大象传媒

In 1942 my father, a civil servant, managed to be transferred from war-torn Mersyside to Carlisle,where hardly an enemy plane had been seen and no guns fired.There may have been an absence of air-raids and bomb damage in this corner of Cumbria, but there was plenty of evidence of military activity. Along the Solway coast at Anthorn, Kirkbride and Silloth among others there were training camps for the army, navy and air-force. Carlisle Castle was the headquarters of the Border Regiment, and to the north of the citylay the largest military maintenance unit in the country. Consequently armoured vehicles and uniforms were an everyday sight about the streets. The railway station saw the constant passage of troop trains, and our journeys to stay with relatives for holidays, meant a struggle down corridors packed with kit-bags and chain smoking soldiers. One memorable day while we waited on a seething platform a troop train drew in and among the men jumping off for tea or "ciggies"was one with a hockey-stick. He ran his eye up and down the platform and then fixed on a teen-ager standing near me. Dashing over he presentd her with the stick, a few words, a cheery wave and on board again, no doubt heading for North Africa where hockey-playing would be inadvisable.
Another day in 1944 we were aware from early morning that a military convoy was passing down our B road from the coast through the city and away south. Suddenly it rumbled to a halt and there it stayed until early evening: tanks, armoured cars and gun carriages arranged outside our houses with busy visits from motor cyclists or smaller cars filled with important flat-capped personel. Eventually "our" drivers sat around outside their vehicles ,for it was a very hot day ,and enjoyed the sustenance rushed at them from the watching houses.When eventually the huge beast moved off we waved and cheered for we sensed this was the start of something momentous.
Although we didn't suffer from air-raids it was a growing struggle throughout the war and afterwards to acquire food, keep warm, and, dare I say it, well-dressed?
We grew potatoes, beans, peas and other vegetables in the garden, and in the summer tomatoes and salad veg in the greenhouse which was my mother's realm.Luckily there was a very big orchard which provided a small incme for mum who carefully harvested the keeping crop and sold them reasonably throughout the winter.Jams and jellies were made from any fruits we could get hold of, and in the Autumn we raided the hedges for their store of blackberries and rose-hips, exchanging the latter in Health Centres for a few pence for Rose Hip Syrup was a valuable source of vitamin C and given to babies. Blaeberries were another fruit we labouriously picked from the low heathland bushes. All these fruits ,whether as jams or bottled, were important in adding variety to a diet which was pretty dull and certainly lacked sweetness.Our neighbours on either side kept hens, but although our garden had boasted 3 ricketty henhouses when we arrived my father refused to become a poultrykeeper. Instead we sent over food scraps and in return occasionally received the bonus of eggs!
We ate our main meal at lunchtime when dad came back from the office and I from school,but as we also had high tea in the evening this required ingenuity from my mother to find two savoury dishes a day. Strict rationing and food control meant that made-up dishes such as pies, sausages,spam and so forth were bought in shops separate from butchers who just sold meat and their uncooked products. The weekly trip to shop meant 3 bus rides from our suburb with my mother peering worriedly as the bus passed the local butcher's to see if a queue had formed suggesting the meat was in! She would then rush off at the next stop, back-track, queue, study what was available for coupons, lug the meat on to another bus to town:queue at the cooked meat shop, a risky business this as queues were long, servers bad-tempered and liable to declare "sold out" at any time. If this failed another trudge to the fishmonger to view his often measly offerings, and then weghed down she caught the bus back, or did the whole thing in reverse, and was to be found in the scullery dishing up our lunch still dressed in her hat and coat!
We ate what were called a lot of "made up" dishes either from my mother's ingenuity or newspaper recipes or helpful hints on the radio, and they were usually delicious.Stale bread-crumbs, grated cheese, dried egg and milk formed a staple with perhaps a tin of sardines or sausage- meat for protein. Pasta and rice were not eaten as they are today, only macaronni was common. Of course lentils ,barley, and split peas made soups and rissoles: tasty and healthy. Christmas meant a careful hoarding of stores to make a little pudding and cake in which grated carrot seemed to play a large part,but for the dinner itself we often ate pork, although I remember one Christmas Eve when my dad arrived from the office with a wild duck still in its feathers!
