大象传媒

"This story was submitted to the People's War site by a volunteer from 大象传媒 Radio Berkshire's CSV Action Desk on behalf of Margaret Corbett and has been added to the site with her permission. Margaret fully understands the sites terms and conditions."

I was born Margaret Muriel Pratt on 14th May 1939. Within four months of my birth the Country was at war. I don鈥檛 think the two events are related though!

My own memories naturally come from the latter stages of the war but my childhood was shaped by events that were to occur during the oncoming years.

Many people who experienced the war as children old enough to remember these years can look back with fond, romantic memories of exciting times with adventures there to be had, ignorant of the dangers. My own memories have largely been formed by the facts that have been recounted to me over the years by my family, mostly my Mother, Doris.

My Father, George William Pratt, born 18th May 1912, was a handsome, vibrant man, a keen sportsman with a great sense of honour and duty. As a young man he excelled in water sports especially water polo playing to a high standard against internationally renowned players. One who comes to mind was a Belgian player called Temme Temme.

Before the outbreak of the War Dad worked for the Ministry of Food. As a civil servant in a Government Department he would not have been called up. He volunteered. It was his duty. His brother volunteered. His friends volunteered. Tens of thousands of proud, patriotic young men volunteered. It was their duty.

Mum and Dad went together to the station along with hundreds of other loving couples to say their goodbyes and to see their loved ones off to war. A surreal moment in time. A mixture of bravado, fear, pride and regret. No-one knowing what to expect or indeed whether they would ever be reunited.

My Dad served with the Royal Army Service Corps and was posted out to Malaya. A few cable, telegrams and cards were received back home but it was not until 13th December 1941 that he got the chance to write to Mum. His letter was long upbeat with humorous accounts of the local life from feeling like royalty aboard a rickshaw with youngsters showering him and his friend Wally with flowers to far less regal treatment from the local insect population! His letter was full of love clearly without any doubt that he would return. I was his 鈥淟ittle Pearl鈥� and he couldn鈥檛 wait to see me and Mum again.
His biggest regret was that he would miss me growing from a baby to a child. My biggest regret is that I never got the chance to know him at all.

My Fathers ship was torpedoed on 13th February 1942. My Mother received the news that there was no account of him having disembarked the ship but it was not until 8th January 1946 that She received official confirmation from the War Office that he was presumed killed in action.
His name is included along with many thousands of others at the Kranji War Memorial in Singapore.

Mum and I were evacuated for a short while to Llandudno in Wales before making our home with my Aunt Elsie and Uncle Sid in London for the remainder of the war.

This does evoke my own memories. Uncle Sid had made a shelter inside one of the rooms downstairs at home to protect us in case of a bomb attack. It was small, dark, claustrophobic and very boring in there with nothing to do. I hated it and remember feeling fidgety and trapped in an uncomfortable way. The same feeling returns today if I am faced with a lift or elevator! Uncle Sid knew this and he was kind enough and thoughtful enough to stand outside until the last possible moment before shepherding me inside so I was confined for the least amount of time. I remember hearing a bomb exploding at the top of our road. It was so loud. So loud and so close and so scary. The bomb destroyed the house of Dr Knox, our local doctor. It killed Dr Knox. I remember understanding a little better why I had to go to the shelter room after that but still hated it.

I was six years old when the War finally ended. The age at which most childhood memories start. I have no memories of the upset, worry and suffering that my family, especially my Mum, must have endured during these years. I can only give them credit for having given me a happy, loving childhood. The memories that I have of my childhood are generally happy ones. My regret is of the memories that I don鈥檛 have. I don鈥檛 have any memories of my Father. I have his letter, a few photos but no memories.

They say you never miss what you have never had. If only they knew.

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