大象传媒

War Time Memories
It is almost gone now 鈥� that small village where I was born.
It was typical of lots of colliery villages in the North East. Nine streets in all, with the uninspiring names of North, South and West View, no East. That took the inspiring name of
Coley Hill Terrace probably because the railway line from the colliery, North Walbottle Colliery that ran down to Lemington Staithes on the river Tyne taking coals to other parts of the country, ran alongside. Then there was Middle Row, Chapel Row 鈥� two sides - and Claverdon Street. Five of these were brick built, small with two upstairs rooms, one double room and one single room, one room downstairs with pantry and backyard. Most of the tenants built on wooden sheds, used as wash houses. The range for cooking was in the living room with a boiler for hot water alongside. Black leaded outside, which was kept sparkling and a fire of course. Another two side鈥檚 street, Coronation Row, belonged to another colliery 鈥� Coronation Pit. Across the railway line, the Gaffers houses were Whorlton Terrace. They had living room, dining room and kitchen with a backyard with outside lavatories which meant the outside lavatories were not on view to the rest of the street, such snobbery!! And two doubled bedrooms!! Claverdon Street was mainly flats and were privately owned (rented out). The local Post Office was attached, lower down towards the main road which ran to Walbottle on the West road a butchers shop and general dealers 鈥楳urray鈥檚 Stores鈥�. The butcher always wore a striped apron over white overalls and a straw badger 鈥� that man terrified me. My mother liked me to do the shopping. The drill was 鈥� and there always was a queue 鈥� I had strict instructions to ask for a half pound of best ENGLISH steak please, then wait until the butcher sliced and weighed it, once it was on the scale 鈥� then and only then 鈥� I had to say 鈥渨ould you mince it please?鈥� Now he had a practice of saying to the other customers when it came to my turn in the queue,鈥� just watch this鈥� then he would look me straight in the eye and say 鈥淚s it minced steak you want?鈥� I was instructed by mother not to answer that 鈥� then again 鈥淒o you want minced steak?鈥� I would then repeat 鈥淗alf pound of best ENGLISH steak please!鈥� There was usually a titter from the other customers, and then he would say to them 鈥渟ee what I mean?鈥� He would then slice the steak and put it on the scales, turn and put his meat in the mincer and mince it. Everybody laughed. But I was more afraid of not doing exactly as my mother said than the butcher. However, there was on be time when in the queue behind me was Bossy Boots who was always the boss at school, I knew she would make fun of me at school and when he asked did I want minced steak I said yes! Now the steak already minced my mother said was not English, it was frozen. The mince when the English steak was used was 8 pence for half a pound, the chilled was 7 pence. So naughty I daren鈥檛 take the extra penny home, that would have been a dead give away so I treated myself to some sweets from the post office or Maggie Greens as it was known. But my mother knew, she could tell the difference. I was smacked and put to bed! NEVER AGAIN!!!

My Job
I was employed as a counter assistant at Westerhope sub-post office from 1940. My employer the sub-postmaster was Mr Thomas Bright. At this time the post office was situated on Stamfordham Road at the bottom of North Avenue. It was known as a Crown Office. The area covered was from Slatyford and the tram terminus on one side and Garthfield Crescent on the other. At Slatyford there was an army camp where troops were stationed as they moved down country. I remember 鈥楧鈥� company, Inns of Court regiment which was made up of Scottish policemen were stationed there for some time. They collected their mail from Westerhope P.O. A company was stationed across the river and sadly most of this company were wiped out at Dunkirk. Also here I would mention an Anti Aircraft Company (Ack Ack) was stationed at the other end of the village on Hillhead Road beside the Miners Institute who also collected mail from us. Our delivery area ended up the fells passed Callerton on the turn down to Throckley.
There were two postmen and one post woman employed. We had a sorting office behind the counter which also housed the post office telephone. We received and sent telegrams. North Walbottle Sub-Office came under Newburn for mail, but telegraph business was handled by Westerhope.
