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The V.E and V.J parties and celebrations marked the end of the war and a return to normality for many families. As their loved ones returned home from fighting overseas, streamers and union jacks were strewn across streets. ‘Welcome Home’ banners and special greetings were made for everyone coming back. Soon our house was decorated for my Dad, returning from Burma. There seemed to be great activity and preparation for someone whom I only knew from a few photographs, and the odd letter or card that had been sent to me. I was caught up in the excitement, seeing my Mum so happy, but from the first day he arrived back my little world started to collapse.

I was only two, and my baby sister was only a matter of weeks old before he left us to do service for his country. By the time we saw him next, I was six years old. This is a long time in anyone’s life, never mind a child’s. For as a long as I could remember, I had a fixed routine; sleeping in my own home, waking up, having my face washed and being dressed in the clothes I had worn the day before. My baby sister would be taken to the woman opposite to where we lived, and then my Mum and I would board the tram that took us to my Nan’s. Mum would leave for work, and that’s when my idyllic life would start…..

Firstly, my Nan would make me a lovely bowl of porridge, (nobody cooked liked my Nan). Then I would be stripped and washed in front of a roaring log fire. Next I would don the clean clothes that my Nan had kept warm for me on the hot water cylinder. After that I would be taken to school, which was just around the corner from where my Nan lived. At lunchtime my beloved Nan was always waiting at the school gate to take me home for lunch. My favourite food being her delicious onion gravy or her dried egg omelette (fresh eggs didn’t have the same flavour). In the evening my Mum would collect me, and we would have our tea, go and collect my baby sister and get ready for bed. The next day we would start the routine all over again.

We all slept in the same bed, my sister and I on either side of our Mum. I never really remember having to sleep on my own. We had to sleep under the stairs when the air raid siren went off. Although it was confined we found it so cosy, as Mum had placed a mattress for us close to the cellar door. It seemed liked such an adventure, I remember the candle we used, used to make pretty patterns on the wall! Suddenly though my bubble burst, this ‘man’ seemed to turn my world upside down. He must have arrived in the middle of the night or the early hours of the morning, because I remember coming down the stairs and he was there-eager to pick me up and sit me on his knee. I recall the feeling of that rough itchy khaki uniform and my wish was that he would just put me down. We all sat around the table for breakfast and I saw my Mum put two sugars in his tea. We were not allowed sugar in our tea because of the rationing. I sat and watched, full of jealousy, as he continually put his arm round my Mum. All I could keep thinking was ‘it’s OUR Mum-leave her alone’. The day passed and when bedtime came, horror of horrors, my sister and I were put into the bedroom at the back of the house. It seemed cold, dark and we were not used to this room, we huddled together terrified of the shadows the candle was creating. We both wanted our Mum, and we both ended up crying ourselves to sleep.

Soon it was time to return to school, and although I kept going to the school by my Nan’s, to my dismay we had breakfast at home. We had horrible thick porridge-not a patch on what I was used to at my Nan’s. I was then washed and dressed in the cold house I had begun to hate. I was taken to school on the cross bar of my Dad’s bike, oh how the cross bar hurt your bum when you were a skinny six year old! The highlight of each day became lunchtime, when my Nan would be waiting for me. Food was no longer a priority; I just wanted to sit on her knee with her arms tight around me. She was a tubby lady with lovely soft skin-paradise. I can recall many times, as she took me back to school, that I begged her to let me come live with her. Years later she told me how it had broke her heart, we both missed each other so much.

Within in months we had moved from Kensington to Norris Green .Who ever designed the estate must have modelled it on Hampton Court maze! The roads seemed to be circular, if you went down one road and continued walking you’d end up back where you started! For a seven year old, who was thought old enough to walk to school on her own, it was a nightmare! At first, I used to collect small stones and place them in intervals along my route to school, but of course they were not always there on my return journey. If that wasn’t bad enough I then had to stay for school dinners. To this day I cannot bear the smell of boiled mince, which was served lumpy with mashed potato and greasy looking gravy. This was followed by tapioca pudding, which looked liked frogs spawn and tasted like glue! Oh how I pined to be back at my Nan’s safe haven, where everyday was like a joyous adventure. In the past my Mum always used to refer to me as ‘Good as Gold’. Now all she seemed to call me was ‘Awkward’. I didn’t understand what the word meant, but I could tell by the tone in her voice it was nothing to be proud of.

Not long after I had a new baby sister, and I must have settled down a bit. Although whenever we used to visit my Nan’s (which wasn’t often enough for my liking), I used to run and hide whenever I saw my parents making preparations to leave. I hoped that they would get fed up of looking for me and leave without me, but no such luck! I would be marched along the road, crying and calling out for my Nan. I suppose it was only when I married and had two children of my own, that I realised how unfair I had been on my Dad. I had made my resentment towards him pretty obvious after all. He had been away in India in Burma for four years, including many months in hospital in Rangoon, he had been far away from his family, and yet when he came back I treated him like an enemy.

Well every story should have a happy ending, and although I went on to have four sisters and a brother, my Dad and I grew closer and closer. By the time he passed away years later, we were like the best of friends.

'This story was submitted to the People’s War site by ´óÏó´«Ã½ Radio Merseyside’s People’s War team on behalf of Magaret Rothwell and has been added to the site with his / her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.'

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