, Eden Road, Beckenham, Kent. 1945 WORLD WAR II — My story My name at the time, before I was married, was Rita Rousell and 1939 found me living with my mother and two grown up sisters and their children at Eden Road, Elmers End, Beckenham in Kent about ten miles south of London. I must have been nearly five years old when the war broke out and had already learnt to read and write. I attended the local school called Marian Viran, at least I think that was the name, it was quite a long time ago and I might have got the last name wrong. I was born late in my mother’s life and there was over fourteen years difference between the youngest sister and me. Both sisters were married with their husbands in the Army. Joan was the eldest with Margery the youngest. My mother had three other children, two girls and her only son. Nancy, who I believe was my mother’s third daughter died at the age of seven with meningitis. The other daughter Gertrude, owing to circumstances beyond my mother’s control, was lost until after the war. This was due to a divorce way back when her children were very young and she was separated from them through no fault of her own. Her son, William Ronald Rousell known simply as Ronny by his family, had joined the Royal Navy before the war had started. His wife’s name was also Joan and by late 1939 they were expecting their first child. To better his income Ronny transferred from surface ships to submarines increasing his wage due to additional danger money submariners were entitled to and became First-Class Chief Stoker aboard HMS Thistle, one of 22 diesel/electric submarines of the T-class (14 of which were lost in service between September 1939 and October 1943). Although the submarine did not have a boiler and therefore no stokers were required the rank I assume was carried over from his time serving on surface ships and he was most probably Chief Engineer in charge of the engine room. During the battle of Norway in April 1940 HMS Thistle was ordered to patrol the coastal area and destroy any enemy vessels she encountered. After an unsuccessful attempt to sink a U-boat also patrolling the area, the same U-boat, U4 later attacked the Thistle sinking her with the loss of all hands on the 10th April 1940 south-west of Stavanger, Norway. This was obviously a great shock to all concerned and especially for his wife, who lost her baby as a result of the distress. However, she still waited until after the war in case Ronny had survived somehow and had been taken prisoner since no bodies were ever found and were only ever reported missing. After the war, finding no evidence of any possibility that he had survived, she eventually emigrated to Canada. Soon London was being bombed heavily night after night. I can remember how the skies glowed bright red from the fires that had occurred after the bombing raids of which there were many. I remember we all had gas masks and had to carry them wherever we went. We had an Anderson shelter in our small back garden, which was only used when things got really bad. I remember well sleeping in the cramped conditions; it was not very big for three grown ups and four children. Joan had two daughters, Patricia and Gillian, Patricia being the eldest, and Margery had just one son named David, a babe in arms. Out of all the children I was the eldest. Although the family stayed in Beckenham for the duration of the war, I was the only one that was eventually evacuated. It was when I was nine and Hitler had started sending V1 rockets over to kill us. By this time I had changed schools and now went to a Roman Catholic school called St. Anthony in Anerley, near Penge. My family had become Catholics during the war due to my eldest sister, but that is another story. I would eventually stay at the school until I was fifteen but vowed and declared that I would not be a Catholic when I was old enough to choose for myself, yet I have to admit the teachers were good and it was just the religious part that I hated. The bombs were dropping all over the place and my Mother’s friend lost all her family in one raid. I remember well while playing in our small back yard, German planes flying over just above the chimney tops, machine-gunning anyone as they flew past. They were that close that you could see the pilots, close enough to even see that they wore goggles. We all dived for cover and thank goodness no one was hurt on this instance but later that day we heard that a lot of children had been killed coming out of a school not far away by these very same German aircraft. It had been a lunchtime when this atrocity happened, in broad daylight and I cannot remember why I was not at school on that particular day myself. I can also remember climbing the stairs to bed one evening and on reaching the top I felt the whole house vibrate after a bomb had exploded nearby. We certainly had some near misses. The new threat from the Doodle Bugs had finally convinced the school that things had become far too dangerous and decided that it was time to evacuate the children, at least those that were willing to go, although I must say that we did not have much of a choice. Just how many eventually went I do not remember, I only remember the group that ended up at the same place as I, which was Huddersfield in Yorkshire. Silver Street was the name of the road where I finally stayed, right next to a canal not far from