大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Kathy Woollett from Hastings Library on behalf of Rosemary Elkins, copied directly from her story, and has been added to the site with her permission. Rosemary Elkins fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions

When the war broke out I was 13. In those days at the age of 13 you were still a child. I lived at Cheam in Surrey, which is 14 miles from London. I clearly remember the announcement over the radio 鈥淲e are now at war with Germany鈥�, a sort of cold fear came over me. Everyone was immediately carrying their gas masks which (a it turned out) we never had to use.

Initially I was evacuated to my aunts in Hastings, but although all was quiet, I was in such a state, thinking my parents might be bombed, that they allowed me back home. When the raids did commence, we spent our nights in our cellar, where they put up a small camp bed for me, and my Mum, Dad and Grandma slept in deckchairs.The nights we particularly hated were those when my Dad (who worked in London鈥檚 Oxford Street) stayed all night at his place of work, fire watching. It was during one such night that one of my most vivid memories was formed, so vivid it still seems like yesterday. The bombing, guns and noise had died down and I couldn鈥檛 sleep and wanted to go upstairs to make sure the houses near us were still standing. Being careful not to switch on any lights, I crept up in the dark to my bedroom and looked out my back window in the direction of London. Then came the shock which is still pictured in my memory; the whole of the dark sky, fourteen miles away, was alight from all the fires which raged, and I knew my Dad was in the middle of it all! We had a report afterwards that apparently he was the only fire watcher in the building that night who remained calm. Undoubtedly this was due to his faith in prayer.

My second memory is very trivial by comparison, but it stands out. We had reached a time in the war when food was really short. Most sensible people dug up their gardens and grew vegetables, but my Dad loved his flowers, so the odd lettuce discretely planted amongst his roses was all we got and for the rest, had to manage on our own meagre rations. I would cycle down to the village and out of every food shop was a queue of quiet people hoping that against they reached the counter there would be something left to buy. We never saw any fruit, so when it was rumoured that our vegetable shop actually had some bananas, my friend Betty and I jumped on our bicycles at once and rode down to join the queue. After waiting nearly half an hour we reached the shop keeper - a little runt of a man with a very unpleasant expression! Each customer was only allowed two, so my friend, always to the fore, asked for her two. Then came my turn. The shop keeper looked at me with disgust, 鈥淥h no you don鈥檛 鈥� anyone can see you are sisters鈥�, he said, and turned to the next customer. Betty, who was very adult for her age said, 鈥淲e are NOT sisters鈥�, but he took no notice, so in the end there was nothing for it but to walk away. That was my first deeply felt experience that life isn鈥檛 fair, but at least Betty kindly gave me one of her bananas.

That wartime deprivation has stayed with me all my life. I find to this day that I cannot waste food, early lessons go very deep.

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