大象传媒

This story has been added to the People鈥檚 War website by Liz Andrew of the Lancshomeguard on behalf of Irene Porter and added to the site with her permission.

At the outbreak of War I was seven years old. My oldest brother was in the Royal Signals 鈥� he had joined up in 1935. My next brother was in the Territorials and I distinctly remember there was a barracks in Padiham Road and we watched him marching off to War. They were going from the Barracks to Preston 鈥� then off to Egypt and the Middle East. My mum and dad were still at home with me and two other brothers.

The sirens went off soon after the Outbreak of War. We already had an Andersen shelter. We also had a new kitten. My youngest brother picked up the kitten and dived into the shelter 鈥� only to find himself up to the chin in water. 鈥� Blow the bloody kitten,鈥� said my mum. Actually I think it was only a practice.

Father worked at a mill where they made looms 鈥� they were called Butterworth and Dickinsons. My mum worked in the Munitions Factory at Chorley. She used to come home yellow, I presume from putting the explosives into bombs.

My third brother also worked at Butterworth and Dickinsons. He had an accident there which splintered his rib. It perforated his lung and he ended up with TB. He was sent to the Sanatorium at Blencathra near Keswick and then to Grange over Sands.

One thing that really stands out in my memory is the Telegraph Boy. He had a flat peaked cap and sometimes came on his bike. Sometimes he came on foot. If you saw him you knew that someone had been killed. One afternoon he came to us. My mother answered the door. The telegram said my brother, Donald Ross, was missing in action after the Battle of El Alamein. Donald was only a little fellow but he had been on the Big Guns.

My mother was hysterical. I went to Rose Grove School and the following day at Assembly the headteacher asked, as she always did, whether anyone had any news. I told Miss Woolley about Donald 鈥� but there was nothing they could do.

This went on for two weeks 鈥� but my mother never quite gave up hope. Then a fortnight later the Telegram Boy came again. We thought, 鈥淥h No 鈥� It鈥檚 Alec this time,鈥� But it was from Donald 鈥� Just two lines 鈥淚 am safe. Promoted Lance Bombardier. Donald.鈥� It was a terrific relief. After that he went all the way through North Africa and Italy.

My father always bought two copies of the Burnley Express and it was my job to wrap them in brown paper and send them on to Donald and my other brother, Alec. We had no idea where Alec was but the papers followed them through the Desert. Alec was in the Long Range Desert Group. He was a Despatch rider and he worked behind enemy lines. He was a member of Popski鈥檚 Private Army 鈥� later to become the SAS.

On one occasion they both my brothers met up in Cairo. Alec was outside a pub when an army truck came screaming up to a halt. Donald jumped out. They both got drunk and Donald asked Alec for a ride on his Despatch motorbike.

In 1944 two evacuees had been billeted on the next avenue to ours. One day they met up with four local lads, including my brother, Roy, then aged about thirteen or fourteen. They climbed up Hambledon Hill which had been used as a firing range. One of them picked up a shell. Roy told him to put it down but the boy threw it down and four boys were killed in the explosion that followed. Roy was lucky 鈥� he was wearing a leather RAF flakjacket and he turned his back as the shell hit the ground. His jacket was ripped to shreds 鈥� but he was OK.

The same year my mother became very ill with Hodgkins disease. We brought her bed downstairs and I slept with her. I was twelve years old. She kept saying, 鈥淭he Boys are coming home, the boys are coming home.鈥� She believed in spirits and said she鈥檇 seen it written on the wall.

One night there was a knock at the door. My brother Ken leapt down the stairs to answer it and a man walked in. He had a beard and his hair was down to his shoulders. I took one look at him and said, 鈥淢other, Who鈥檚 that?鈥� and my mum said, 鈥淚t鈥檚 your brother, Alec.鈥�

Two days later there was another knock. This time it was Donald. They had come home from North Africa in the same convoy but Alec came into Liverpool while Donald had come through Southampton. Donald was a nervous wreck. He spent some time in the military hospital at Calderstones. Though he recovered he was never really the same again 鈥� he had nightmares and even now he won鈥檛 go outdoors on Bonfire Night. Any big bang startles him.

My mother died in 1945, a month before the end of the War. I was still at High School. I broke out in boils when she died and I went to the clinic where they cut off all my hair. I had to wear a turban. On VE night my brother, Kenneth got out the curling tongs and curled my short hair so I could join in the Celebrations outside the Town Hall.

I remember when they lifted the Blackout we lived on the Palace House Estate on Rosegrove and I got on my bike and cycled around looking in people鈥檚 windows and at all the lights and all the coloured curtains.

We weren鈥檛 the only family to be affected locally by the War. I remember our neighbour, nicknamed Tiddly Bill went down with The Hood. A friend鈥檚 dad was killed at Dunkerque and another one鈥檚 dad at the D Day Landings. For us the worst thing was the episode with Donald. My brother Alec went on to Bletchley Park where he met his future wife, Lillian, and they got married down there. Afterwards he went into the Diplomatic Corps as a liaison officer. He died last year (2004).

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