a place called Kilderbank. We were very late in being evacuated from London since this was 1944 and most evacuations occurred much earlier during the war. As I mentioned earlier I was the only one from my family who eventually went. I was away for nine months and it was the worst time of my life. I stayed with an elderly couple that had a daughter that lived in Scarborough and whose husband was in the R.A.F. As a sort of a break for one weekend I stayed with them. The elderly couple were kind enough, I was fed and clothed but it was the school that I went to that was so awful or rather the teacher that I had. She looked quite old, well into her fifties as it appeared to me at the time and was very strict and I mean strict. With her hair pulled tight at the back of her head in a bun, she was quite ugly and stood for no nonsense regardless of the fact that we were evacuee’s and very homesick. She would not hesitate to wrap you over the knuckles with the thin edge of a ruler or squeeze the lobe of your ear until it tingled and burned. Some of us evacuee’s when we could get together plotted to run away and make our way back home but this proved more difficult than we thought and we eventually gave up on the idea. I had only one visit from my mother in all the nine months I was there, and even on that occasion she was not very well when she arrived and only stayed the night before returning home the next day. On one day while in Huddersfield, everyone heard a strange sound and no one knew quite what it was except the evacuee’s; it was a Doodle Bug. It seems ironic that this was the reason why we were evacuated from London in the first place but it turned out to be the only one that had got that far north, however I cannot remember if it did any damage. Then out of the blue and what seemed like a mad impulse the rest of my family decided that they would move north to Birmingham as things in London seemed to be getting even more dangerous now that the new V2 rockets were also coming over. They only spent one night there and all returned home the very next day as they hated it so much. The nine months in Huddersfield seemed like a lifetime, by then the couple I was staying with must have had enough of me. Perhaps they being elderly found it was a bit too much and I was then sent home in the care of a railway guard all the way back to London on my own. They had informed my family that I was being sent home who then arranged that someone would be there to meet me at the station in London. Some of the other passengers were kind to me giving me sweets when they discovered I was an evacuee and travelling on my own. Although it was arranged that someone would meet me, there was some confusion and they went to the wrong station. Luckily for me a couple that had also been on the train heard of my plight and took care of me so I went to their home instead. I don’t remember much of this except their home had an indoor air raid shelter, sort of like a large cage with a thick concrete top. They questioned me about where I lived and even after giving my address they were still no wiser on who to contact or how to get there. I could also remember the number of the bus that I used to go to school on, and from this some how I did eventually arrive back home although still to this day I do not quite know how. By this time everyone was out looking for me and strangely it was my tenth birthday, January 22nd 1945 and somehow my family had managed to get hold of a second hand bicycle for me as a present, which I certainly never expected. They were not at all pleased with my state of health; I had lice in my hair and worse still ‘Scabies’ of which I had to have medicated baths to be taken in special facilities at the local swimming baths. My sister’s husbands both survived the war. One served in the Eighth Army under Monty and was one of the Desert Rats and then went on to the Far East to fight the Japanese. I do not remember where my other brother-in-laws served but they both came home safe and well. When the war was over I remember the celebrations and street parties were organised, as you will see from the photo taken of the very event in the street where I lived throughout the war except for those nine months of my evacuation. The street seemed to have been missed by the many bombs and rocket the Germans had sent over, we were by all accounts very lucky. Although my mother lost her only son we can count ourselves fortunate that the rest of us survived. I am now the only one that goes to the Portsmouth war memorial on Southsea seafront where my brother’s name is engraved along with the many others in the Royal Navy that died. I will continue to visit this memorial to remember Ronny until I am unable to do so any more now being in my sixties. He will then be just another name out of the many who paid the ultimate sacrifice but I hope this document will be kept in the archives of history so that he will not be forgotten, and also how some of us lived through a terrible war of hardship, rationing and not knowing if one was going to live or die from one day to the next. Sometimes I look back and wonder had it all been worth it and I often think how things are today and ponder had they given their lives for nothing for we still have wars and still people die, and for what? Rita, Southampton.
Another interesting story, similar to above procedures.
