Punting on the Thames

By BARBARA ELVY STRATE

Late summer came with soft breezes, lazy days and early sundown in the quiet, sparsely populated village of Bovingdon, Hertfordshire, where Sherman, now a Captain in America's 8th Air Force, was stationed during WWII. David, our 16-month-old son, and I were living in Yvonne Reike's home as was my sister Diana and Keith, her 2-year-old son. A high fence in the back garden of the red brick, two-story house separated the property from the air base runways. Sherman completed his tour of bombing operations over France and Germany with the Royal Canadian Air Force, attached to the British Royal Air Force, from bases in England. Now with the 8th Air Force he was assigned to flying V.I.P.s to conferences in England and France. German bombers returned to nightly air raids on the docks and factories in London's East end, situated on the River Thames. From the onset of WWII, now in it's fourth year, the East-ender's, as they were known to us, who lived in that location, used the Underground Stations as bomb shelters.

Nightly, at dusk hundreds of families rode the escalators to underground safety in the station nearest to where they lived. Underground stations are located on just about every corner of London streets. They carried bedrolls, food and drinks, a teakettle and heating device, (I'm not familiar what) to heat water for they're many cups of tea to see them through the night. During the two years I worked in London, often after the last Saturday evening show I rode the Underground train to a station near my home. Each time I walked onto the platform, I noticed that the same family had settled for the night in the same place on the same platform, that it had on my previous trip home.

They were a happy bunch. While children slept, soft music from mouth harps, a concertina or violin could be heard and some couples swayed in dance form to the music's rhythm. The exits and entrances as well as a three-foot strip along the edge of the platforms were clear of bedrolls. Between 5am and 7am most of the settlers were gone, to return to work and face the damage to their homes and the factories where they had jobs, of night's demolition by German bombs. It was a hard hit area.

From our vantage point in Bovingdon the reverberation of gunfire and bombs reached us, and the red sky reviled to us the devastation in progress of our capital city and it's residents. From the base in Bovingdon squadrons of B4 bombers began to fly over the house during daylight. They had white stripes painted on the underside of their wings. Our little boys, blond haired David and dark haired Keith, were excited at the sight. They waved, jumped up and down with hands over their ears to reduce the thunderous roar of engines, they ran along the lawn for as far as they could go, to follow the flight of the massive gray bomber's headed for France or Germany.

Periodically, for the next few weeks, these flights overhead were an indication to Diana and I that something big was in the making. Newspaper accounts were very vague as to what was transpiring and my air-force husband stayed "Mum" on the subject.

One evening when he came home from the base, he told me, "Some of the guys have talked about a place in Maidenhead called Skindles. I thought we might go. This weekend I have 4 days leave."

We hadn't been away from David, other than a day here and there since his birth. I felt apprehensive about being away from him. Diana and Yvonne assured me that he would be fine in their care.

Sherman made the arrangements. He certainly needed a break from his workdays, and looked forward to time with him on weekend getaway.

During the era of peace in our country, Skindles, located on the banks of the Thames River in Maidenhead, Berkshire had been a Mecca for the rich and famous. A favorite night spot for members of the Royal Family, stage and film personalities, and what was known as "The Champagne Set" lost it's luster for that clientele at the onset of WWII in September 1939. The peacefulness of hotel's setting greeted us. Green lawns stretched from the once white structure, that needed a fresh coat of paint, to the gentle lapping on waves at the river's edge, and bushes and trees dressed in their Autumn colors of gold, yellow and bronze. We exhaled, multitude of tension caused by dealing with, overhead bombers, Buzz bombs, gas masks, food and clothing rationing.

We walked hand in hand back to our room, that was nice though the furnishing had seen better days. Our meals in the dining room, served by white-coated waiters at tables set with linen table enjoyed the service and not having to cook our meals. Restaurants did their best to serve tasty meals on the food rations they were allotted.

Once afternoon we decided to go Punting on the Thames River. A new mode of travel for both of us. The flat-bottomed boat with square ends is propelled through shallow waters with a pole. Sherman stood at one end of the boat with pole in hand, plunged it into the water, and when the pole became secure in the riverbed, he pushed the boat along. It was a smooth ride, though I expected Sherman, a novice in the art of punting, to be pulled into the river.

David didn't remember us upon our return to the Reike house. He ran to Diana or Yvonne to be consoled, fed and put into his cot night. His actions devastated me. Diana said, "Don't worry Barb. He will remember you in a few days." Her words were true.