大象传媒

Setting the Scene
Northern Ireland or Ulster, as it is more commonly called, although three of Ulster's
nine counties are in the Irish Republic, had a unique position during World War 2. It was the only part of the UK that had a land boundary (the borber) with another country, Eire or the Irish Free State. Neither part of Ireland had conscription but young men and women from both parts flicked to join the British forces. Indded at least three of the British Generals, later to become Field Marshals, were of IUrish stock.

Northern Ireland playede a very important role in the Allies' cause. Londonderry was a miin base for the Battle of the Atlantic with Royal Navy, US NAvy and Royal Canadian Navy warshipos operating from there. Lower Lough Erne in county Fermanagh was the RAF Coastal Command base for Sunderland and Catalina flying boats that hunted the predatory German U-boats as they tried to sink the merchant shipos on the life-saving convoys from the US to Britain.

The government of Eire granted the RAF an air corridor (the Ballyshanon corridor) over county Donegal so that by using a direct route to the north Atlantic vital fuel was saved. RAF crews that made emergency landings in neutral Eire were usually slippped quitely back over the border to Northern Irealnd.

The nights of 7th until 16th Apriul 1941 saw Belfast and surrounding areas suffer catastropic air raids bt Luftwaffe aircraft fron bases in occupied Norway. Again Eire helped the Northern Ireland war effort by sending fire brigade units from Dublin, Drogheda and Dundalk.

The Irish/Ulster Game
People in Northern Ireland were subject to the same wartime restrictions as their cousins in the rest of the UK: rationing of essential items, the blackout, identity cards, travel restrictions, etc.

However, Northern Ireland had one advantage over the rest of the UK. Its border with Eirew encouraged the Irsih/Ulster game of smuggling. Trains going south from Belfast to Dublin had thin female passengers who returned looking as if they were in the family way. They were encased below their outer garments, in parcels of tea, sugar, bacon and other items in short supply north of the border. At Christmas time the same female passengers went south childless and returned carrying babies in shawls. The babies were turkeys or sides of delicious Irish ham.

The almost non-stop frequency of funerals crossing the border from south to north interested the customs officials in both jurisdictions, especialy as the same mournres were always at every funeral. the cortege was stopped and very reverently the coffin was opened. No human corpse! The contents were items in short supply in the north.

Farher to the Rescue
My parents were not amonmg the well-to-do members of Northern |Ireland society. In fact the outbreak of war had a devasting effect upon my father#s small wholesale grocery business. But that did not prevent his providing for my mother and me. The weekly food ration was not sufficient for a growing child. Father's long brown gaberdine raincoat with its deep pockets was an aladdin's cave out of which would materialise every week extras such as country butter and grey duck eggs.

He was not a smuggler. He was a supplier of essential items to his family. (Was he the Joe in Dad's Army?) One cold and wet winter's evening he was travelling home on the local bus with a newspaper wrapped parcel on his knee. Unknown to him one duck egg was peeping out into the world. A policeman friend sat down beside him and a asked the searching question, "Is that a paiur of boots you have there?"

Father replied in the affirmative. His friend's next question was a request for a similar pair. The next day the policeman received a dozen duck eggs.

Cigarettes were rationed and father was a hevy smoker. He could always find a source to minimise his craving. One of our neighbours inthe terrace of four house was an even heavier smoker, and the lack of an adequate supply was severely affecting his nerves. He would come to father and sit on the end of the couch in our tiny kitchen, twisting and rubbing his hands. Father always got him a supply at the proper retail price to calm him down. The balck market of wartime was not father's way of helping a friend.

The Profiteer
Unfortunately not all grocers, whether retail or wholesale, were as honest. A few years after the end of the war a fellow grocer sent fror father. The man had retired and was suffering the final stages of an incurable illness. His conscience was troubling him as he knew he would son meet his Maker. He wanted father tom hear what he had done during the war.

He had sold country butter to the housewives in the little streets of the SHankill and Falls roads. But he had not sold pure butter. To make an inflated profit he had mixed in lard and sold the mixture as pure country butter for which the hoiuewives had paid the price in good faith for nourishing butter for their children. Father told him to speak with a minister of religion. He did not attend the funeral.

Here come the Yanks
The war years were fascinating for a child. Near my home was aRoyal Artillery post with two anti-aircraft guns. My friends and I often went along to the post but the soldiers woulkd not talk to us because they were on duty. The RA left and in came the US army. What a difference! "HI, kids. Have some candy. What do you call your sisre?" was the order of the day, even if you did not have a sister.

A Paratrooper Warning
To save the population from Hitler's airborne onslaught the government had builrt air raid shelters in every corner of the UK. The one for our corner was in our back garden. One day the US army's two guns opened fire. A neighbour ran intom our house and prclaimed loudly that a German plane was overhead. Mother, never one to panic, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and dashed for the shelter, immediately followed by the neighbour and he family.

Being a committed teetotaller, mpther keep a bottle of brandy for mediciunal purposes only. She had the bottle with her and insisted on giving everyone a sip. "Good for the heart," she coaxed. I was given a sip and my heart almost stopped.

Well, after a few minutes no more salvos were heard and all seemed quiet. Mother looked cautiously round the shelter's blast wll to see if ant German paratroopers were in the garden. Seeing none, she informed the gathering they could resume normal life and we left the shelter. A demolition gang knocked it down in January 1946.

Wartime Schooldays
I cimmenced school in August 1944. One of my memories is waiting for the school bus and seing British army canvas topped lorries driving past with German prisoners of war sitting on wooden bench seats and being guarded by one British Tommy. They were on their way to work in the local brick works. On Sunday afternoons my friends and I saw a single file of twelve or fourteen prisoners out for a walk with one diminiutive Tommy, carrying a large rifle on his shoulder, as their guard. After the war many of those prisoners did not return to the paret of their homeland in Russian occupoation. Theyn remained in Northern Ireland andc were first class citizens.

Celevrations and Nylons
When the war in Europe ended in Mayb 1945, mother and the neighbours thougth they would demonstrate theiur thanks fof a sfe deliverance from the Nazi war machine, and in some cases from the Americans by making patriotic bunting to hang from the terrace. Although the government had derationalised somse cloth, the enterporising bunting makers did not have an adequate supply. From the design and shape of some of the bunting suspended in mid air, the passing populace realised the sacrifice of undergarments made by the terrace's ladies.

A victory bonfire was hastily built in a nearby field and we all went along to burn Hitler's effigy. The fie blazed up and the sparks shot out in all directions. A young lady cried out in alarm, not for her own safety, but because a spark had landed on her nylon stockings. We children wondered why she was making such a fuyss. The adulkts, especailly our mothers, were whispering that the spark on her nylons served her right because at that time nylons were available only from the American servicemen. We childre, even though we pestered our mothers, were never told why it served her right. (To this day I do not Know!)

Celebrations and a Cardboard Ticket
All the schools in our town organised a victory celebratioin in the local football field. There were races and other physiacl games. Best of all, we each had a cardboard ticket, which entitled us to a mouth scalding mug of tea and a large bun of a non-descriptive recipe.
The adults serving this repast were so overwhelmed by the rush of children that they were unable to keep count of children in direct ratio to cardboard tickets. The more enterprising, including myself, benefitted from this lack of accountability by having many extra refreshments.

The COIst
The war was over. The srevice men and women were coming home. Well, many were. others would lie forever in some foreign field or sleep beneath the waves of a vast ocean.. One who did not return home was my first cousin, a Flying Officer in the RAF. But that is another story.

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