Go to Archive List > Childhood and Evacuation p63 - bottom right picture:-
Contributed by Julie Allen People in story: Julie Allen and Dorothy Allen Location of story: Penge, SE20 Background to story: Civilian Article ID: A4522439 Contributed on: 22 July 2005
Me in my Siren Suit taken at a photographers in Penge in 1940. I fondly remember these warm all in one suits that were sold to keep children warm at night when they were woken up when the Air Raid Siren sounded and parents took the children into the shelters or cellars etc. (That is why they were called Siren Suits). I remember my mum buying mine, which was a bright Royal Blue, from the Department Store in Croydon called Kennards, which is now Debenhams. It was always ready for me to quickly slip on over my pyjamas so that we could get down to the shelter as quickly as possible. They also had hoods to keep your head warm. I really liked mine and it was all fleecy inside with buttons down the front. I remember Mum calling me to get out of bed and pop the suit on. The Air Raids were mostly at night and sometimes if there was one about 11 o clock we would hear this man, who had come out of the Crooked Billet Pub in Penge quite the worse for drink (and who could blame him as you never knew if you would be alive the next morning anyway) singing at the top of his voice "There'll Be Bluebirds Over The White Cliffs of Dover". He sat on a wall near the Ladies and Gents toilets where the Bus Shelter was. The number of the buses were 227. He was probably oblivious of the Air Raid and was feeling quite relaxed. We lived in a 3rd floor flat above Lennards the shoe shop on the corner of Maple Road/High Street in Penge, which was practically opposite the Pub, so we used to hear this man singing regularly.
by Julie Allen You are browsing in: Archive List > Childhood and Evacuation
Contributed by Julie Allen People in story: Julie Allen Location of story: Melvin Road Infant School, PENGE, S.E.20 Background to story: Civilian Article ID: A4491407 Contributed on: 19 July 2005
Me with my Gas Mask on in Kelsey Park, Beckenham in 1940 I was only an infant (4 years old) when the war started. When gas masks were introduced I prayed that we would never have to use them as I hated having it on my face and felt I would not be able to breath properly. We were all given small cardboard boxes in which to carry the gas masks, but my mum managed to get me a special black case, which was roughly the shape of the gas mask, in which to keep mine. It was stronger and weatherproof. One memory I have was that every so often we had to have the gas masks tested at School. I hated this exercise. There were two people testing them and we had to queue up in two rows. When we got to the front the tester yanked the gas mask over our heads, which quite often pulled my hair and hurt, as the gas mask was made of rubber and clung to your hair. They held a piece of cardboard underneath the gas mask and you had to breath in so that the cardboard would cling to the bottom of the mask. Then they would pull the mask off, which again hurt my head. We had to take the gas masks with us everywhere, my mother took the attached photo of me with my gas mask on in Kelsey Park, Beckenham with her little Box Brownie camera as a memory of what it was like.
Archive List > Childhood and Evacuation Contributed by Julie Allen People in story: Julie Allen Location of story: Penge, South London Background to story: Civilian Article ID: A6239982 Contributed on: 20 October 2005
My Brother, My Mum, and Myself taken during the War.
I am now 70 years of age, but the memories below will always remain with me forever. 1) Being fed sthingyfuls of Cod Liver Oil and Malt to keep you as healthy as possible. 2) Ration Books with "D" and "E" coupons. Only being allowed sweets once or twice a month. 3) Having to eat: Dried Powdered Mash Potato. Dried Powdered Milk. Dried Powdered Eggs. 4) Toys were sent over from the Australian people for the British children and we had to go to the Town Hall to collect them. I had a wooden doll's bed. 5) Seeing Mum and Dad putting the Black-Outs up at the window every night. 6) Collecting shrapnel early in the morning after night air raids. 7) Watching the Barage Balloon in Penge Recreation Ground. 8) The sound of the Air Raid Siren and the All Clear sound. 9) Playing on Bombed Sites.
