大象传媒

DISCLAIMER:
This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Phil Sealey of the Somerset County Museum Team on behalf of Mrs V. E. Rogers and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions

鈥淚n rural Somerset, far from the theatres of War, I played a minor role by working on the land. As the only child of a delicate and possessive mother my horizons were restricted, but the demands of the War could not be ignored. So every day, clad in green battle dress, how rough and prickly it was, I cycled to a nursery formally devoted to the cultivation of Alpines, a large part of it now producing vegetables. Tomatoes took over my life, sowing seeds, pricking them out, transplanting, staking, tying, taking out the side shoots, watering carefully, picking the tomatoes at the right stage of their ripening, packing them ready for collection, and selling some to local people. This work turned my hands to the colour of my uniform and the peculiar tomato smell clung to me pervasively.
Out of season there were other jobs to be done and picking sprouts on icy winter mornings was a particular form of torture, but the coldness and hardships were warmed by companionship. Another girl of a similar age, and several men who for different reasons: age, health or conscientious objection, were also employed there. One of them was almost exclusively involved in keeping the alpine side of the nursery going, working closely with the nursery鈥檚 owner who turned up at various times when not engaged in writing books about the subject close to his heart. A pleasant occupation was picking apples on mellow late summer days. The orchard was near enough to where I lived for me to be able to go home for lunch.
Meanwhile the war dragged on. We shared our home with various evacuees. Bristol was badly bombed and my young cousin was sent from there to live with us. Regular dances were held in the Crispin Hall in Street attended by soldiers from nearby camps. Many local girls met their future husbands there - some becoming GI brides after America entered the war. Memorable concerts by the 大象传媒 Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Sir Adrian Boult, were held there to raise funds for the war. The Crispinian Room, a small hall adjoining Crispin Hall, became a British Restaurant where local women used their ingenuity and cooking skills to produce wholesome meals from meagre rations. Local housewives could take a break from conjuring up their own meals to eat there, and possibly come away with fresh ideas. Here they could meet and chat with friends - aware that 鈥楥areless talk costs lives鈥� as prominently displayed posters reminded them.
Blackout restrictions were strictly enforced and every evening before switching on the lights our home-made blackout blinds were put in place. Wardens would soon let us know if a chink of light could be seen. We would hear the intermittent engine sound of German bombers flying to and from Bristol. On one occasion a plane jettisoned its bombs in a field just outside of Street, the resulting crater becoming an object of interest to the local youths.
A part of C and J Clark鈥檚 shoe factory was taken over by a Weymouth armaments firm and my future father-in-law came from Weymouth to manage it. He and his wife rented a house near my home and our parents became acquainted. I met my husband when he came home on leave from the Army. My father-in-law wanted to find work for me in the factory, but instead I took the opportunity to work in a nursery nearer home, where I joined a small team of young women working hard growing vegetables, but having fun as well.
Meeting my husband meant the events going on across the channel gave me even greater cause for concern as I faced the possibility of the love I had found being taken away from me. The nursery on the slope of a hill over looked the road along which at approximately the same time each day a red post office van travelled. If I happened to see it pass I told myself there would be a letter from my husband waiting for me when I arrived home, and more often than not this proved to be true. I don鈥檛 know how many times I glanced, with an attempt at casualness, in that direction. I think we all had our private rituals to help us through that time.
VE Day - street parties, flag waving and a sense of euphoria - was followed 3 months later by the arrival of the first atomic bomb. Then VJ Day, but a new unpredictable force had been unleashed on the world and, like countless others, I looked forward to the future with a mixture of trepidation and gladness.鈥�

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