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This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Jean Reeve of Wakefield Libraries and Information Services on behalf of Esmé Dobby and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.

Student Teacher, 1939 —41: A Memoir Part 2

After a few days of dry potatoes and veg we were happy to hear the main road was clear. We all volunteered to clear the drive. Four in a row, we took turns to shovel waist-deep snow. Miss Buxbaum, our Austrian PT instructor. timed us and rotated us to avoid fatigue. The drive was soon clear and we were relieved to find meat again on our plates. Not every day. Sunday was best with roast lamb and baked potatoes with huge jars of Branston pickle. These large jars always had plenty of tiny onions which you do not get in smaller jars. The dessert was always fresh fruit, apples or pears. No oranges or bananas, naturally. I saw no bananas until 1946 and then only for under-fives who had not a clue what to do with them. Oranges were very slow to reappear. Even in 1948 they were hard to get.
One thing the kitchens had in a great quantity was rice and lentils. By 1941 rice had almost disappeared in the shops but we had stacks! I did not mind creamed rice with raisins which we had on Saturdays but plain boiled rice with a thin crust of grated cheese baked in the oven or lentil curd with cheese were not my favourites. There was an emergency one week and the meat ration ran out. We were offered dreadful rissoles with sage and onion stuffing, macaroni and raisins. We did not eat them. Worse than rabbit. Our mothers sent us what they could and a few farmers’ daughters got eggs and butter and scones, even a whole cooked chicken once!
There were lovely cakes in some shops until Christmas 1939, then the stocks ran out. There was always the fish and chip shop. We were always hungry. 1941 saw everything disappear except for the occasional bar of plain chocolate and a few wrinkled apples. Sweets were not rationed until we had left college in late 1941. Then, of course, the shop windows were immediately full of all kinds.
As a consequence of our being in an evacuation zone, other colleges had retreated from London. Avery Hill and Gipsy Hill (infant teachers only in the latter case) were nearby competing with us for schools to practise on. Bingley College had sole claim to Bingley schools. We did manage one school near the college at Crossflatts for PT practice. The children of this school were so used to students, they ran out into the playground and formed up in groups of twelve, awaiting our novice efforts. If any of them saw a sign of Miss Buxbaum, their deportment was exemplary. They knew the lessons better than we did.
For general practice we had to go to Bradford for over three weeks in 1940. It was at Bowling Back Lane Secondary with a class of 12 year olds. The class teacher, a man, was awaiting call up. He was very helpful and gave good advice to my amateur efforts. I was terrified to find that on Friday a.m. I had to take all the boys from 11 to 15 (60) for art. The Art master gave me a choice of subjects, but I found they were all engaged in their own projects and for the three weeks I was there I was really a supernumerary. Just as well, my knowledge of art was very limited. It was something I abandoned with relief in the fifth form when we chose our subjects for School Certificate. Another student was landed with all the girls for needlework. They, too, were all embarked on their own work. There was one tiresome aspect of life at Bowling Back Lane — air raid precautions provided the underground boiler house and coal store because it was impossible to dig shelters in the asphalt playground. My form and another went down there. I never found where all the rest went.
There was no place to exercise on wet days because the School Hall was occupied by a large puppet theatre. The English master was building it and relays of boys went each day to help. You would arrive at your form room to find no boys present. Gone to help with the puppet theatre. The teacher in charge did not form part of the staff. He was wished on the school for a term, then went on to annoy somebody else. His attitude was very high and mighty. The staff all hated him. I hope he got called up to a rude awakening. Knowing him, he’d take his puppets with him and join ENSA. I must say the staff were very helpful to us tyros and the headmaster very patient, It was not always so.
It was then that the Biology lecture, Miss Newton (the Newt), also Gardening lecturer, for my sins decided I should make a wormery to interest my class. My father got someone at his foundry to construct a box with glass sides, which was filled by the children with layers of compost and soil, which had to be kept moist. Miss Newton provided the worms (ugh!) which they were delighted to place in the box. Bits of leaf, lettuce etc. were put on top and the whole thing was covered to allow the worms to do their work. Next lesson the box was unveiled and the class gathered round with their notebooks to record progress. No worm tunnels were seen but the vegetation had disappeared. Unfortunately, it was downhill all the way from then on. In the end, when our offerings were rejected and no sign of the worms seen, we gave up and emptied the box. Not a worm in it! Where they went, who knows?