Obviously it was a very busy office being wartime all the forces family allowances were handled there as well as Old age pensions. We started paying out at 9am. I started at 8.30 by scrubbing the floor and emptying the safe and arranging postal and money orders, cash, date stamps, scales etc. Business hours were 9am till 7pm weekdays except Wednesdays half day closing1 pm and Saturday 6pm closing. There was no afternoon delivery as such but we received a delivery of mail which had to be sorted, so that anyone expecting mail could collect it. We closed for lunch when this sorting had to be carried out. Saturday after 6pm we did a weekly balance which meant I was always late getting to the Saturday hop held at the Institute on Hillhead
Road. It was quite a long hard day. Really! I remember we had a boy, Richard Smith, Dick, from Highfield Road used to come and deliver telegrams after school. He was a delightful little chap. Any really important telegrams for instance about anyone killed, wounded or missing in action, Mr Bright delivered himself or by me if he wasn鈥檛 available. which wasn鈥檛 very often thank the Good Lord. The drill was for any sad news to contact a neighbour and have them come with you, sit them down and explain rather than just give them a yellow envelope.
Mr and Mrs Bright had only one son, Stanley, who worked in a local labour exchange. Stan was mad keen to become a pilot with the RAF, he was highly intelligent, Bomber Pilot preferably was his aim. I remember when he applied and went for his medical he came home very upset, he didn鈥檛 pass! So upset that his father said 鈥淲ell Stan if it is so important to you I shall arrange for you to see a specialist鈥� which he did. The specialist found that Stan had a slight trace of sugar in his blood which was curable if his dad was prepared to put him into his hands and the next time Stan applied and went for his medical, he passed. 100% fit which was necessary to be a bomber pilot. He passed 鈥� such excitement! Stanley was sent to Canada for training. He passed his test and bought me and Hilda who worked in a grocery shop adjoining the post office a pair of golden wings brooch. We were so thrilled for him. When he came back to England he was stationed at Driffield in Yorkshire. Every Saturday night as I said we had to work out this balance, every Saturday night Stanley would ring home and I usually answered the phone. Mr and Mrs Bright鈥檚 house adjoined the shops but they used the telephone in the post office. We were quite fond of each other so we had a little chat before I called for his mother. I remembered the last time this happened, 5th February 1944, I answered, asked after his health. I said 鈥渉ang on I鈥檒l fetch your mother鈥� Stan said 鈥淚 would much rather talk to you for a while鈥� then I said I wouldn鈥檛 be there to answer the phone next Saturday. Stan was very much his mother鈥檚 darling. Here was my very worst experience in wartime. Monday 7th February 1944 at 4.15 pm the telephone rang, luckily the rush on the counter, it being army allowances day, was over. The message I received went thus, Mr and Mrs Thos Bright, address etc, We deeply regret to inform you that your son Flight Sergeant Stanley Bright No 1042582, RAF Volunteer Reserve, has been killed. No way could I write that down. Then a hand came on my shoulder, 鈥淚t鈥檚 alright Brownie, I shall finish it鈥� I felt so bitterly ashamed. Mr Bright finished that call. I felt I had let him down very badly.