The first four references I listed in this topic, gave you the refs. only. I failed to copy the text because I could not copy any photos on here. However perhaps this was a mistake as when I re-visited the articles I did not find them very easily. So to correct things you can read the text of the first four items of this topic. Sorry to be a pest. Here they are:- paduard
You are browsing in: Archive List > V-1s and V-2s Archive List > Anderson Shelters Archive List > Childhood and Evacuation Archive List > United Kingdom > London
Contributed by Canterbury Libraries People in story: Shelagh Worsell (nee Percival) Location of story: Penge, London SE20 (formerly Kent) Background to story: Civilian Article ID: A3253259 Contributed on: 10 November 2004 This story has been submitted to the People's War site by Chris Hall for Kent Libraries and Archives and Canterbury City Council Museums on behalf of Shelagh Worsell and added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions. I was just 12 years old when war was declared. It was a depressing time for months prior to the declaration. I felt bewildered and numb and had difficulty understanding why mum and dad were looking so sad. One of my brothers was already in the Merchant Navy and my other brother was signing up in the RAF .My father was politically interested and had the news on all the time. We all had to keep quiet because the sound from our wireless would fade away and then come back again. Within a week or so of the declaration of war the schools arranged evacuation and my parents asked me whether I would like to go (1 think it was to Devon or South Wales). I said I wanted to stay. Dad came up and squeezed my shoulder, I knew he was pleased. Then the Vicar asked if l would join his daughter who was going to a private house in the country somewhere. I wouldn't go. My school days became one week mornings only and one week afternoons. This way we were able to have as many lessons as could be fitted in due to the shortage of teaching staff ; a lot of them went into the forces. A number of elderly retired teachers were called in to replace them. When the air raid sirens sounded we had to crawl under our single desks. At times we were on the top floor of the building and there was no time to get downstairs. I remember shaking with fear but at the same time giggling. We could see each other under the desks and our navy blue knickers were on display; we couldn't sit under the desks but had to kneel as low as we could. At the end of the school day I felt more secure walking home because mum or dad would usually meet me. Lunchtimes, if the all-clear had sounded, the teachers allowed us home and that was a ten minute run for me. There was fear in the air about you and I ran like the clappers, mum usually meeting me halfway. My dad decided to have an Anderson shelter. A lot of the neighbours thought he was crazy, they mostly chose the Morrison shelters which went indoors. Dad dug a great big pit in the back garden, larger than what was required for the shelter, but dad had ideas! He concreted the base and up the sides. Once the shelter was in place, about four feet in the ground, he covered it with some tarpaulin and then some earth and to crown it he replaced his wonderful marrow plant he had removed to make way for the hole! His next job was a stirrup pump. This was situated in part of the extra piece he had dug out. It was plumbed in and we had to do 500 pumps in the morning and 500 pumps in the afternoon to keep the shelter dry inside. This task was, on occasions, used as a punishment when I did anything wrong. We had an old carpet laid down inside the shelter, dad built four narrow bunks, the top bunks letting down to enable us to sit on the lower ones. It was a tight squeeze in there and I think that is where my claustrophobia started. We had light and a radio! Also our two cats had a home. The remainder of the extra piece dad had dug was made into two bunks for the cats! And they knew it was for them. At times the puss on top would lean over and put his paw down to see if the other one was there. Our dog had to be chained up outside the back door but he was under an extremely strong workman's bench with blanket and basket, water and a few bones. When I had homework to do I would go into the shelter to do it and then have tea, either in the house or in the shelter, depending on whether the sirens had sounded. At night, anytime after eight o'clock, I soon got into the habit of going to sleep directly the sirens sounded. We all slept in the shelter every night regardless of whether a siren went. To keep warm we had hot water bottles. Looking back I realise it was not easy for mum and dad, they were only in their mid forties and had no privacy together. To this day when I have worries -I sleep. Dad was out most night’s fire spotting or doing whatever was needed. Mum had to arrange meals to fit in with what was happening. I recall one night dad didn't come home at all. The incendiaries had been falling all night and there were thousands and thousands dropped in our area. Then came the bombs. It was such a bad night. PENGE was the most bombed area for its size during the war. It was early morning when dad arrived home. You can imagine how anxious mum and I were. He told us there was no point in trying to get to school -the main road had been bombed and there was no way across to the other side. He had arrived home filthy, tired and oh! So sad. I remember crying for him. He had seen so much destruction and had lost a number of friends and their families. He often went in a cafe in Clock House, Beckenham, but early this morning the cafe had been full of workmen having breakfast when a bomb wiped them all out. Surprise, surprise in 1941, I won a scholarship to a school in Bromley. I was so excited; but dad and mum were constantly worried about the journey, however, they accepted the place I had won. Occasionally the number 227 bus to Bromley had to delay its journey due to either unexploded bombs or the sirens sounding. One of the most fearful things which gave me nightmares for many years were the floating landmines. I was more frightened of them than anything else. The girls and I had a short walk from the bus stop along Wharton Road in Bromley to the school. Just as we were going through the school gate to cross the playground