Back in the 1940s in wartime London, all kids owned guns – not the fragile plastic things bought today by politically incorrect parents. Most of us owned sturdy, die cast metal Colt 45 Six Shooters. Ours were of course better than the real thing. We were not limited to six shots before re-loading. We could fire up to a hundred shots at a time with our rolls of caps.
We sometimes played “Cops and Robbers” but mostly it was “Cowboys and Indians” because those were the films we were most likely to see on Saturday mornings at the local flea pit. I suppose we were also politically incorrect by today’s standards, especially when we corralled the imaginary wagons and ordered “Don’t shoot till you see the whites of their eyes”.
Although there was a grassy park not a mile away, we preferred the car-free streets of our South London neighbourhood as our Wild West prairie.
Entertained on a diet of Western films, we were inclined to hero worship Americans, especially John Wayne and Randolph Scott, but we drew the line at the “Singing Cowboy- Roy Rogers” who we dismissed as “soppy”.
Round about that time, London filled up with American servicemen and, although not many ventured to our suburb of Brixton, we did occasionally see one or two striding around in their smart uniforms and chewing gum. How we longed to do the same! One or two lucky kids had even succeeded in approaching them and been rewarded when asking “Got any gum, chum?” Generally the Yanks welcomed these approaches by kids. Most I suppose were kids of eighteen or nineteen themselves and missing their younger siblings.
We didn’t need to travel far to come across bomb sites and these ruins became our adventure playground. Imagine our delight when one day we discovered among the ruins a number of batteries covered in black, sticky tar. We eagerly picked off blobs of said tar and spent the rest of the day swaggering around masticating our ersatz chewing gum.
Illustration: Eleni Sen
We kids were very superstitious. Whenever we saw an ambulance we had to hold our shirt collars until we saw a dog. If we did not do so, we believed our mothers would drop dead. Sometimes we spent hours wandering the streets looking for a dog – while no doubt our mothers would almost die of anxiety wondering where we were.
On one occasion we wandered into a bombed building and came across a dead cat with swarms of flies buzzing around. One of my friends told us to run off or “we would get THE FEVER”. I like to think that this was a direct link across the generations of kids for three hundred years back to the time of The Great Plague of London, when kids would no doubt have issued similar warnings. Indeed I recently discovered that during the Great Plague of 1665 many people thought that cats were carriers of that year’s pandemic and huge numbers of cats were killed. The true culprits, the rats, were ignored.
Eventually peace came to Europe and my parents celebrated VE Night by taking us up to London to the newly opened Waterloo Bridge. Everywhere huge crowds were out on the street celebrating victory in Europe. I had read in stories that the streets of London were paved with gold and to my delight I found this was true. There were pieces of gold everywhere and I eagerly stuffed them into my trouser pockets. It was only when I got home that I came face to face with the reality that they were crown corks off beer bottles.
Sydney, November 2020