Gilbert Gowlett was almost two years old when his sister was mentioned in the local newspaper. The death of seven year old Grace, from heatstroke, in an overcrowded flat at the better end of Italian Walk, Vauxhall, was unusual enough to attract the attention of London’s press in June 1913. Today we are a phone call away from medical advice about hydration and cooling an overheated patient but, at that time, there was only instinct available to a working class mother who had just welcomed a sixth child. So Grace was put to bed when she was found to be unwell and did not wake up again. There may have been a distrust of plain tapwater in an area where an outbreak of cholera had killed so many in the 1840s. They had been, largely, the poor of what is now the Albert Embankment, reliant on water drawn from a polluted River Thames, and then on the decidely unreliable provision of the local water company. At that time Gilbert’s great grandfather, William Gowlett, moved his family from Carnaby Street in Soho to Princes Road (now Black Prince Road) in Lambeth, before settling in Camberwell.

The unexpected loss of their daughter must have been profoundly distressing for Gilbert’s parents, Elizabeth and Frederick Gowlett, especially as had both experienced bereavement at a very early age. Elizabeth’s father had died at around the time of her birth in Suffolk, and she moved to Lambeth with her siblings on her mother’s remarriage. Frederick’s mother had died when he was about three months old and he was taken in by his mother’s relatives, while his older sisters, Charlotte and Julia, lived with his father Frederick senior, a compositor, once he remarried. At a time when mass communication relied on newspapers, flyers and posters typography was a skilled and unionised trade. Entry into the world of printing often involved an apprenticeship but although records exist to show that his father registered Frederick junior with a local school he does not appear to have drawn him into the industry. Gilbert’s paternal great grandfathers had been a candle maker and a lantern maker, while Elizabeth’s father had been a harness maker, all essential trades for the time.

Frederick found work as a porter in markets and kitchens as he began married life. He moved to various addresses in Lambeth as his family grew, settling at last in a flat, 2B Burnett Buildings, at the junction of Italian Walk and Burnett Road, the former a reminder that the housing had been built on the notorious Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens, an entertainment venue and playground for Londoners for almost two hundred years. Progress, in the form of a railway embankment that separated the River Thames from the gardens, along with competing attractions, caused its closure in 1859. The site was used for housing but by the 1890s it was evident that some of it was poorly maintained. At one point Burnett Buildings failed to gain certfication from the local authority. Surrounded by factories, gas and iron works, it must have been noisy and grubby. Illnesses such as tuberculosis spread easily in high density housing with a population weakened by poverty.

By the time Gilbert was born there in 1911 his parents and his five siblings, Mabel, Grace, George, Gladys and Gertrude were living in two rooms. The census taken that year required the head of household to declare the number of rooms apart from a “scullery, landing, lobby, closet, bathroom”, although the kitchen counted as a room. Eight people were living in a very small space. Two more children were to follow, Gerald and Gwendoline.

I doubt that Gilbert was old enough to understand what had happened to Grace but his early years coincided with the First World War, a period of London’s history when death could arrive at any time in the skies above it in the form of an airship or an aeroplane, as Germany brought the front line to the United Kingdom’s capital city. Most of us are familiar with the Blitz of the Second World War but that of the First has almost been forgotten, yet the plans for the country’s defence in the more recent conflict developed from those laid in the first, and many Londoners knew only too well the horrors they might face because they had witnessed them twenty years before.

At first the offensive and defensive potential of aviation was not given serious consideration by British military planners. It was regarded as a method of gathering intelligence prior to or during battles, flights carried out at a safe distance from enemy artillery. An attack on the British mainland was expected to come in the form of a naval bombardment, which killed over a hundred civilians together with soldiers and sailors, and injured many others.

