My best boyhood chum

Back in the days before WWII, my best chum was Dean Higgot. We got along great and spent a lot of time together, even though we came from different backgrounds. I lived in the working class section of our town and Dean hailed from a more posh area, but all kids – rich, poor and middling - went to the sole primary school in Carshalton at the time. 

It wasn't until later, when it was time to write 11+ exams, that longstanding friendships often drifted. Children from better off families wrote their exams and went on to secondary school, while most working class kids sought jobs to help family finances and, in my mind, pass time until old enough to join the war effort.

So, it was in our early years that Dean and I were inseparable. We were both mad for airplanes - in fact I still am. Our favourite activity was to ride our bikes to the Kenley, Biggin Hill and Croydon RAF Air Fields. I would guess it was about a 30 mile round trip. Our parents would have had conniptions had they known we were going so far afield, but that wouldn't have stopped us.

All we wanted was to watch the pilots perform their training circuits and bumps. We were thrilled when our heroes would acknowledge our presence by waving at the two awestruck lads on bikes at the end of the runways. That's when Dean and I vowed we'd join the RAF and become airmen ourselves.

We were 14 years old when war was declared, which was very annoying seeing as we couldn't sign up until the age of 18. Equally annoying was school not closing down immediately. Instead, provisions were made for our safety by performing regular air-raid evacuation practices and putting up shades on the windows to protect us from errant shrapnel.

I can't remember if we had heard our parents talk about the prospect of war and we weren't paying much attention to the newsreels at the cinema - we were more interested in the Buck Jones serials - but certain songs written in 1939 had ominous overtones. I do remember kids singing this in the schoolyard:

We're going to hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line
Have you any dirty washing, mother dear?
We're going to hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line
'cause the washing day is here.
Whether the weather may be wet or fine
We'll just rub along without a care.
We're going to hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line
If the Siegfried Line's still there.
 

Another schoolyard song perhaps foreshadowed future delicacies (we would be eating a lot of rabbit in the upcoming years):

Run rabbit – run rabbit – Run! Run! Run!
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Goes the farmer's gun.
Run rabbit – run rabbit – Run! Run! Run!
Don't give the farmer his fun! Fun! Fun!
He'll get by without his rabbit pie
So run rabbit – run rabbit – Run! Run! Run!

My future father-in-law (who was my next door neighbour on Stanhope Road) was outraged when a particularly large chunk of shrapnel took out his backyard rabbit hutch resulting in furry casualties. 

The days flew by and next thing I knew it was time for exams, meaning Dean moved on in his academic pursuits and I went off in search of a job. While our lives were taking different paths, it didn't spell the end of our friendship.

Dean's mum worked full-time in a London office and Dean became very close to my mum, often dropping by to visit when I wasn't home. He was a talented pianist and we had a piano for a short while (until Dad discovered it would require regular tuning - he'd have no part of paying for that). Dean would play and mum would sing along while baking.

Luckily for me an opening came up at Rawlinson's, a factory at our old haunt Croydon Air Field.  It was a few miles from home; in other words, just a short bike ride away. I could hardly believe I was being paid to be among airplanes, airplane mechanics and pilots all day. I was in my glory and Dean was green with envy. Being a mere 14 years of age, the only position open to me was errand boy, but no one could have worn their "Rawlinson's" emblazoned jumpsuit with more pride.

The only thing that bothered me was not being more directly involved in the war, so I was excited at 15 to be put in the Home Guard on anti-aircraft guns (which most people called "the ack ack", mimicking  their sound). One night we experienced the thrill of shooting down a Dornier Flugzeugwerke enemy aircraft.

The neighbourhood mothers were more sympathetic to the enemy. When a German plane became disabled and had to land near the Grove, the pilot, uninjured but nervous, was  the beneficiary of cups of tea and sandwiches until the military police arrived. I suppose the mums hoped the same consideration might be shown to their sons by German mums.

When my 17th birthday rolled around I was becoming anxious that the war may end before I had a chance to do actual duty (little did I know war and post-war activities would keep me in the Far East for several years to come).

By that time you could easily fudge your age at recruiting centres as they weren't much bothered with checking birth dates. Now was the time for Dean and me to realize our earlier boyhood dreams!

To my delight I passed the RAF admissions and was chosen to train as a rear air gunner. Poor Dean didn't make it, although he didn't begrudge me my luck and happily signed up with the Navy. To his misfortune, it was a disappointing venture as he had an accident going down the hatch and was invalided out.

I was soon shipped out to the Far East until 1946 and that's when Dean and I lost touch, although I did hear he'd become a firefighter and moved to the north of England. On leaving the RAF, I became a London bobby, then immigrated to Canada after five years on the London force, putting even more distance between us.

Amazingly though, we eventually managed to locate each other and arrange a happy reunion while I was on a trip back to England. We hadn't seen each other in fifty years but picked up right where we'd left off.

It was an especially poignant visit, as Dean passed away shortly after that last meeting. I'm still grateful to have had that opportunity to catch up after so long and reminisce about the happy boyhood days we had shared.