大象传媒

We had jolly good war in Morecambe. Nicely protected from the air by the Barrow shipyards, which drew off German bombers like a magnet, the town flourished in relative peace, if not in innocence. The Black Market thrived and with assorted servicemen and civil servants, either billetted there for training or evacuated there for safety, we were not short of much.

Our family's first casualty was my father's work. Self-employed and too old for military service, he had to close down his business for the duration. There was a black market in jobs, as in most other things and would would have suffered real hardship if it hadn't been for The Boys. These were trainee airmen who were billetted extensively throughout the town. We, at home received five, at first, then seven, then nine, then eleven. More than that was a physical impossibilty for the premises, though the Air Ministry did try. Its money, however, was good, and it tidied us over nicely until Dad could get a regular job.

That took some time, since he didn't know the right people. However, he managed (contrived?) to enlist the services of Jimmy Maxton, a ferociously left wing Scottish M.P. who had been President of the Oxford Union and was universally feared in the House of Commons. The threat of a Parliamentary Question - as to why an able-bodied man could not obtain employment at a time of National Emergency - produced remarkable results. When Dad next visited the Labour Exchange he found that he could have virtually any job he wanted. He chose to be a postman, because, he said, it seemed to involve less corruption than did the others.

Meanwhile, I was growing up and learning lessons. I was nearly six when war broke out and eleven when it ended. Materially, there was little struggle - things in Morecambe were fairly relaxed in that way, though I do remember feeling resentful about being deprived of bananas. They were out,even for Morecambrians. The ice-cream was horrible - a nasty concoction which, it was said, had been prepared from over-ripe potatoes. It certainly tasted like it.

But there was cultural deprivation, which worked wonders for me. I was a omniverous reader, but because of Waste Paper Drives and things I was forced to make do with really old and tatty books that had escaped patriotic attention. Therefore, I acquired a taste for, and to some extent adopted the outlook of writers from much older generations, particularly the literature of the 20's and early 30's. This has never left me. So I was always able to distance myself from current events and see the whole media circus for what it was worth. I still can. Really, I have a great deal to thank Herr Hitler for.

I did lose one relative through naval operations. That was my Uncle Philip. He died, rather nastily, on the bottom of Liverpool Bay, unable to escape from H.M. Subamrine 'Thetis'. But that was due to Admiralty incompetence, not enemy action; and anyway, it happened in 1938, so really has no place in this narrative. Or has it?

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