The incident inspired a rise in recruitment. However, on Christmas Eve a Friedrichshafen FF29 seaplane was used to drop bombs on Dover in the first direct attack by an aircraft on the United Kingdom. It was at the limit of its range, burdened by the weight of the bombs it carried, but it sent a message to ordinary civilians that they were now in as much danger as soldiers on the frontline in France and Flanders. No one had been ready for it.
London was regarded as a particularly important target, it was considered by German military authorities to be the key to negotiations to end the war. It was densely populated, the seat of government as well as having a concentration of military and manufacturing sites. The River Thames wound through it with its identifiable bends, silvery on summer nights and dark against the snow in winter. It took British weather, clouds and mist, to disguise it and foil accuracy. The Kaiser was reluctant at first to allow any more than a limited number of targets outside London, military and industrial. In January 1915 the sound of the engines powering a Zeppelin were heard over Norfolk. Incendiary and high explosive bombs were dropped on Great Yarmouth and King’s Lynn in the belief that the pilot had brought them north of the River Humber. A rigid airship that until then had been used commercially as passenger transport had now been recognised as having military potential. The need to bring the war to an end on their terms led to a plan to concentrate bombing raids on London and to burn it to the ground. In May raids were authorised on east London, Shoreditch, Stepney, Stoke Newington and Dalston, causing fatalities as well as injuries. Had all the incendiary bombs dropped ignited the fires caused would have been far worse. In September one airship had a greater result. It targeted the manufacturing district of Cripplegate, causing an immense blaze that required almost all of the fifty-nine fire engines available to London’s fire brigade to put it out.

In the years leading up to the First World War there had been efforts to design artillery weapons that could address the particular difficulties of shooting down a fast moving aircraft that was able to change direction quickly. It required greater elevation and a type of shell that would match the aircraft it was engaging. Mobility, the possibility of siting lighter guns more appropriately as the need arose led to experiments with them mounted on early motor transport and on railway carriages. You might think that an airship, an enormous balloon, would be vulnerable to the simplest puncture but it was possible for them to survive multiple hits as the fabric’s elasticity allowed it to seal itself up. A high explosive shell might fail where an incendiary one would be effective. Shrapnel shells fired amongst aeroplanes might have as much impact as a direct hit on one with high explosive. The type and timing of fuzes used made the difference between destroying an enemy aircraft or watching it return home to fight another day. The photographs of London police officers holding unexploded shells found in the course of their duties (with surprising nonchalance) showed that this applied as much to the enemy as it did to defenders. A bomb that fell through three of the five floors of a school failed to detonate because it turned sideways in its progress and ended up in the basement, undamaged.

As the raids and the carnage continued, the public began to clamour for some kind of response. Troops at the front might expect to suffer attacks from the German airforce but the sense was that the government had been caught off guard. As less accurate raids by Zeppelins were followed by far more devastating targeted attacks carried out by a German squadron of Gothas, whose sole purpose was to burn down London, its population began to take precautions. They left the city if they could afford to. A man who sold the piano he had failed to complete payments for, so that his traumatised wife could move away, was sentenced to hard labour. Rents for properties outside the danger zone increased. Some men walked out of the city with their families and belongings and lived in the open, returning to work each day. Parks and other open spaces were sought out at night. When park keepers arrived to lock gates those finding safety there refused to leave and were locked in. It became apparent that the poor of London, mostly living to the east, were in areas without parks or even public shelters. The well fed and well shod hired taxis to gawp at places where underfed barefoot children had been killed in their schools. So great were the crowds of these tourists that on some occasions those who lived there could not reach their front doors.

I will never walk past one of the older Underground stations without thinking of all those who forced their way in and refused to leave until given the all clear. Those seeking refuge underground spent hours in environments without water or sanitation and with no certainty that there would be a home to return to if they survived. They had learned not to rely on doorways if a raid caught them out on the street, there are many accounts of deaths where those killed thought it would afford them enough protection. Trains were blown up in stations, trams and buses in the street. It was terrifying, the psychological impact was everything the enemy wanted it to be. Wives of soldiers who were away at the front felt suicide was a better option than enduring it and those who had been affected by shell shock in the field found themselves in the same hospitals as women whose children had been killed in their own homes.