a German plane flew in low and then made another sweep just as we crossed the playground and deliberately strafed the school with bursts of fi0re. I don't think anyone was hurt but the Germans knew exactly what they were firing on, their height made the school and us so visible to th0em. When things got pretty0 hairy with raids, my dad opened up the fence between our immediate neighbours and ourselves so that they could join us in our shelter if they w0ished. They had opted for a Morrison. Another person who joined us in our shelter was a cousin. I recall the strange situation of four fe0males sitting 'in the garden' past midnight, looking at jewellery and laughing our heads off at photographs. Dad and the Mr neighbour were busy0 elsewhere. Whilst we were in the shelter the heavy thump of bombers were continuously passing overhead on their way to the London Docks. Some0how or other we knew where they were heading. Midway through the war the days seemed to be long and sunny. We watched the dog fights against br0ight blue cloudless skies and would give great cheers when we saw a German plane smoking and descending fast to earth and then shouts would go 0up as we saw a parachute. I am writing this as though we took it all in our stride. I suppose in a way we did. The early fear seemed to have 0subsided and it proves the point that familiarity breeds contempt. In 1943, I had0 left school and was working in an engineering office, when the girl I was working with was told to go home. She only lived a street away f0rom me and I went with her. Her mum had been at their front gate saying goodbye to the son who was returning from leave to his RAF station. He 0was up the road when a V2 exploded. Mum was killed but the boy was o.k. I suppose we became rather blasé about the war; being in the wrong place0 at the wrong time was something we could not do anything about. Dreadful, 0dreadful days when the Doodlebugs arrived. It had be0en quiet for a few weeks and mum allowed me to go to the cinema at the end of the road for a matinee showing "Love Story". As I was walking 0home, still in daylight, I heard sweet melodic whistling coming from behind. The tune was "Cornish Rhapsody" from the film. Quite unconce0rned and enjoying the music, I was suddenly pushed in the back and fell to the ground in the gutter with a body on top of me! It was only a few 0seconds but seemed to be ages and ages before I could move. Then I was gently lifted to my feet and a voice was apologising. It was a young0 man, a neighbour of ours. He had heard the engine cut out of a Doodlebug (which in my dreamy state) I had not heard. He apologised if he had 0hurt me but all I felt was tenderness towards him for we both knew the dreadful weapon had landed just a street away. I'll never forget him. I n0ever ever regretted not being evacuated. I was, in a way, proud to have gone through the war with mum and dad (my sister had joined the WRNS ea0rly 1941 ). I know mentally for a while I was scarred; today I can not look up into the night sky at the moon, stars or any phenomena which m0ay be there. My nightmares have often brought those dreadful years back, but I know that I grew up to be a stronger person. I have not been able to cry easily. I stopped myself crying, particularly when my brothers and sister had to return from leave to their bases. I didn't cry because I didn't want to upset mum and dad anymore than they were already. 0Reminiscences of SHELAGH (PERCIVAL) WORSELL.
THE LOSS OF A BEST FRIEND
by Julie Allen You are browsing in: Archive List > Family Life
Contributed by Julie Allen People in story: Julie and Dorothy Allen and the Carter Family Location of story: Penge and Exmouth in Devon Background to story: Civilian Article ID: A6238433 Contributed on: 20 October 2005
Mrs Carter who was killed with the rest of her family in July 1944 by a direct hit by a Flying Bomb on their Air Raid Dug Out. THE LOSS OF A BEST FRIEND I was only 4 years old when the War started and my brother was 10 years old. When they started to evacuate the children to various parts of the country, my mother decided to let my brother go but thought I was too young, so I stayed with her in Penge, South London. My brother was sent to Exmouth in Devon and he quite enjoyed it there. We went to visit him a couple of times. I continued to go to school in Penge with my best friend Betty Carter, but after a year or two the air raids got so bad that Dad became worried about Mum and I being in London so he wrote to the lady where my brother was billeted and asked if she would also have Mum and I to live with them. She agreed, and after saying goodbye to our friends and family we were sent off to Devon. It was a lovely area to live in and quite near the beach. I went to school there, but we only had to go in the mornings. I believe this was because there were so many children evacuated there that some went to school in the mornings and some in the afternoons. I have some lovely memories of those school days. Firstly, there used to be a Bakers Shop opposite the school where they used to bake beautiful bread and rolls, which were always really hot and crunchy when we bought them first thing in the morning before going into school, and they were still quite warm when we ate them in our morning break. Secondly, Mum used to meet me from school at lunch time and we would go straight down to the beach for the afternoon. Mum had always been a close friend of my best friend’s mum (Mrs Carter), who we had left back in Penge, and she used to write to her regularly to let her know how we were getting on. However, on the 26th July 1944 when Mum and I woke up, the lady whose house we were staying in came up to our room and handed Mum a letter, which the postman had just delivered. Mum opened it, read it, and then read it to me. It was a letter from my best friend’s Uncle telling us that they had found a letter from my Mum on the doorstep of my best friends’ house. Unfortunately their Air Raid Dug Out had received a direct hit from a Flying Bomb which had killed the whole family; my friend Betty, her Mum and Dad, and her Grandparents. That was a terrible day for us, and I still have the letter to this day, and also a photo of Mrs Carter taken just before the War So Mum lost her friend and I lost mine, and these are some of the memories we had to live with in those days.
