大象传媒

In the September of 1939 when the idea of a possible war was speculation, my friend and I spent our annual holiday at Falmouth in Devon 鈥� we declared that we would not buy a newspaper or listen to the radio news 鈥� we were tired of the talk, talk, talk. We had a pleasant holiday 鈥� a trip to Land鈥檚 End, a boat ride to St. Mary鈥檚 on the Scilly Isles (Harold Wilson鈥檚 favourite haunt), etc.; it came as a shock when we applied at the Railway Ticket Office for our suitcases to be collected, transported and delivered home 鈥� as they did in those days for a shilling or two 鈥� that we learned of the intention of declaring war on the coming Sunday. We travelled back on the Friday night by the only available train 鈥� a mail train which delivered post to towns in quite a big area; it diverted north as far as Swindon in Wiltshire, back to Reading and on to London 鈥� it took thirteen hours. The few passenger coaches which had been put on the train were crammed full of people and we could only sit on our suitcases in the corridor in pitch darkness, and unable to move throughout the journey.

When we eventually arrived home we were greeted with hard words because we had not returned sooner to say goodbye to my youngest brother who had been evacuated during the week to Northampton. He was not happy there and was eventually moved to South Wales 鈥� a bus ride from Newport 鈥� where he was placed with an American family who were in the U.K. on holiday and were not allowed to return home. My father had been busy making wooden shutters or the windows 鈥� they had to fit well so that no chink of light was seen from the outside. We had fancy iron railings on a brick wall and an iron gate at the boundary of our front garden 鈥� imagine my surprise on returning home from work one day to find that they had gone and tram lines which were no longer in use had been dug up from the road to be smelted down for ammunitions 鈥� speaking of which, there weren鈥檛 enough rifles available to equip all the members of the Home Guard (the real Dad鈥檚 Army) so some had to learn to 鈥減resent arms鈥� etc. with broom handles.

Everyone said my husband-to-be and I were crazy to contemplate buying a house during the War 鈥� but we took a chance. The nearest bomb was a 鈥渄oodle-bug鈥� in Farmilo Road which ran adjacent to our road and which blew out windows and downed ceilings overnight as we were married next day 鈥� so our first hours of being Mr & Mrs were spent sweeping up debris while the 鈥渇irst aid repair squad鈥� were busy hammering thick brown paper in place of broken windows 鈥� we never did have a honeymoon! Doodle-bugs looked like a small plane with fire emitting from the back 鈥� they made a very loud throbbing noise and we knew that once it stopped it would falls 鈥� whereas rockets were like a rapid moving silver rod streaking through the sky. Most of the former were slow moving and the R.A.F. were able to meet them over the Channel, tip the wings and turn them back. Can鈥檛 be sure whether it was fact or fiction but I did hear that an invasion was thwarted by placing barrels of burning tar in a line in the sea where it was thought the enemy intended to land.

Since furniture was rationed as well as food and clothing, newly-weds were allotted points to enable them to purchase bare necessities 鈥� because we admitted we possessed a kitchen cabinet which my husband had previously made, we did not get the full quota so only had a few pieces of the 鈥渦tility鈥� bedroom furniture which was allowed to be made. We did manage to get a dining-room suite eventually which cost seventy-two pounds 鈥� a vast sum considering the house itself was only seven hundred and fifty pounds leasehold 鈥� with a further two hundred pounds for the ground which we purchased in later years. When we took a close look at the sideboard we found that the backing was comprised of untreated plywood from tea chests.

We did not use the shelter in our garden as it quite often contained water from underground springs 鈥� the cellar under the house did too 鈥� the estate having been built on what was previously a nursery. Our neighbour had covered his shelter with solid concrete to make it look like a castle. It seemed a pity to destroy it when the local council decided to collect the original metal sections 鈥� the men folk around enjoyed getting together with pick axes and shovels though. I lived in Rochdale Road for fifty-four years before it was suggested I come to live in a bungalow in Kent where my neighbour was a very likeable Lithuanian German who had come to England as a teenage refugee. Her recollections of the dreadful treatment she and her family received at the hands of the Russian Army made me feel humble 鈥� buildings could be built again but not so a family whose men-folk were murdered for no other reason than their nationality. One evening toward the end of the War when out walking our dog, my husband was approached by two Polish brothers who were looking for somewhere to live 鈥� they were deserters from the Polish Army and they too had fled from the Russians. Since we had a spare room, we gave them a home and eventually John went to America to live with relatives there and Bruno married an English girl from Headcorn here in Kent. Had they returned to their homeland, they had to either join the Communist Party or face the firing squad.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.