“Mary Sadler’s terrified little son begged her to ‘send the Germans away’. She ‘put him in the cellar and covered his face and ears with a blanket so that he could not see or hear anything. After the raid he went to bed, but he died within six days of shock through the raid. He was six.'”
“The First Blitz”, Neil Hanson

Close to the Thames in Vauxhall, near a transport hub and factories, it must have been a frightening time for the Gowletts. When Gilbert was five years old a Zeppelin bombed the area on the other side of the railway line from his home, a very close call, and another raid, this time by a Gotha, struck further away towards Kennington Park. The following year bombs fell to the north, around Lambeth Palace.

The government was forced to take measures by the increasing anger of those who watched raids taking place without seeing any preventative action by British aircraft or artillery. At first defensive batteries around significant sites were told not to fire on enemy aircraft. When they did they risked killing or injuring civilans with falling shrapnel. Air raid warnings were not considered for some time, it seems extraordinary now that the authorities were concerned that sleep should not be disrupted unnecessarily by the use of sirens or alarms. A childhood spent close to the Thames and busy Vauxhall Station must have meant that there was always something to see but the Great War brought some strange sights to London once it was realised that the capital city was within range of German aircraft. Gilbert may have seen police officers riding around with signs around their necks announcing that a raid was beginning or had ended. He may have seen “balloon aprons”, wires suspended from balloons that were connected together at a height that would force enemy aircraft to a less effective height. He would certainly been aware of the blackout.

There was a greater effort made to detect incoming aircraft, through observation and sound detection. Sound mirrors, huge concave concrete structures with microphones, were built around the coastline in order to detect the noise of engines, warnings passed on by telephone to batteries and air bases. Searchlights, powerful beams of light that could discover enemy aircraft were set up in support of anti-aircraft guns and planes. Squadrons were brought back from France to provide a visible defence, though it took some time for the system to work efficiently enough for British planes to be in the air before the German ones departed. The need to absorb information as to the location of friendly and enemy aircraft in the skies above Britain and co-ordinate a response led to the development of the operations room. At its centre a map that showed the entire area being defended, with markings that divided it into labelled sections and blocks that represented aircraft as they moved around that space, pushed into positions by personnel given that information via telephone reports from observers. This meant that within minutes of an attack British aircraft could be sent to the right place rather than wandering about in search of them. It also meant that anti-aircraft batteries would have some idea that friendly planes were in their section of responsibility and there would be less chance of their firing on them by mistake.

This began to pay off, German aviators recorded the greater difficulties they encountered as a consequence of it. They were challenged immediately, forced further up and left sooner, leaving behind exhausted gunners whose efforts had worn out their guns. When raids were launched it was common for some Gothas to turn back, with concerns about engine problems. An increasing number turned back once they were aware they might be faced with consistent anti-aircraft fire. By the end of the war Germany had developed the Elektron bomb, an incendiary device that was almost impossible to put out. Some were dropped during raids and there was a massive increase in production, their use in a planned raid would certainly have caused fires on a massive scale. At the last minute it was decided that to do so would impact any peace settlement and it was cancelled.

Despite the chaos and terror caused by air raids London’s hospitality industry had thrived during the war. Chefs and entrepreneurs fleeing France and Belgium had set up businesses or brought their skills to it, and public transport meant that work was available a bus ride or even a walk away from Vauxhall. Frederick’s work as a kitchen porter may have been the entry for his older children into employment at two prestigious locations. Mabel worked as a waitress at Whitehall Court, a complex of apartment buildings that housed the National Liberal Club and the West Indian Club, while George worked in Knightsbridge at the Hyde Park Hotel as a waiter. This must have meant greater spending power for the household as both were still living at home with their parents and siblings. By 1921 the family had moved a few streets away to The Grove (now Vauxhall Grove). Mabel was still a waitress in 1923 when she married Horace Dover, who worked in his family’s business as a greengrocer. Gladys may, by that stage, have been training to become, or even already working as, a schoolteacher.

