After an eight day crossing of the North Atlantic in some of the roughest and stormiest weather imaginable, our ship, the "Andes" docked at Liverpool Harbour, England. The evening of our arrival, the German Air Force welcomed us with a brief air attack. Fortunately, the many barrage balloons high above the harbour kept them far enough away. Their raid was ineffectual.
After disembarking, we boarded a troop train that took us to the city of Swindon. From the train station, we marched twelve miles to a village called Ashton Keynes. We were to be billeted on a large estate; lodgings would be quonset huts for the next six weeks. Ashton Keynes is only about two feet above sea level, and after spending a night in those damp huts, I would wake up feeling as though someone sat on my chest all night.
One week after arrival, one of our cooks came down with spinal meningitis. Four days later, he was dead. This lead to the strict quarantine of the entire Squadron for 28 days. No one else got the disease and once the quarantine was lifted we got back to living a normal life again.
At the end of six weeks, we had received a lot of the equipment we needed to function as an effective unit in protecting against an invasion of England. We were moved to Salamanca Barracks in Aldershot, England. Here we put in many more hours of training. It was about this time our Commanding Officer, (C.O.), thought we should be better prepared to handle our own first aid needs. I was chosen to attend a special first aid course, so I could manage this position. It was to be my work for the rest of my Armed Service years.
Shortly after we settled in Aldershot, my brother Stanly Bert Dent and I got a 72-hour pass to visit London. Our plan was to visit our Aunt Em (our mother's sister) and Uncle Bill who lived in central North London in the borough of Stoke-Newington. There was bomb damage everywhere and getting around was very difficult because some streets were so badly damaged as to be impassable. We'd get on a bus and go a short way, then walk a bit, get back on a bus, then walk... Finally we arrived at their home at 19 Milton Grove.
We had an enjoyable visit. Aunt Em had not seen her sister since before World War I, so she had many questions to ask about the family. They showed us the public air raid shelters across the street from their home, and would always go there during air raid warnings. Aunt Em said they liked the company of other people around when the bombs started coming down. They had a small two-person shelter in their little backyard. It was quite good, and stocked with bunks, blankets, and canned food.
Behind my Aunt's home, one block over, was a large church. This was the target of the German Air Force, so there were many bombs dropped around the area. So far the church had only received light damage, and remained a major target.
It was quite late by the time we settled down for the night. It seemed as though I had just fallen asleep when suddenly the wail of the air raid warning jolted us awake. Aunt Em called to us, then she and Uncle Bill ran to the shelters across the road. Bert and I decided to stay out in the yard to watch.
First the search lights came on, then the anti-aircraft guns opened fire. With the planes overhead and the empty casings from their machine guns falling all around, Bert and I got into their small backyard bomb shelter and stayed there until the "all's clear" siren sounded. It all lasted about an hour. We didn't have anymore calls that night, but we could see how the constant worry put a lot of stress on the people of London.
We stayed another day at Stoke-Newington, and enjoyed a walking tour with Uncle Bill. We travelled down Milton Grove Street to High Street, the down to the borough of Hackney-Wick, returning to Stoke-Newington by a different route. Everywhere we went the damage from the bombing raids was unbelievable; there were craters in the streets, with traffic edging around carefully. Property damage was devastating and casualties must have been dreadful.
We stayed that night and there were no air raids. Early the next morning, we started on our return to Aldershot. Our plan was to be at Waterloo Railway Station by 4:00 to give us enough time to return to camp before our time was up. It also gave us time to see the famous parts of London.
Many places were protected with sandbags piled high, while others were severely damaged by bombs and blast. Londoners went about their daily business, regardless of all the danger and hardships being forced upon them. We saw that London was something else after dark because of the black-out. People tried to be at their destination before dark, or made sure to be with someone familiar with the city.
Bert and I got back to camp okay. It was the only time we visited London together. He became involved with other interests, and I was on my own after that. Each time I had a leave, I made it a point to visit with Aunt Em and Uncle Bill for at least one day. I became very fond of them during my two years in England.
Uncle Bill died from cancer the week we left England for the Middle East. I kept in touch with Aunt Em, writing several times each year until her death in 1970.
