大象传媒

The deep sonorous voice boomed out of the large wireless telling us all slowly and sadly that Britain was at war with Germany. My mother burst into tears upon my father's shoulder whilst I stood feeling quite wretchedly useless, not big enough to offer comfort nor wise enough to understand the frightening change wrought upon my usually light-hearted parents. All of two minutes later the heavy gloom lifted a great deal as my father held me close softly singing a ballad. That September day marked the beginning of daily 'shushes' to listen to every scrap of news that became a rigid home rule that only an extreme emergency was allowed to break. It seemed that big wooden wireless gobbled up accumulators as the well-educated announcer supplied us with the latest censored news. And mother saved those last coppers out to pay the price for the accumulators to be filled so we didn't miss a word of it amidst the crackle of a near empty one. Grown ups didn't play so much with us little folk and took to talking in numbers of "whose been called up" which progressed as a war time habit forever it seemed to me counting and accounting "how many shelters?" "How many gas masks?" "How we can help". At first after the initial shock and sadness there was a bustling busyness, everyone eager to grow more, sow more and dig for victory, each in his own way glad to give for Britain their services. Many a time a mother grieved a son, signing up before he was called. And how those few lily-livered call up dodgers were put to shame with symbolic white feathers sent in envelopes. No one ever knew who did the justice of course, they simply judged, sentenced and slipped into the unknown. At school we had square cardboard boxes delivered, upon which teacher wrote our names. We did as we were told and opened these containers to find a weird, wobbly-wonder-what-is-it that smelled just like my mothers raincoat all rubbery. But the contraptions were lifted onto our desks and our teacher patiently explained these odd -looking things were Mickey Mouse gas masks. Teacher then laughed and said, "I'm going to put mine on and make a very funny noise, see if you can do it too." So we all donned the wobbly weirdo鈥檚 and dutifully blew a concert of shocking raspberries, enjoying the pleasure of actually being allowed to make such a rude noise! Next, our lessons became punctuated by pick axes thumping away at the playground, digging a huge hole of an oblong shape. We were told it was to be a new classroom called a shelter and when it was finished we would be allowed to go in to it. Mean time we watched the shelter grow from the loads of cement to the gardens above from behind the fence, half way across the playground. The head mistress joyfully told us one day that the shelter was complete and we were all going in to see our new classroom. It was overwhelmingly cold, damp, dismal and all too ominously unnatural to us children despite those familiar toys, books and mats thoughtfully placed for us. The sloping entrance was far too steep which meant one of us inevitably fall, causing a hold up or worst still a pile up. But those cuddles and kisses came so fast, so willingly, so full of love and care that soon we sang Humpty Dumpty and all the songs we knew, swinging our legs up and down under the long wooden seats as we did so. Then the head mistress lit a big lamp and gently closed the big wooden shutter across the wooden hole (without a window). Here we all stopped in mid song, subdued by the poor light and hating even more the awful dank dirty smell. A smart clap of the hands, a cheerful bit of teachers' banter and we went again with Hickory Dickory Dock, realising young as we were, that this new shelter classroom was here to stay, part of our school so resiliently we accepted, though never ever liking the idea. The crunch came when we put Mickey Mouse and the new classroom together. That was just too much for most of us little folk who could stand being half smothered as we blew rude raspberries, but to try and do the same noise in the dimly lit smelly shelter was a real no go. When teacher said take of your Mickey Mouse, there was a distinct racket of rubbery thuds as we all threw those gas masks on the floor. A few plates had to be renewed after that little episode and we did get a sense of reprimand. So the news, counting, raspberry blowing etc continued as both at home and school we all settled down to a routine of wearing our gas masks to and fro, hanging them on their designated hooks. Then rationing became a necessity with the advent of shipping lanes becoming dangerous and often non-existent.Our daily diet became small in size with the emphasis on god old home produce. Chickens took residence in vast numbers in even the smallest of yards to ensure a supply of eggs, poultry and most important good manure. Every available window box sprouted tomatoes or French beans rather than gran鈥檚 geraniums whilst many a dark coal cellar shelf held a precious box of health giving mushrooms. Women met swapping the latest tips how to eke out the small supply of food everyone was allocated. And those with good husbands thanked God they were able to survive by sharing, unlike their less fortunate sisters who succumbed to infections without nourishment to fight disease.

Sweets were a rare treat mostly obtained at birthdays and Christmas or a few other special occasions. And cakes became a highlight of the week for Sunday tea which were proudly home baked in the kitchen range or a posh New World gas cooker. Bread, lard with a sprinkle of sugar tasted divine as a special treat for being good and how we tucked into the marg and syrup spread. Margarine then tasted most peculiar on its own a sort of whale oil and candle fat concoction. A favourite with some tasty Spam with dried scrambled eggs that was a beautiful colour. Sponge cakes made with these dried eggs were a lovely sunny yellow around the homemade apricot jam and delicious mock cream. Magazines were full of handy tips to save either fuel or food so stretching the meagre resources as a far as possible. Second helpings were a rarity so much so that if a brother or sister was off colour their unfancied tea always found a home!

Yet we had many pleasures despite the drastic times. Our toys were hand made being therefore often unique in design. Golliwogs came in various gay outfits alongside. Black Mammie dolls made lovingly from black stockings and scraps from discarded dresses and blouses. Hobby horses sported saddles from many a chair seat leather and wood from an old table, wardrobe etc. and who could forget the home made fudge, black treacle toffee, mint creams, butterscotch, coconut ice to name just a few that miraculously appeared each Christmas the result a lot of scrimping and saving by Mums. Oh and the family of fruit trees we had with everywhere an offer of an apple, pear and gooseberry, cherry etc. that did a lot to fill our growing tummies. We abhorred shop bought 2anything2 and knew the difference too if we tried any swearing 鈥渢hey鈥� put Swede in the jams and saccharine in the squash. We savoured freshly made lemonade in the summer and those sumptuous homely soups in Winter concocted from the eternal stock pot that grew more delicious smells each day and became the Saturday might delight after aerating out on Monday night with the bones from the Sunday joint.

Muffins, crumpets and other delights were available every week. They were a new treat but never enough and gone all too soon and all with the help of marvellous folk who gave of their little ration to help us children. Our parents gave vegetables eggs and poultry in return.

So we all survived with a great working together united and determined not to fall in our spirits to make the future better for those generation to come so that they may know peace, full bellies and hearts free from the pain of war.

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