Frederick was now in his fifties, he had carried out quite hard physical work throughout his time as a market and kitchen porter, and his working as a clerk from home may have been evidence of increasingly poor health. This was an era when most people smoked and drank regulalrly if not heavily, and diets were dictated by income. At the time of his death in 1929 he was an attendant at a billiard hall which may have been as much as he could manage. He died of a thrombosis and appendicitis at St. Thomas’s Hospital, less than a mile away from where he was born in Webber Row in 1873.

Elizabeth now lived with and was probably supported by her children but first Gertrude and then Gwendoline married and moved away. Gilbert was just old enough to begin earning money and may have found work through his siblings. Gerald was employed as a ledger clerk but at twenty-two he contracted tuberculosis and died at Lambeth Hospital. In 1936 Elizabeth, Gilbert and Gladys were considered eligible to move away from Vauxhall to newly built social housing in Kennington. Work on the Kennington Park Estate began in 1934, with blocks of flats named after famous cricketers as a consequence of its proximity to the Oval cricket ground. According to a 1937 London County Council publication, “London Social Housing”, it would comprise fifteen blocks of flats, 1,114 dwellings with additional rooms “for the drying of domestic washing”. The site included a school and a Children’s Welfare Centre, as well as shops. What a contrast to the overcrowded and decaying Victorian housing the Gowletts had been forced to live in for around twenty years. The blocks are still in use and are as attractive as they must have seemed ninety years ago. Before long Gladys married a police constable and moved away. It must have seemed very quiet for Elizabeth and Gilbert.

It is clear from census records that this was a close knit, self-reliant family. They had to be at a time when the only external support might come from the workhouse in Princes Road, such was the stigma associated with it that its assistance really was the last resort. Older female relatives, unmarried or widowed, shared accomodation with families. Motherless children were taken in. Family connections were often the sources of better accommodation or a new job.

The onset of the Second World War seems to have changed that. The 1939 Register, taken on 29th September, shows the family dispersed across the country. The mass evacuation of mothers and children began on 1st September 1939 but it does not surprise me that Elizabeth, now almost sixty, was living with three Welsh schoolteachers in Gloucestershire as an unpaid housekeeper. The move may have been encouraged by her family, her memories of the First Blitz were probably vivid on hearing the declaration of war. It is possible that the billet was found through her daughter Gladys who was now a schoolteacher employed by London County Council and living in Lavender Hill. Mabel had moved to Mitcham in Surrey with her children and husband, now a heavy haulage contractor. George had progressed in hospitality and was now a catering manager, living in Kennington Lane with his wife Amy, a hairdresser. Gwendoline had moved away with her husband Hamilton Stanley. Gertrude’s husband, Bertie South was the foreman of a team of joiners working in Buckinghamshire while she and their son lived his mother, a sub-postmistress and shopkeeper in Marshland, Norfolk.

And where was Gilbert? Now in his late twenties he was living in one of the most exciting places in London, and in a job that could be a little too exciting as far as the law was concerned. In September 1939 Gilbert was a bookmaker’s clerk and his home was a flat at the edge of Soho. Charing Cross was, for many years, associated more with books than bookmaking. The antiquarian booksellers have gone but the building at number 90 is still there, close to Cambridge Circus. At the start of the Second World War it was home to an extraordinary range of people reflecting its location near theatreland, with its clubs, pubs, restaurants and hotels. Fellow tenants included actors Louise Hampton.and Charles Stone, along with chefs, musicians, news vendors, a billiard saloon proprietor and a Daily Mail photographer who would now work for the new Office of Information. At any time of day he might have rubbed shoulders with artists, writers or poets such as Dylan Thomas, or personnel from the BBC’s headquarters in Portland Place, many of whom drank at the Wheatsheaf and the Fitzroy Tavern.

I can’t be sure when Gilbert was first employed in bookmaking but it is possible that it began in Vauxhall. Officially bets were placed at racecourses or dog tracks but a great many people placed bets and didn’t go there to do it. Street betting was so common that a blind eye was turned to it by many police officers, who made occasional token arrests of those acting for the networks run by bookmakers.

