Death, destruction, survival and spirit – The Blitz in Bermondsey and Rotherhithe

September 7 th , 1940. The war had been on for almost a year but there had been no bombardment of London and no invasion – the 'phoney war' was what they called it.

Early that morning the people of Bermondsey and Rotherhithe awoke to an air raid siren, shortly to be followed by the all clear. It was just a solitary German spy plane that had been spotted – another false alarm, as usual. That morning evolved into a hot, clear summer's day, with not a cloud in the blue sky. Mothers walked their children in Southwark Park, enjoying the last fading days of the season. As Mum chatted to the local ARP warden the older kids raced over the grass to watch the Home Guard practising for Hitler's arrival. Bored with gun manoeuvres, eleven-year-old John Roll and his cousin walked down the Blue to the Picture Palace where Swanee River was playing.

But whilst the boys were watching the silver screen others were glued to a radar screen. In northern France line after line of German bombers were warming up their engines as the pilots checked the bomb carriages. At 3.45pm a solitary blip appeared on the British radar, followed by literally hundreds of blips as Goering's Luftwaffe finally descended on Bermondsey, blotting out the last rays of summer.

At 4pm the RAF scrambled as hailers on the airfields screamed the warning: this was no drill. But the sheer weight of bombers and fighters crossing the channel, a thousand in all, ensured that they forced their way through the handful of British planes. As John Roll sat watching Al Jolson, the air raid message flashed across the screen. At first the boys didn’t pay much attention. This happened all the time: all sirens and no action. But another more urgent announcement flicked up. The defence guns were going off in Southwark Park. Enemy aircraft were overhead. Evacuate.

Excitedly, John and his cousin ran out of the palace as the heavy rumble of aircraft and the thump of anti aircraft guns filled the air. Panic descended: sirens, screams, a rush for the unused shelters, smoke, explosions, the whine of fighter planes. As a shocked community cowered beneath the railway arches a feeling of disbelief surged over them. It was true then, we really were at war; the air raid drills, the gas mask procedure, the kids' evacuation; all were preparations for this chilling moment.

Hitler had walked through Austria and Poland, occupied the Channel Islands and had France under his thumb, but now he looked at England with envious eyes. He wanted it for himself and slowly but surely he'd made his plans to invade. If England wouldn’t surrender, he would starve the country into submission – and start with London.

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Naturally, the target for the Luftwaffe was Bermondsey and Rotherhithe, famous for its docks, industry and 'London's Larder'. Most of the capital's food was handled here; from fruit and spices to tea, sugar, butter and meat. London Bridge railway brought fruit and vegetables up from the Garden of England, Kent, which by now became the backdrop for the Battle of Britain.

Besides London Bridge there was also Bricklayers Arms goods depot and the Surrey Canal as well as two hospitals; Guy's and St Olave's. Added to that, the many food processing plants in Bermondsey: Peek Freans and Huntley & Palmer's for biscuits and cakes; Crosse and Blackwell for all things tinned; Hartley's and Pink's for jams; Pearce Duff and Monk & Glass for custards; Shuttleworth's for chocolate and Champions for vinegars. All these factories contributed significantly to the war effort by supplying the front line and setting up munitions plants.

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The tanneries such as Garners and Hepburn & Gales were busy making saddles, gun holsters and army boots for the forces. Plus, of course, there were the glue factories, leather dressers and paint works, all of which used highly flammable and toxic materials. What other place could serve as well to render maximum damage and loss of life?

As women, children, and the elderly crouched together, helpless and petrified, the high pitched whine of fighters could be heard as the RAF flew overhead, desperately trying to save London from the enemy. Almost two hours after the barrage of bombs, the skies fell silent as the German pilots raced back to France to tell Goering that London was an ocean of flames.

The Docklands ablaze during the Blitz on 7th September 1940. The rising palls of smoke mark out the London Docks beyond the Tower of London, the Surrey Docks to the right of the bridge and the West India Docks on the Isle of Dogs in the distance. This image can be found on page 36 of the book London's Changing Riverscape.

And what a scene of devastation they caused. As people emerged shaking and terrified from their shelter they found their houses had disappeared, their personal belongings strewn around the streets like so many autumn leaves. Pets were missing – dead, or worse, injured – as were many civilians who hadn't made it to safety. Broken gas mains flared up like huge candles in the road, smoking masonry rumbled as it fell to the ground, reducing rows of houses to dust. All the little things that symbolised family life and security were smashed and ruined: burnt wedding photos, headless china figurines, charred, wet blankets ripped into rags, even the teapot, that emblem of English life, lay in shards.

