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This is Jean Staveley’s story: it has been added by Pauline Colcutt (on behalf of the Fernhurst Centre), with permission from the author who understands the terms and conditions of adding her story to the website.

JEAN’S WAR IN BOURNVILLE

At the age of 12 in September 1939, living in the quiet suburb of Bournville in Birmingham, the war was a tremendous excitement. My father had served in the Royal Artillery in France in the first World War but, like many men of his generation, would not speak of his experiences so we really had no idea of what war was like. However, we soon started to find out - we being my older brother, younger sister and myself. Looking back now, I tend to see the war years in a series of unrelated incidents - funny, bizarre, tragic, frightening, exciting and sometimes just plain boring. So, here, in no particular order or sequence, are some of these incidents.

Rationing - my mother using margarine for the first time and mixing it with butter; few sweets so we had a stick of raw rhubarb with a little sugar in a brown paper bag; my father having the entire bacon ration for the family while we had to make do with a slice of bread dipped in bacon fat; the amazing meals my mother produced (we had a hot dinner every day) out of so little - and many of her recipes I still use now; ration books with shopkeepers cutting out the weekly little squares; my father working in the garden growing vegetables.

School - Bournville School until 1940 and then Sparkhill Commercial School for two years. Because of the bombing and disturbed nights it was agreed that no homework would be given to pupils but despite this we all managed to complete all our lessons and pass our exams. Sparkhill was some way from Bournville and I used to cycle every day. One day I arrived at school to be promptly sent home again because a corner of the building had been demolished in an air raid but hasty repairs were made and within a few days we were back. On another occasion we were sent home because there was an unexploded bomb in the street.

Air-raids - the terrifying sound of the air-raid sirens - this still sends shivers down my spine when I hear that awful sound in films or plays; the sound of the German bombers, this was a very distinctive throbbing noise unlike our own planes; the heart-stopping moment when we heard a stick of bombs coming closer and we thought the next one would hit us, the relief when it fell beyond us; the extraordinary sight of a huge land-mine, still live, caught by its parachute in a tree; the tragic sight of a fire engine which had plunged into a bomb crater in the middle of the road with the loss of the crew. The oddest incident occurred at Cadbury’s factory which had its own railway line and canal for transporting its products. Both the railway and the canal passed on a bridge over a road and a bomb had fallen right through the canal, which had the effect of pulling the plug and all the water flooded into the factory. (This gave me a perfect excuse for arriving late at school as it was on my route!)

The Blackout - yards of horrible black material having to be hung at every window every evening for six years; the incredible sense of relief when the war was finally over and all the lights came on again; the difficulty of finding one’s way in the dark with only a small torch and being told frequently ‘don’t waste the battery’; oddly enough I never remember being afraid in the dark though.

The Radio - possibly the most important item in any house during the dark days of the war; the 9 o’clock news with the announcer giving his name and my father listening so intently - now I think we were only told what the Government wanted us to hear, as little bad news as possible and plenty of propaganda about how evil the Nazis were. The fun programmes we avidly lapped up - Workers’ Playtime, Monday Night at 8 o’clock, Arthur Askey and Richard ‘Stinker’ Murdoch in their imaginary flat over the ´óÏó´«Ã½, the Navy Lark, Much Binding in the Marsh, Valentine Dyall as the Man in Black - it was such a vital lifeline.

The Armed Forces - my brother was mad to join the R.A.F. as soon as he was old enough, I can still hear him saying ‘I hope the war lasts long enough for me to join up’. He did eventually join the RAF, trained as a navigator in South Africa but was never in action as the war came to an end. If the war had lasted three months longer I would have been called up for active service but I managed to escape that. When I finished school I had various jobs in the centre of Birmingham as a junior shorthand typist, none of which were very exciting, but the city was full of men in uniform, British, American, French, Polish, all nationalities. One of the worst things for a young girl to do in our most respectable society was to go out with an American soldier - it virtually led to being ostracised, particularly if he was coloured. However, I did meet the man who was to be my husband at the end of the war - he was so handsome in his RAF. uniform.

Entertainment - virtually the only entertainment available was films and dances. Film shows were film shows then - an ‘A’ picture, a ‘B’ film, Pathe News, a cartoon, trailers and advertisements - wonderful Hollywood extravaganzas, British propaganda films, disguised as love stories or comedies. And the dances! Nearly all the men in uniform, mostly with two left feet, the air thick with cigarette smoke, and the music too loud but great fun.

Oddments - collecting shrapnel (distorted chunks of metal from antiaircraft guns) after an air raid and my Father’s beautiful, huge, prize marrow being sliced in half by a piece of shrapnel; painting one’s legs and drawing a dark line up the back of them to make it look as though you were wearing stockings with a seam; Winston Churchill’s inspiring speeches; The King’s Christmas speeches; Princess Elizabeth in A.T.S. uniform with her head under the bonnet of a lorry; D-Day (6th June 1944) the day of my father’s funeral; the sense of ‘togetherness’ as a country and the determination that we would not be beaten. So many memories - a wonderful, inspiring, dreadful, exciting, frightening time to have lived through and survived but a time I pray my children, grandchildren and great grandchildren will never have to experience.

Jean Staveley

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