“This was made up of the street bookmaker (colloquially known as the bookie), his agents (the “runners”, touts and look-outs) and the punters. The betting transaction took place in a number of ways, and varied according to local custom and the size of the bookmakers’ operations. The smallest bookmakers usually did business from a street pitch, in an entry or semi-conspicuous spot where “he would make it known he would take bets”.People would either take their bets directly to the bookmaker or his runner, who usually operated from a nearby house, or the bookie’s runners would come and collect bets from the pubs, clubs, houses and workplaces on behalf of the bookmaker.”
“A bit of a flutter, Popular gambling and British Society c. 1823-1961”, Mark Clapson

In working class areas such as Vauxhall there would have been plenty of clients. There is no way to know whether Gilbert was involved in off-course betting but his family’s association with hospitality and entertainment, in particular his father’s final job as a billiard hall attendant in 1929, would have put him in situations where bets were taken. Gilbert would have found it easy to commute to racecourses using public transport from central London had he needed to and I doubt if he or his neighbour, also a bookmaker’s clerk, would have stated their profession had they been working solely off-course.

Gilbert may have been just outside the age group to be called up immediately for service but by the time he was he had found work as a barman, possibly in Greenford where his mother was now living, sharing a house in Ravenor Park Road with Gertrude and her husband Bertie. It is possible that he worked for a time at one or more of the pubs, hotels or golf clubs in the area. Then he found himself in the Royal Artillery, serving with a light anti-aircraft regiment. He was one of many soldiers who never left the UK during the war.

“The popular image of a soldier shouldering his kitbag as he embarked for war, not to return for several years; of “battle-hardened troops fighting through the jungle of Burma, the desert of North Africa, the bocage of Normandy” was not the full story. For much of the war, more than 1.5 million troops, which represented well over half the British Army, were stationed in anti-aircraft, home defence, field force, logistical training and administrative units in Britain, either defending the country against attack, supporting the Army abroad or waiting to go to the battle front.”
“Wartime, Britain 1939-1945”, Juliet Gardiner

In 1940 there was an assessment of gun requirements, A. A. Command would expand and be restructured to meet the need for additional “Gun Defended Areas”. In October of that year 62 Light Anti-Aircraft Regiment was formed in Perranporth, Cornwall, facing a far greater threat than the earlier generation of defenders. This time, for Germany, it was not about forcing an end to a war, it was about invasion and conquest. Fortunately, while many of the same elements of Britain’s earlier defence remained in place, searchlights, observers, balloons and the operations room, sound mirrors had been replaced by something more sophisticated. An attempt to create the “death ray” so beloved of early science fiction (they couldn’t) led to the discovery that planes, their speed, elevation and direction, could be detected through the use of radio waves.

Between the wars the refinement of Britain’s air defence included a search for the right kind of light gun that could be moved around easily and positioned near “VPs”, “Vital” or “Vulnerable Points”. In 1938 they settled on the Bofors Anti-Aircraft Gun, a Swedish design, but were unable to produce enough of them as the threat of war grew, having obtained the licence to do so. More were bought from Poland where they produced them for export. Even so, out of necessity there was a reliance on what they already had available, weapons that their fathers might have used in the last conflict.

“The lack of light guns – in March 1940 there were only 108 Bofors guns in the whole of the United Kingdom – led to a wholesale issue of obsolescent Lewis light machine guns; they were relatively useless apart from their value in raising morale by allowing the troops actually to shoot back. Over 3,000 of these were issued, with makeshift mountings, but in February 1940 the Navy demanded 800 of them, raised their demand to 1.300 in the following month, and then asked for another 1,600, which would have effectively removed the Lewis gun from ADGB [Air Defence of Great Britain] by midsummer.”
“Anti-aircraft: a history of air defence”, Ian V. Hogg

Despite shortages, a system was in place to meet air attacks, a considerably updated version of what had been available twenty years before.
“The whole A. A. Command is a network of communication. Each gun and searchlight site is connected with its gun-operations room and its neighbours. Gun and Light sites, observer posts, operations rooms, fighter sectors and airfields are all inter-connected in a maze of telephone cables, supplemented by despatch riders and radio.”
“Roof Over Britain – The Official Story of the A. A. Defences 1939-1942”, The Ministry of Information.