The plane had been coming in to land and a milk marketing van pulled out from one of the farms. Stanley swerved to avoid it and went into the hillside. The whole crew were killed. His parents got Stanley home for burial. Her was buried in All Saints Cemetery, Grave Reference Panel Number SEC E CONS GRAVE 108
His burial was well attended of course and I remember Mr Reed the headmaster at Westerhope School at the time, put his arm around my shoulder and said 鈥淛ust try to think of it this way Rita, Stanley probably put more living into his one score years and two than the majority of us will put into three score years and ten鈥�
That was I鈥檓 sure my worst wartime experience but writing it down reminds me of another sad experience. My oldest sister Lily was working in London during the war. She worked at Lyons Coventry Street Corner House. If any of us had time off work, my mother used to insist we went down to make sure she was alright. Lily used to take her turn fire watching on the roof and London at that time was being badly blitzed. I was reminded of this experience by the television programme about McIndoes Clinic. One night when visiting I was standing outside the staff entrance waiting for Lily finishing work when a limousine pulled up. The driver got out and came around and opened the door and half lifted half helped a chap out which meant I looked directly into his face. The passengers face, but it didn鈥檛 look like a face at all. God forgive me when I say it was grotesque! As I recall just two holes where the eyes ought to have been, or so it appeared to me. It was so badly burned and he was in hospital clothes. I got such a shock I walked away, and then I ran. Eventually I pulled myself together and had to retrace my steps, being a stranger and not knowing London very well. My sister by this time was standing at the staff entrance. I told her what had happened and of course she was able to explain that her employers used to entertain some of Mr McInroe鈥檚 patients occasionally. What the Londoners suffered during the war made our experiences up here nothing! What with V1鈥檚 and V2鈥檚 One night my sister鈥檚 husband, who was on leave at the time from Fleet Air Arm, made us go into the street shelter. They lived at 22 Shortlands, Hammersmith at that time. I was just stepping out of the door when Bert grabbed me and pulled me back. My next step would almost certainly have been my last had he not done so, a piece of shrapnel, white hot, about six inches in diameter landed where I would have been, such a shock. Thankfully I was to come home the next day! Thereby hangs a tale鈥�.
Shortly after I got home we had a nasty air raid. Bombs landed on the village. My brother who was four years younger than I and myself were proving difficult to get in to the shelter, naughty. My father came upstairs and said鈥� Come on now its beginning to look sticky鈥� We were just on the stairs when the bomber dropped his load. The ceiling caved in and we all then were carried to the bottom of the stairs on the rubble. My mother who was downstairs heard us shout and actually pushed her head through the window pane saying 鈥淥h God, If you have taken them take me as well鈥� Her face was scratched. My father then said 鈥淚鈥檒l stay here with your mother and David, Rita you go up and see if Edna (my sister) and Billy (her son) are alright鈥� Edna鈥檚 husband was in ARP (air raid protection) and on duty that night. When I went in her back door, doors were seldom locked in those days; Edna was standing on a table by the front windows trying to put up a blackout. An air raid warden outside was yelling for her to turn out the light. There was nothing to tie a blackout to as the window had been blown in by eh blast. Four little gas mantles were glittering away but the glass bowl that had been hanging around them had clashed to the floor.
The bombs had apparently been aimed at the colliery engine that was pulling truck loads of coals from the colliery down the incline to Lemington Staithes, by the river Tyne. They missed and struck a row of houses, Coley Hill Terrace!! One of the engine drivers, Mr Musgrove, was off duty and his daughter, Irene, was sheltering under the stairs and were both killed by the blast. Irene was a school-friend of mine and was to have been married the following Saturday. Her wedding dress was hanging by the pantry door. Her mother and sister were safe in an Anderson shelter outside. There was another casualty, Mrs Allen, next door who apparently decided not to go to a shelter. As dawn broke people were walking around dazed by it all, so sad and so shaken. One other odd thing, the houses were heated by coal fires and because of the blast everybody had coal blackened faces. It was so strange to see the whites of their eyes. The blast had blown the soot from the chimneys.
The anti-aircraft battery I mentioned before in Hill Head Road was firing heavily and the search lights were going., Strange how things stick in one鈥檚 mind. One of the funny tales told was about the colliery manager who was apparently stood on the steps of the Pit Head baths. He stammered. He was shouting (not on the night of this raid, but another) j j just look at the b b b鈥檚 Look at the b b b鈥檚! thousands of pounds going up and nowt coming down! But he was proven wrong. One German bomber was brought down on top of the quarry that ran between Hill Head and the colliery farm. I remember going up to see this. There was one corpse and the rest of the crew were sat on the cashed plane. They were taken prisoners of course, but just sat there waiting their captors! I think the ARP was in charge.

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