Our three weeks passed with packed lunches of fish paste sandwiches and pies of doubtful content with an apple for dessert.. On returning to base we had a hot meal on gravy soup, shepherd’s pie with carrots and mash and often semolina shape with red jam. This sweet was known as ‘blood on the snow’ or ‘murder on the alps’. Once we had herrings fried in oatmeal which was not one of my favourites. That was that until the next year.
That was terrible. Hitler’s panzers rolled over France, Holland and Belgium. The roads were crowded with refugees stopping our military from moving against the Nazis. We listened to the radio in the common room as Churchill urged the French not to surrender. Our forces were pressed back to the edge of France. Their destruction was imminent. Then the miracle of Dunkirk saved many more than we dared hope. We heard little of this until later. The news at the cinema was severely censored. It was a cliche that ‘bombs were dropped at random’. No on the spot reporting on TV like we have now. Just as well. It is not always best to tell everybody everything. Mr. Churchill’s stout declaration that we ‘would never surrender’ was what we wanted to hear.
It all seemed far away in our peaceful corner of Yorkshire. We concentrated on our own concerns, inevitably. It was a good time in one way. So many people of our own age and similar interests made for an interesting life. We produced plays, concerts, dances (where we danced with each other). There were not many distractions apart from the two cinemas in Bingley and some in Bradford. We went to the Co-op Restaurant there for High Tea most Saturdays and then very often across to the Ritz Cinema. If you got there for 4pm. it was 6d. Quite a consideration when your week’s cash was 5 shillings.
The local churches and chapels invited us to Harvest Suppers and Hallowe’en parties. Canon Tremayne held dances in the parish room on Saturdays. Not much better than our own college dos. The male element was composed of 16 year old choir boys or middle-aged choirmen. As Bette Davis was to sing, ‘They’re either too young or too old’. In some places, the Forces held dances. These hotted up when the Americans arrived. They sent buses down into town to collect girls who were only too willing to sample the good refreshments and gifts of chocolate, chewing gum and, later, nylons. The whole thing was very decorous but, of course, couples met on other occasions and arranged their own affairs, with often disastrous results.
The only Army presence in Bingley was a group of raw recruits in a house at the corner of the lane leading up to the college. These youths smashed up the interior of the large house and generally made a mess. We had no contact with them. Two of our number were engaged to be married already. One of them was to be seen in the common room(s) embroidering her future monogram on sheets and pillowcases. I regret to record that this was a waste of time since the man in question broke it off just after she left college to marry someone he had met in the course of his service. The other one was the girl whose entire stock of linen was burnt on the oil bomb attack on Lingard’s store in Bradford. She had selected it the very afternoon before the air raid but left it to be delivered on Monday because it was too bulky. No petrol for cars so she was on the bus. No doubt she found some later in Leeds. We never heard. Sheets and towels etc were difficult to get and you got coupons to buy utility ones along with utility furniture if you were ‘bombed out’ or getting married. The sheets were horrid coarse unbleached cotton in a tasteful shade of grey, which improved with washing. We had had to provide our own sheets and pillowcases etc. Edgehill rules required tablecloths, crockery, cutlery and table napkins for tea in our rooms. This was not so in Bingley college. Tea was in the dining room. These were not wasted. We used them occasionally for one of our feasts of provisions from home and they came in useful after college to help out home supplies. The travelling rug of good quality wool did yeoman service in power cuts and cold bedrooms. It ended up as a ‘throw’ to protect a settee many year after.
Curtaining was not rationed and I remember skirts made of soft mercerised cotton curtaining. All sorts of ‘made do and mend’ were recommended. I well remember an article in Vogue written by a woman who found her grandfather’s hunting pink jacket in the attic and made it into a charming bolero for evening! More likely was the idea of a friend of mine. A tailor was asked to pull to pieces her Welsh tweed suit, much worn on the outer surface, and reverse it. The wrong side was unfaded and unworn. The cost was half that of a new suit and no coupons!. Stockings were not only on coupons but scarce. Girls were known to colour their legs with gravy browning, drawing ‘seams’ up the back with eye-liner pencils! My aunt was considerably mortified when her dog began licking her bare legs, enjoying the salty taste of the gravy browning! I usually wore socks in summer and managed to get stockings for winter, helped by my father’s contribution of coupons. Men were ruthlessly exploited in this fashion. They had to make their pre-war suits last. It helped that there were so many in uniform. Things got no better after the war. Clothes and food were still rationed. No more parcels from our American cousins, In fact the US government cut us off in all directions. We were informed we were a rich nation. Never mind that we had lost our assets in the Far East and poured all our resources into the War.
