It was September 1939. The meeting was going reasonably
well. By this I mean there were at least a dozen people actually standing and
listening and others giving a fleeting ear in
passing. George Martin was a fiery, Cockney speaker, with plentiful traces of
humour and a confident, easy style of speech. The theme was, of course, peace –
how to get it and keep it. We did not know Chamberlain had already declared,
“We are at war with Germany,” and I doubt whether the others gathered around us
at Beckton Corner, near West Ham Docks, knew either. The meeting had only been
in swing about half an hour but already the horse was a bit restless (the speakers’
platform being on an open horse-drawn cart) and we considered closing it
perhaps earlier than usual. Very suddenly and unexpectedly, came the loud,
mournful wail of an undulating siren, shrieking its warning far and wide. Back
went the horse’s ears, together with most of the crowds’! We all knew it was an
air raid warning, as we had been told what to expect. Where to go and what to
do? People scurried as quickly as possible to get under cover but we could not
leave the cart. The decision was made that George and one other would take care of that and
return it to the owner, while the other four comrades found what shelter we
could. We were in an unfamiliar part of the Borough, so decided to follow other
people and go to a nearby railway station, which was at least below ground. In
the event, it was a false alarm, and Britain did not in fact experience any
actual air raids until at least a year after the start of the war.
It was during this period that I became more politically
active and aware. I was an active member of the Clerical
and Administration Workers’ Union (CAWU) and indirectly this brought about my
leaving Lacrinoid’s employ, as there was a “round robin” organised amongst the
clerical staff asking for improved conditions and pay, for which I was blamed
although I was on holiday at the time and had I
been there I would certainly have advised against it until all had joined the
union. However, with the war just starting, I was ready for a move more related
to that, so I became a clerical officer, “unestablished”, in the Civil Service
at the West Ham office of the Ministry of Agriculture, Fisheries and Food
(MAFF), which was housed in Stratford Town Hall, in the ballroom. We were
mainly occupied with issuing ration books and identity cards and the paperwork
connected with shop supplies.
The Lacrinoid years were mainly enjoyable and carefree,
although greater involvement with wider affairs of the day brought considerable
worry and consumed lots of time. Vi [Sybil's office partner at Lacrinoid] and I became very good friends – I
introduced her to the progressive movement and she became a popular and
hard-working member of the Young Communist League (YCL). Funnily enough, I
never joined them, but a lot of my social life was with them and through them –
rambling, camping, holidays and lots more.
So now, 1941, I was a disher-out of ration cards – and of
the illegal “Daily Worker” while it existed - luckily not for long, I believe only a few months, then the
CP decided not to risk being banned for doing something illegal, but to use
instead its other publications to spread the message.
It (the Daily Worker) lay with all my work papers,
innocently on the shelf – and would be collected in the morning, and
distributed to specified points. My boss would have hit the roof but it was
never suspected. The office staff were mainly girls, mostly young. I transferred
from the CAWU to the Civil Service Clerical Association (CSCA) and recruited
practically all the young staff: the managers had a different association. Our
little branch prospered, with the help of the association’s Headquarters, and
we won permission to have monthly meetings on the premises during lunchtime, as
the increased bombing made evening meetings almost impossible. Once or twice,
it started as work finished, and then it was too difficult to travel the couple
of miles home and I slept in the church crypt opposite the Town Hall, arriving
at work next day, crumpled, unwashed, but much earlier than usual!