大象传媒

During the war and afterwards, Mam worked at all kinds of jobs to earn enough
to live on. One job was being caretaker of Mainsforth Terrace Church. She used to clean the inside of the building and stoke the boilers with coke for the week-end services. Another job was as a school cleaner and I can remember sitting in silent, empty
classrooms waiting for her to finish, but it gave me the chance to read many books which I would otherwise have never seen. Mam was nearly taken to Court at one time, because she had left a light on in a school cloak-room and the room had a skylight, so the light could have been seen from above. An Air Raid Warden came to the house and escorted her back to the school to put the light out. He said that she would probably be fined for her lack of care, but nothing further was heard of the matter. You may think
that leaving on a light was no great crime, but an enemy aircraft could have seen it and
used it as a guide to his position, (providing of course that he knew that the light was in that particular school!). All the street lamps had been put out at the start of the war and were not switched on again until after the war ended. Dark nights were really dark in those days !

Another thing that comes to mind is the fact that all railings were taken away to be used in the manufacture of bombs, shells, etc. Church railings, park railings, house railings, the lot. It may seem to you, reading this, that life was hard and somewhat stressful for us, but that is not really so becuase we didn't actually know anything else.You may think that life has been good to you and was
not so good for us. Well, the first part is true, but the second part is not. We were poor and had to make do with a lot less, naturally. But there were compensations. As I said earlier, people were much more friendly then and everybody helped everybody else.
Money can only buy possessions, not happiness. Try and remember to accept
whatever life brings, whether pleasurable or painful. Live your lives with your eyes wide open, day by day, then one day you can tell your children your story.

We moved to Hendon Burn Avenue sometime during 1940/1 but I can鈥檛
remember where from. We had lived in Ward Street, Herrington Street, Thompson Street and Robinson Terrace, so it could have been from either of the last two. Anyway,we moved on a cold, wet day, on the local coal man鈥檚 horse and cart. The miserable old man wouldn鈥檛 let us ride on the cart, so we had to walk behind, like the woman in the old song.

We soon made friends in the street and quickly settled into our new home. Fatty Burns (goodness knows how he got fat) lived at the top of the street, Percy Seymour and Alan Davison lived in a side street. Monica Binns and her sister lived two or three doors away from us. Dennis Gains lived on the other side of the street and he became an
orchestral violinist in adult life. Lillian Hooks lived with her widowed mother just up from us and John Glendenning lived in a very posh house in Athol Park. His father was the local butcher and kept a shop in Suffolk Street. John became a policeman when he grew up. Another boy whose surname was Holsen but whose Christian name I have forgotten lived near us and his father was in the Norwegian Navy. I can remember that once, whilst on our way to school, he stopped a policeman and asked him if he could stop his father hitting him.

Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler lived in our street and they had a great big chocolate
Easter egg in a glass case in their front room. It had been intended for their baby son,but he had died before having the chance to try it. Next door to us the two Misses Lawson lived. They kept a bakery shop in Suffolk Street. Old Miss Tilley lived two doors away. She was a chain-smoker and spent most of her time in bed. Mam often went in to clean her house. Margaret Wright lived in the next street. Leslie Chapman lived near us and he was the local leper. Poor lad, he had cut his face on a tin as a baby and the cut became infected, resulting in permanent open sores on his face. People used to
stare at him wherever he went. Mam used to take him with us when we went to the town
or the park or the pictures. I dare say that when penicillin became available after the war, his condition was cured. Another boy who lived near us had a brother in the RAF and he had been awarded the D.F.M. He invited us to go and see the medal, which we duly did. There was a party going on in their house, with some RAF men in attendance. They were sitting around the piano, singing. The pianist reached up to get his pint and promptly spilled the lot over the keyboard. Wizard prang!

The thought of death never entered our heads as children, although people were dying every day. Death, to a small boy, is a remote concept which only affects others. This was all to change. Rose Mellentin鈥檚 father was lost at sea. Margaret Wright鈥檚 father was killed in a tank battle. Other children lost fathers or brothers or uncles. I can remember sitting in the house one cold winter day watching the snow pile up on top of
the back yard wall and thinking that IT was getting very close. Little did I know how close.