In 1943 The Ministry of Information produced a book called “Roof Over Britain” which explained the country’s static air defences and gave some idea of what it was like to be a part of it. “They have had to fight the canker of armies, monotony – often in isolated stations far from their own homes and from anybody’s home.” Appropriate sites would be surveyed, provided with a water supply where necessary (or possible) and emplacements built. In the case of light guns this would be a “cruciform baulk platform” that made use of railway timbers, usually where the gun might be moved rather than remaining permanently. Bofors were particularly important in the protection of “VP”s, such as aircraft factories. They might be placed on flat roofs, or raised on a “Bofors tower” if there was nowhere high enough. Made initially of reinforced concrete these were between ten and thirty feet high, and later were made of steel. If the location was important enough to be defended permanently it might be put on a specially built pedestal, a steel structure bolted to the ground with a concrete surround. Lewis guns were set up using a simple mounting post and were often circled with a wall of sandbags.

“Light AA guns in general were sited to command a good all-round field of fire and to allow a few degrees’ depression from the horizontal – in built-up areas rooftops often gave the best positions. The articulation of the guns with the VP they were installed to protect varied from place to place, but while no two layouts were quite the same, new orders issued as early as November 1939 were to occupy three separate sites, each around 400 yards clear of the VP. When mobile guns – of whatever type – were used at ground level a simple emplacement was generally built around them.”
“AA Command, Britain’s Anti-Aircraft Defences of the Second World War”, Colin Dobinson

Once in place, whether it was the Bofors or the Lewis machine gun, both were part of a network prepared for the next attack.

“If a man is wondering whether he has got to take avoiding action he is not going to concentrate on hitting Buckingham Palace or the War Office; he is going to be jinking about and his aim will be disturbed at a critical moment. That is one of the aims of Anti-Aircraft Command – to disturb the aim and deter the faint hearted. The number of planes shot down is by no means the only measure of anti-aircraft efficiency and value.”
“Roof Over Britain – The Official Story of the A. A. Defences 1939-1942”, The Ministry of Information.

Manning an anti-aircraft battery in the south of England in the first years of the war could be an intense and exhausting experience. In “Roof Over Britain” the example is given of a battery brought from Cleethorpes to reinforce the defence around London. Until then they had not been called into action. A day after receving orders they were on a site that had to be cleared of rubble and levelled. By 7.30pm that evening they had laid down the guns, connected the equipment and organised ammunition supplies. They had two 3 ton trucks to use as a canteen and a serjeants’ mess. Forty-five minutes later the alarm was given. They were in action until 6am when they stood down but only so that they could service the guns. They went to bed in tents at 9.30am but were woken half an hour later. “For eight days the precedure was the same. Alarms by day, continuous barraging by night, and so lttle sleep that at times the layers were almost unconscious as they tried to keep their eyes focused on the dials.” They were relieved by troops who had only received basic training, so they spent two hours giving them instruction. This was enough to allow them to take over. I have often thought that during the Second World War this country asked ordinary people to do extraordinary things and this is one example of it.

In 1941 Gilbert’s sister Gladys died from pneumonia, which must have made desperate times seem even harder. It is probable that he was able to attend the funeral and be at the graveside in Greenford Park Cemetery. It must have provided some comfort for Elizabeth when Gwendoline and her husband moved to Wordsworth Avenue.

Gilbert seems to have found Army life to his liking. I could not find any indication that he was serving with the Territorial Force before the war so his progress from private to serjeant, a significant role in a battery, in less than three years suggests that his qualities were noted early on. Amongst them was the ability to act as a despatch rider. The introduction of the motorcycle was part of the effort to mechanise military transport. Some had been in use during the First World War and in the 1920s the War Office began to consider the purchase of commercial models suitable for use in the field, capable of travelling across difficult terrain, such as ploughed fields and unstable surfaces, as well as roads. Motorcycles were small enough to be concealed easily and pass through places that would defeat cars, as well as being cheap to run and maintain. Gilbert may have ridden motorcycles prior to his service but it is just as likely that he was introduced to them and received any training from around 1940. Films were produced to supplement it. If communications to your battery were cut off during a raid a messenger travelling in this way may have been the only option.