This story has been placed in the following categories.
Recommended story What's this? Story with photo
Most of the content on this site is created by our users, who are members of the public. The views expressed are theirs and unless specifically stated are not those of the BBC. The BBC is not responsible for the content of any external sites referenced. In the event that you consider anything on this page to be in breach of the site's House Rules, please click here. For any other comments, please Contact Us.
OFF to Exeter
by frontpage1 You are browsing in: Archive List > Family Life
Contributed by frontpage1 People in story: Enid,Mary and John Williamson Location of story: Penge Background to story: Civilian Article ID: A6182606 Contributed on: 17 October 2005
Off to Exeter 1940 This Picture was taken of My Sister Mary and I ready to take Train to Exeter We lived in Penge S. London not far from Crystal Palace. Born in 1933 I was 7. My Sister 5 and brother John 4 He was also sent to Exeter but our Mother stayed in London. We two girls stayed with one family for about 2 years. Later we returned but when the buzz bombs came I went to Yorkshire Kirk Burton.
by medwaylibraries You are browsing in: Archive List > Family Life
Contributed by medwaylibraries People in story: Albert (Chummy) Skegg aged 14, Lilian (Biddy) Skegg, (sister) aged 12, and Shirley Skegg (sister,) aged 2; Lillian Skegg (mother,) and neighbours Eileen Giannini, Ellen Jarvis, and Rose Wells. Location of story: Oak Grove Road, Penge, London Background to story: Civilian Article ID: A7077279 Contributed on: 18 November 2005
Father Leon Cranberry, Shirley James and Albert Skegg together with the Penge Memorial in the Waterfall Ribbon Garden, 30th June 2004 (Photo curtesy of News Shopper and Beckenham Crematorium) Memories of a wartime bombing on Penge (based on an interview with Mr Albert Skegg by Medway Library staff held in Gillingham Library on 7th. July 2005.) Bomb in Oak Grove Road, Penge. At 11 o’clock on 30th June 1944, a Flying Bomb came over and landed on Oak Grove Road, Penge. Our mother, Lillian Skegg, and the said neighbours, Eileen Ginny, Eileen Jarvis and Rose Wells died as a result of this. I was working in the Anerley area at the time. I came home for lunch only to find that half the houses in the road had been hit. I was told to report to the Wardens’ Post that was set up at the corner of the road. They sent me to a house in Chesham Road, and it was here I was told that my mother had been killed and that my father was in Beckenham Cottage Hospital. It was very sad to see him. After the bomb All of our mother’s family lived in the Maple Road area of Penge. She had three sisters, so I went to live with Aunt Queen and Uncle George, my sister Lilian went to Aunt Maude and Uncle Jim and my other sister Shirley went to stay with Aunt Ivy. We have a lot to thank our aunts and uncles for in a time of need. My two sisters went to live with our father when he set up a new home at a later date. The Memorial Sixty years after the Second World War I decided that a memorial was needed to commemorate all the people of Penge who had died in the Flying Bomb Raids of 1944. I was given permission by Beckenham Crematorium and Cemetery to place one in the Waterfall Ribbon Garden. I purchased a granite stone, which was dedicated to them and especially to our mother. It was blessed by Father Leon Carberry of St. James Church, Elmers End, Beckenham, at 11 o’clock on the 30th June 2004. My sister Shirley and I were there. Eighteen Flying Bombs fell on Penge during 1944.