Our second year brought two more rounds of school practice, two periods of three weeks in the same schools. This time we were in the Craven Valley, scattered in mainly village schools between Bingley and Skipton. I was at Sutton on the Lancs border, three miles from the nearest station. We caught the 7 am train (in January!) and got off at stations up the line. Mine was Kildwick. It was snowing and went on doing so all the first three weeks. We walked to Sutton from Kildwick and back again in the afternoon. We had to leave to catch a train at 3.30 pm and did not arrive back in College before 5pm. This meant we left in the blackout and returned in it, trekking down and up hill with our torches. Another pain was getting batteries for these torches. Sutton was a small place with a mill, and farms around it. The street ended in a steep climb up Sutton Clough. At the top you looked over into Lancashire. One of my pupils walked three miles to school every day froma farm. She brought me eggs which were very welcome. The ration was one egg per month so there was no chance of a boiled egg for tea unless you were lucky. The place was very isolated (cut off by snow frequently). It was much like it had been for centuries.
It was not tactful to enquire into the interrelation of families as one of our infant teacher students discovered when she was conducting ‘News’ with six year olds one mroning. To get them to talk, she asked what their fathers did. Various ones replied but one little fair girl seemed uncertain. Further coaxing only resulted in more confusion. A stout little girl with red hair who claimed the local undertaker as her father stood up. Placing her hands behind her back she declared, ‘I’ll have to tell you, Miss. Her mother’s not my mother. But her father is my father.’ Collapse of teacher. The Headmaster said there was one lot called Overend (the name of the undertaker) and quite a lot more that ought to be. There was not much to do in winter and he had a bicycle!
He did not welcome students and was not at all helpful. We were regarded as wasting his scarce supplied of paper, paints and pencils. The pencils were a great worry to us. You could not buy them and the children had to hand them in everyday before leaving. It was necessary to count them and ‘frisk’ the suspects. This was still the case when I left teaching in 1949. You could buy a few at Woolworths and I was forced to do so in desperation. They also tried to take home the plasticene. One cannot blame them. Books, toys etc were just not there. People bought second-hand dolls’ prams and cycles and did them up for children’s Christmas gifts. I remember giving our Christmas baubles for the tree to my young cousins to my mama’s dismay. They were older than me and better than any you get now. I remember a peacock with a glittering tail of spun glass and a pipe that whistled, bunches of grapes and a silver nutmeg. We made gingerbread stars and Christmas trees to hang on our tree when we could. Christmas cakes were made of hoarded raisins and currants with many different fats such as margerine, and a sort of sweetened shortening one year. The most successful was made of 1lb of peanut butter. It was very nutty and rich. Eggs were a problem until I started going to Joan’s farm in 1942. She got married the month after leaving college and never taught a class except on odd occasions at the village school.
I used to visit at Easter and for the whole month of August during the war and for some years after. In the Shropshire countryside, far from air raids and rationing, I relaxed in my other world. We seemed to have endless time. There was only one bus a week to the local small town, six miles away. A gallon of petrol was given to drivers to go to church on Sunday. If we walked four miles we could catch a bus to Stafford to the cinema and market. Markets were important in those days. All sorts of little extras could be found there. Incidentally, one of the best meals in Stafford could be found at the station dining room. I arrived there by train from Barnsley via Manchester. This was an experience in itself. The trains were full of army and air force personnel. I often travelled in the luggage van sitting on boxes and trunks. If we changed at Crewe it was a mad scramble. The army was particularly helpful carrying my suitcase over the bridge. Sometimes there were members of Free French and other continental forces. One day I remember well. A haggard looking young man in the Free Dutch uniform entered the carriage at Manchester. ‘Does this train stop at Crewe?’ he asked. We assured him it did. He collapsed into a corner and fell asleep. He was still asleep when we reached Crewe. As the train slowed down, we debated waking him. It was agreed that he would not want to go past his stop. So we woke him and said, ‘Crewe’. Fortunately, we did not understand the strong Dutch oaths he uttered. It appeared that he not want to get out at Crewe. We had awoken him from the first sleep he had had for three days, escaping from Holland! We apologised and she subsided into sleep again. He was still asleep at Stafford and we left him.

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