Keeping ourselves and the damp old house warm was a serious problem in the days of coal rationing. Our rented property had 3 reception rooms and 4 bedrooms all with fireplaces, but the only one which mattered was the kitchen fire which heated the water.This my father lit every morning while boiling the kettle for his shaving water.The kichen was the room we lived in during the winter pulling the arm chairs and sofa up to the fire in the evening in an attempt to shut out the gale coming under the door. The fire was kept very low during the day but encouraged into flame later with pieces of ailing tree branches or logs picked up on a bike ride into the countryside.Occasionally when I was ill a few glowing coals were put in my fireplace to give an illusion of warmth and comfort , but in truth the house was always freezing and the north-facing back rooms had almost to be entered in the winter wearing gloves and mufflers! There was no spare fuel to keep the frost at bay here, and our own bedroom windows had rime on the inside from our breaths. On top of the eiderdown on my bed was a very heavy great coat of my father's, and under this I cossetted my underclothes wriggling into them in the morning before emerging into the full cold air of the room. When the misery of burst pipes threatened dad would place an Aladdin stove in the bathroom, and sometimes we had the luxury of this for our weekly bath.This stove was also used at Christmas to break the tyranny of the cold in the north-facing lounge. Itwas placed at the back of the room while my parents struggled to light a fire in the ill-designed fire-place which pulled the heat up the chimney and sent the smoke down again. It was in this festive atmosphere that we entertained relatives until strict coal rationing meant we couldn't attempt to heat it any longer. To everyone's relief! We wore layers of woollen jumpers, mostly hand-knitted, to combat this cold and my mother worked in the freezing scullery wearing a scarf, hat and boots throughout the winter.
When the war was over coal rationing continued for many years and the shortage was particularly acute in the late '40s, and I recall looking in the coal shed at a few little coal knobs and a pile of dust. WE were advised to fill old tins with this dust and having somehow lit a fire this tin was placed on it and gradually smouldered and glowed red giving out some heat, but whether this was enough to heat the water I cannot now remember.But they were bleak days.
As wellas coal and food rationing there were clothing coupons of course and we would have become a dull and threadbare nation if it hadn't been for ingenuity and hard work! There were a lot of hand-me-downs, and dresses and skirts were lenghthened with inserted pieces or contrasting frills round the bottom. Dyeing was thought to be a good way of making something look new, and hats, always worn by adults, were retrimmed - the woman's anyway! Knitting and dress-making were constant pastimes, and coupons were hoarded for occasions such as weddings. Shoes were a constant problem especially for growing children, and I remember an unhappy event when my cousin, prone to bronchitis if his feet got wet, was with us when they did just that so my mother popped his sodden shoes in the oven to dry off before his parents collected him. A wonderful pair of "rocking shoes" emerged from the oven: the cardboard-like soles had pulled away from the cardboard-like uppers in a great loop ------ not a pretty sight, and not immediately forgiven, and never forgotten!
Of course we found other ways of entertaining ourselves in this war-torn time. The wireless was our life-line with the news, but also those shows designed to bring escapism when the news was bleak or limited. Chief among these were Tommy Handley's "Itma", Henry Hall's"Music Night" and "In Town Tonight" which introduced the latest entertainers in town, maybe Ann Shelton, Vera Lynn or Jack Warner. Lunch-time was enlivened by "Workers' Playtime" or Wilfred Pickles. As a family we went to the Pictures every Saturday afternoon and often mid-week too. THere was plenty of choice for Carlisle boasted 5 cinemas which changed programmes twice weekly, and for popular films such as "Mrs Miniver" queues twisted round the building.Our theatre had closed and the few concerts held were either in the draughty cobble-stoned market hall, or the austere Central Hall of the Methodist Church.It was here I heard Moisiewich play, but otherwise for live entertainment we relied on our school plays or the Burns' Night Supper at Church.Mother belonged to the Guild at church, and also to a group meeting at the tiny chapel at the top of our road. Many local women flocked to this as a way of sharing recipes, sewing or just chattering together ata time when women were so caught up in housekeeping and rewriting the cook -book. Some of the young ones were alone with their children while their husbands were away in the forces,and wecomed the chance to meet,although most of them would have family around as Carlisle was a very close community, and strangers, like ourselves, were not immediately admitted. So we made our own pleasures which in the summer took the form of cycling: the roads were so quiet we explored to the coast and into the Pennine country.We didn't cycle to the Lakes but took the train which still ran to Keswick, and then sometimes the local bus further into the Lakes taking picnics with us for there were no tea shops then.
I remember a couple of incidents that caused a small ripple on the complacent flow of our war-time school days. Some shortage affected the supplier of our school uniform and we were allowed to wear our own dresses and coats for the whole of the summer term.In my case on one occasion I was sporting a hand-down from my aunt of a red crepe de chine affair ,which caused the acid comment from our form teacher that it was more suitable for a dance hall than the class room. My stock rose immediately with my form mates! At another time after Assembly the Head said she had a most important announcement : we were to have a new maths teacher and that she was married and had a small child; her husband was overseas.It was unheard of for married women to stay in the profession and certainly not to work after having a child. Later another one sneaked in for a short time, travelling by bus from Gretna where her husband was stationed, and rising so early she forgot to remove her curlers from the back of her head to our intense and secret delight.
At the end of the war our Belle Vue suburb celebrated with a fancy dress party in the field behind the chapel at the top of the road. Mother laced me into her mother's Victorian mutton-sleeved jacket ,and out-did herself in fashioning bustle skirts for both of us from blackout curtains and a purple bedspread!Two hats with veils were added plus unopenable parasols, and we thought ourselves the bees knees! It was such a happy occasion and rightly remembered for the joy all of us felt in celabrating the peace.

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