Memories of Doreen Walpole

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‘I was the middle child of a family who lived in the East End of London. War was declared in September 1939 and it was decided that my older brother, younger sister and myself should be evacuated; and as our ages were only five, four and eight months then our mother would have to accompany us.

If we hadn’t been evacuated I doubt we would have survived the war as the school my brother attended was the victim of a daylight raid. The siren sounded a warning and as the teachers were ushering the kids to safety a bomb struck and many of the pupils and teachers died.

At another time the house that was once our home received a direct hit and was flattened – number eight Eleanor Road, London Fields.

For us kids, when the war was over, we were at the start of a very different life.

Coming back to Hackney was an experience that I’ve never recovered from.

We moved into Blackstone Road – which was later demolished, although I’m told there’s now a Blackstone estate – and lived on the top floor of a terraced house. There were no front gardens, no pavements: the front of the houses were directly upon the road. When the rain came, I prayed that it would wash away the dirt in the street, but it was always the same the next day.

We had the top three rooms and myself, my sister and my older brother slept in the one room with myself and my sister on one bed and my brother on the floor.

Underneath was a filthy dirty, elderly couple who had this old Jack Russell dog that was almost bald because it’s fur had dropped out, and it was running alive with fleas. In order to use the outdoors toilet we had to walk past this couples flat and it stank because they used a bucket to go to the toilet in. And we were terrified of going to this outdoors toilet because we would trip over this old blind dog. Just going to the toilet was an horrendous experience.

The flat itself was filthy – we had an empty orange box container for a dinner table, and there was this black, speckled pattern on the walls that I thought was the wallpaper pattern, but only later did I realise were fly droppings. My Mum just gave up trying to keep the place clean because it was impossible. Nobody could clean the flat in that state. I desperately tried, and my sister – who was several years younger – still remembers today me trying to clean the place. I presume this is why we were never moved to better accommodation because when the inspectors visited they must have thought, ‘Why bother giving them a new flat if they’re going to keep it in a state like this?’

We were malnourished. I remember standing in the school playground feeling faint. I was always ill. I was always at the hospital having these boils lanced that sprang up all over my body.

The housing office must have been around the corner for where we lived because my mum was always going around there. At the age of 12 – and I was once a very confident little girl before I became a nervous, shivering wreck – I marched into the office and begged them to rehouse us. I can still see the woman’s face behind the counter – I was really crying.

At one stage – I can’t remember where my father of brother were at the time, but my sister was asleep – the mattress had to be moved from upstairs and brought down. There was a reason for it, but its slipped by me. But it was just my mum and myself carrying it and then suddenly she just collapsed onto a seat in a fit of hysteria. I didn’t realise it at the time but she was having a breakdown, she was hysterical; wailing and crying, kind of like laughing too at the same time. I didn’t know what was happening – I just stood there crying. All I could think of doing was to knock for assistance next door, so I ran out and asked Mrs Perkins whether she would come and help. Thankfully she came back with me and straight away she slapped my mum hard around the face – something that at that age I would have never have thought of doing. She had just collapsed under the sheer misery of it all.

My Auth Edith moved to Harold Hill in the late 40’s or early 50’s – she was my Mum’s eldest sister. And at 16 or 17, just as I started courting your dad, we would come down for a visit. She lived by the Pompadours and then there was a duck pond still there. I thought it was paradise. And after that I remember looking out of the window of our house in Blackstone Road, Hackney, and praying that I would one day live in a house in Harold Hill.

Eventually, after marrying in 1956 we were offered an option of either a new flat in Hackney or a maisonette in Harold Hill. There was no choice between them because I had always prayed and dreamed of being able to live in Harold Hill.’

Memories of Doreen Walpole
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	‘I was the middle child of a family who lived in the East End of London. War was declared in September 1939 and it was decided that my older brother, younger sister and myself should be evacuated; and as our ages were only five, four and eight months then our mother would have to accompany us. If we hadn’t been evacuated I doubt we would have survived the war as the school my brother attended was the victim of a daylight raid. The siren sounded a warning and as the teachers were ushering the kids to safety a bomb struck and many of the pupils and teachers died. At another time the house that was once our home received a direct hit and was flattened – number eight Eleanor Road, London Fields. For us kids, when the war was over, we were at the start of a very different life. Coming back to Hackney was an experience that I’ve never recovered from. We moved into Blackstone Road – which was later demolished, although I’m told there’s now a Blackstone estate – and lived on the top floor of a terraced house. There were no front gardens, no pavements: the front of the houses were directly upon the road. When the rain came, I prayed that it would wash away the dirt in the street, but it was always the same the next day. We had the top three rooms and myself, my sister and my older brother slept in the one room with myself and my sister on one bed and my brother on the floor. Underneath was a filthy dirty, elderly couple who had this old Jack Russell dog that was almost bald because it’s fur had dropped out, and it was running alive with fleas. In order to use the outdoors toilet we had to walk past this couples flat and it stank because they used a bucket to go to the toilet in. And we were terrified of going to this outdoors toilet because we would trip over this old blind dog. Just going to the toilet was an horrendous experience. The flat itself was filthy – we had an empty orange box container for a dinner table, and there was this black, speckled pattern on the walls that I thought was the wallpaper pattern, but only later did I realise were fly droppings. My Mum just gave up trying to keep the place clean because it was impossible. Nobody could clean the flat in that state. I desperately tried, and my sister – who was several years younger – still remembers today me trying to clean the place. I presume this is why we were never moved to better accommodation because when the inspectors visited they must have thought, ‘Why bother giving them a new flat if they’re going to keep it in a state like this?’ We were malnourished. I remember standing in the school playground feeling faint. I was always ill. I was always at the hospital having these boils lanced that sprang up all over my body. The housing office must have been around the corner for where we lived because my mum was always going around there. At the age of 12 – and I was once a very confident little girl before I became a nervous, shivering wreck – I marched into the office and begged them to rehouse us. I can still see the woman’s face behind the counter – I was really crying. At one stage – I can’t remember where my father of brother were at the time, but my sister was asleep – the mattress had to be moved from upstairs and brought down. There was a reason for it, but its slipped by me. But it was just my mum and myself carrying it and then suddenly she just collapsed onto a seat in a fit of hysteria. I didn’t realise it at the time but she was having a breakdown, she was hysterical; wailing and crying, kind of like laughing too at the same time. I didn’t know what was happening – I just stood there crying. All I could think of doing was to knock for assistance next door, so I ran out and asked Mrs Perkins whether she would come and help. Thankfully she came back with me and straight away she slapped my mum hard around the face – something that at that age I would have never have thought of doing. She had just collapsed under the sheer misery of it all. My Auth Edith moved to Harold Hill in the late 40’s or early 50’s – she was my Mum’s eldest sister. And at 16 or 17, just as I started courting your dad, we would come down for a visit. She lived by the Pompadours and then there was a duck pond still there. I thought it was paradise. And after that I remember looking out of the window of our house in Blackstone Road, Hackney, and praying that I would one day live in a house in Harold Hill. Eventually, after marrying in 1956 we were offered an option of either a new flat in Hackney or a maisonette in Harold Hill. There was no choice between them because I had always prayed and dreamed of being able to live in Harold Hill.’