From the docks came the glow of burning timber, as the whole place resembled a scene from hell. Amid the sobs and screams could be heard the crackle of the pine and mahogany as the timber trade went up in smoke. The evening sun had turned to blood red before being engulfed in thick, black, choking smoke. Water mains had been cut, leaving the fire brigade to look on helpless as the whole area succumbed to the flames. The riverside from Bermondsey to Woolwich was a wall of fire, the surrounding roads impassable. Rotherhithe Street was encircled in flames and many people had to be rescued by the ARPs.

Deafened, choking and grief-stricken, the people of Bermondsey and Rotherhithe did what they still do best: in times of crisis they stuck together. The refugees from Downtown were helped into neighbours' houses and given strong tea whilst a hastily formed rescue team searched for their missing family members. There were casualties everywhere and as people searched the wreckage they unearthed broken bodies, like mangled and charred dolls. Telephone lines were down so the older kids, riding on adrenaline, made themselves useful running messages through the heat of the ruins.

This was just the beginning of the nightmare: at 10.30pm the low hum of aircraft once again filled the air, the sirens wailing as a shell-shocked community ran for cover under anything that was still standing. It may have been dark by then, but the bombers could clearly see their targets, as the fires from the previous raid guided them. Throughout the night the Home Guard pumped shells into the night sky from their gun base in Southwark Park, the staff of Guy's and St Olave's desperately tried to reassemble the dying bodies they received from tired and emotionally-drained ARPs, until finally, at 5am the deluge stopped.

Emerging into the morning light, the full impact of the Luftwaffe's offensive became apparent to the community. Silwood Street arch had been hit with many casualties, the waifs and strays from Downtown, escaping death once already that day, were cruelly cut down when Keeton's Road school, a relief station received a direct hit. The docks were still raging and there was a mixture of smells in the air: burnt sugar and tea, charred pine, ammonia, brickdust and worst of all, death.

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This wasn't just some lightning raid to teach London a lesson. The people of Bermondsey and Rotherhithe would have to put up with this every day and night for a consecutive fifty-seven days.

Throughout the next few weeks the Nazis did all they could to bring London to its knees. On 11th September, Guinness Buildings in Snowsfields, right near to the railway, received a direct hit, a whole family being wiped out. Miraculously, a baby was pulled alive from the wreckage three days later. On September 15 Spa Road was rained down upon with HE bombs, some with delayed action. Nine were killed. In the same raid Neptune Street was devastated, with eighty injured. The first parachute mine destroyed Upper Grange Road (now Dunton Road) with the loss of many lives.

A WW2 bomb site in Spa Road

Although seven wardens were killed that day and many more trapped, Seventeen-year-old Henry Simmons took it upon himself to help with the rescues, despite being weak from loss of blood with his own injuries. He was later taken to St Olave's hospital but not before he'd done his bit for Bermondsey.

On September 20 the Colleen Bawn pub was completely obliterated along with St John's Horseleydown. In Lower Road five firemen were killed. In October Young's glue factory was hit, causing an ammonia plant to spew out toxic fumes across the borough. Seven died. On October 7 the longest raid of the war kept people underground for eleven hours and fifty-seven minutes.

On the nineteenth, the Nazis performed a daring daylight raid which brought heavy casualties. The whole of Trident Street was evacuated when ammonia fumes drifted across, making it impossible to breathe. On October 25 seventy-seven people were killed when the arch under Druid Street was hit. A blazing gas main hindered those trying to rescue anyone still alive under the rubble. Llewellyn Street seemed to be a regular bomber's target while many lives were also lost on the Neckinger, in Monarch Buildings, Abbey Street and on Arnold's Estate.

On Sunday November 11 the first wave of bombings came to a temporary end. Bermondsey and Rotherhithe had been bombarded with a total of seventy-seven air raids. The hospitals were full of bruised, broken and battered casualties, many of whom died later of their injuries. The suicide rate rocketed. Many of those taking their own lives were elderly; perhaps after surviving World War One they couldn’t take any more. The number of fatal road accidents also rose dramatically as people fell under buses during the blackout.

For people on the home front the war was just as traumatic and dangerous as it was for their loved ones away fighting. The ARPs had to put up with constant abuse as they nagged people to put lights out and wear their gas masks; they were the ones who had to make some order out of chaos and panic. They were the ones to first see the mangled, bloody remains of their neighbours and who shielded women and children from sharing their horror.

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After the war many areas were more or less flattened, save a few scarred buildings here and there. The children that survived the bombings had to make do with living in wrecked houses and many were left orphans, surviving as best they could.

It is these children that now make up our elderly, those who still jump in fear when they hear a firework display. The bombsites are long gone, but the memories of those desperate times live on.