“Being a despatch rider isn’t much fun during a heavy raid. With the breaking down of communications, despatch riders are overworked taking messages to sites. All the troubles of driving a car through the rubble, clay and water of a bombed area are multiplied many times on a motor bike. The compensating factor is that, owing to the acuteness of these discomforts, you quickly lose most of your capacity for apprehensio, and develop a certain bitter relish for setbacks.”
“Roof Over Britain – The Official Story of the A. A. Defences 1939-1942”, The ministry of Information.

Gilbert Gowlett was thirty years old when he was mentioned in the local newspapers, in May 1942. The Southampton County Coroner pointed out that it was the second occasion in three days that he had dealt with a death that was the result of a military motorcycle accident. Mr Percy B. Ingoldby said “I think it is extremely sad that these deaths should be so frequent. These young fellows get about without regard to their own safety or the safety or that of other people.”

In March that year towns on the south coast began to suffer bombing raids, unexpectedly as they did not present any military value. As the raids went on some areas were provided with guns, and this may be why Gilbert was accompanying a convoy of military trucks through the New Forest. They were travelling south towards Lymington when he pulled out to overtake a vehicle and was hit by an oncoming truck at Setley. The driver tried to avoid him but he died almost instantly. The verdict was “misadventure”, and that he had pulled out without due care. I believe that he was on an unfamiliar road and, given the pressure on A. A. Command at the time, he may not have had enough sleep.

A year after they had lost Gladys his family were, once again, at the grave at Greenford Park Cemetery. Elizabeth had outlived four of her children. Gilbert knew better than most that life could be short and I believe he lived his to the full, and fearlessly.

The streets and homes that covered Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens are gone, there is no visible evidence left of those who were born, lived and died there, slums cleared away and its community forgotten. It has become one of the open spaces sought so desperately during the First World War. When I visited it children were collecting conkers where Burnett Buildings once stood. There is a Lombardy Poplar near the grave of Gilbert Gowlett and his sister Gladys, the boy from Italian Walk lies in the shade of an Italian tree.

Dedicated to the barmen who were not back at the pumps in 1919 and 1946, that empty space behind the bar.

Text © Albertina McNeill 2024 with the exception of quotations. Do not reproduce without written permission on each occasion. All rights reserved. Do not add text or images to Pinterest or similar sites as this will be regarded as a violation of copyright.

I am grateful to the following who were so generous with their time and resources:
John Moore
Mark Clapson
Ian Castle
Ian Henn, Predannack Anti-Aircraft Battery and Museum
Jon Newman, Lambeth Archives
David Coke
Tony Jones, Royal Artillery Museum
John Boughton

Sources:
“British Forces Motorcycles 1925-1945”, C. J. Orchard and S. J. Madden
“AA Command, Britain’s Anti-Aircraft Defences of the Second World War”, Colin Dobinson
“Roof Over Britain – The Official Story of the A. A. Defences 1939-1942”, The Ministry of Information.
“The First Blitz”, Neil Hanson
“Anti-aircraft: a history of air defence”, Ian V. Hogg
“A bit of a flutter, Popular gambling and British Society c. 1823-1961”, Mark Clapson
“Wartime, Britain 1939-1945”, Juliet Gardiner
“Useful Toil – autobiographies of working people from the 1820s to the 1920s”, edited by John Burnett
“Dylan – The nine lives of Dylan Thomas”, Jonathan Fryer

Wellcome Library – Lambeth 1897
London Remembers – Lambeth Cholera Memorial
Tees Valleys Museums – The bombardment of the Hartlepools
The Royal Artillery 1939-1945
London Poverty Map
General Register Office – birth, marriage and death certificates
Ancestry – census records, electoral records, etc.
Findmypast – 1921 census
British Newspaper Archive