In February, 1945, Tom, Peggy and myself came home from school one dinner
time and found a crowd of neighbours standing around our door. I knew in an instant what had happened. That moment changed my life. Mam was in the kitchen, red-eyed and looking very unhappy. She told us that Dad had been killed in Italy. To say that it was a shock is an under-statement. It was devastating! Dad would not be coming home after all those long years away from us. I was nearly ten and he had been away since I was four and a bit, so I cannot claim that I knew him well. But he was our Dad and we had clung to the belief that one day he would come back to us. That belief was shattered in a trice and our little world fell apart. I hope that I may be forgiven for
wishing that it had been someone else鈥檚 Dad. The tears flowed copiously for a long
time and I am not in the least ashamed to say that for many years afterwards, just
thinking about our loss reduced me to tears. Never be afraid to show your emotions. Cry if you want to. It is all part of the healing process. Time heals all wounds and we eventually came to terms with our sadness. I must admit though that for years afterwards I really believed that his reported death was a mistake and he would still come home to us. Perhaps it was because he had been killed abroad and there had been no funeral. Who knows?

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Since writing the above, I have received my father鈥檚 army records and find that he served in France, North Africa, Persia, Iraq, Sicily and Italy. I have also obtained the medals to which he was entitled and these are now framed and are hung with pride in my home.

I have also been to Florence twice to see my Dad鈥檚 resting place in the Military Cemetery there. The first time was in 1999 and I went alone because I felt that I needed the time to myself. The second time was just four weeks ago and I took my two eldest grand-children with me. They were as impressed as I was initially by the beauty and serenity of the place. When I got a little upset and said that my Dad had died for nothing,given the present state of our society, my grandson put his arm round me and said that he had died for me and for him and his mother, his aunt and cousins and for our freedom. He
was right.

My life was changed by the war, of that there is no doubt. It鈥檚 not possible to say how it would have been had my Dad come home, but our family would have been
complete and that would have made any hardships bearable.

In recent years I have come to realise how much impact my Dad鈥檚 death really had on me and I have written a few poems on the subject of his death. Perhaps these may be acceptable and fit for inclusion in your project. In any case I will show them below and leave their fate in your hands. I wish you every success in your efforts to have the war remembered from the point of view of those left at home.

Yours sincerely,
Ray Smith

The Telegram Boy
The sad-eyed boy rides down the street,
he鈥檚 looking for number eighteen.
His shiny red bike with the shiny black seat
knows exactly what sorrow he鈥檚 seen.

The buff envelope in his small leather case
spells the end of somebody鈥檚 dreams.
He鈥檚 delivered so many, this poor sad boy,
who is barely into his teens.

The door opens wide and a woman stands there
with heart and hands all a-shaking.
She answers the knock of the boy with white hair
and pities the way he is quaking.

He hands her the message of death with a sigh,
he knows there can be no reprieve.
Hundreds of times he鈥檚 seen pain in the eyes
of those for whom such news he leaves.

鈥淭here鈥檒l be no reply,鈥� says the woman in tears.
鈥淭hank you for obviously caring.鈥�
The boy rides away, to the end of his years
he鈥檒l bear the deep scars of his sharing.

The Visit
I went to see my Dad today,
as a sad small boy of ten.
I went to see my Dad today,
it was good to meet again.

I was sad for all the bitter tears,
the years so far apart.
Small within because the years
haven鈥檛 aged at all my heart.

The day stilled my unquiet soul,
the tears freely flowed.
He held me like a father should,
deep love for me he showed.

I told him all the many things
he鈥檇 never heard me say.
The words he should have heard from me
the day he went away.

I know that God was there with us,
I felt His presence near.
He knows the pain a loss can bring,
He knows the cruel spear.

He told me Dad was safe with Him,
and grieved with me in sorrow.
He said 鈥淩emember only this,
his love won鈥檛 end tomorrow.鈥�

I went to see my Dad today,
as a man of sixty four.
I went to see my Dad today,
God rest him ever more.

To My Dad
When we were young you went away,
but you promised to come back.
We thought about you every day,
of love there was no lack.

We sometimes got a letter
or a mention on a card.
We thought life would get better,
but it only got more hard.

Five long years we waited
and the war was nearly won,
but your family was fated
not to see the rising sun.

You were killed in Italy
after all that time away.
The telegram put it pithily,
鈥榳e much regret to say鈥�

Some blows can destroy you
and I think that nearly did.
Our lives were changed forever,
and we were all just kids.

I didn鈥檛 know you then, Dad,
and I still don鈥檛 know you now,
but one day I鈥檒l become 鈥榶our lad鈥�,
we鈥檒l meet again somehow.

It may not be just as I need,
I can鈥檛 dictate the terms.
But God鈥檚 own mercy will concede
I need your loving arms.

Now let my heart be no more broken,
let me live again.
Let these words which went unspoken
help to heal the pain.

I loved you, Dad, and I always will,
but I couldn鈥檛 tell you so.
I loved you then and I love you still.
Why did you have to go?

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