大象传媒

I was only 11 years of age at the start of the war in 1939. I had heard discussions between my parents and grandparents, about the likelihood of the coming war, so it was no surprise to me that we were issued with gas masks and information on their use.
The day war broke out, we heard our first Air Raid Siren and mother quickly despatched us to a cupboard under the stairs, whilst she and my father listened carefully to the radio.
The 鈥楢ll clear鈥� came quickly and mother鈥檚 first task was to get the old Singer sewing machine out and make us covers for our gas masks and identity cards. They were originally contained in cardboard boxes which would soon have worn out. She also made 鈥楤lack-out鈥� curtains. We were the first children in the street to have these covers, and my father was one of the first Air Raid Wardens. He was too old to enlist, being some 14 years older than my mother.
We attended school during the Battle of Britain and many hours were spent in the shelters. During one air raid, we heard the bombs fly overhead, but it wasn鈥檛 until the 鈥榓ll clear鈥� sounded, we realised just how lucky we had been. A land mine had exploded and it had made a crater just beyond the school. The village parents streamed into school, fearing the worst.
Although I was only 11 years old, I helped my mother knitting for the forces. The Womens Voluntary Services issued us with wool and we made socks, scarfs and jumpers, mainly for the Army and Navy. The wool for the Navy was particularly difficult to handle as it was oiled and was tough on the skin. Every scrap of it had to be accounted for and we mainly knitted on wooden needles.
When I was a little older, I managed to buy the entire stock of a Haberdasher and painstakingly joined the darning wool together, to make myself a jumper and socklets for the boots which we wore in the shelters. Mother cut up an old fur stole to make gloves. Old coats were turned into dressing gowns for the cold nights in communal shelters.
People would shelter under the stairs or sometimes even in a bath with a wooden top over it. We unravelled knitted jumpers, washed the wool and made other garments from it.
At one time, my sister and I, were enrolled in a quite elite convent school and the uniforms were a problem. We bought one summer dress, second hand and the other, mother made out of curtain material. Boy, how we hated the times we had to wear the 鈥榗urtain鈥� uniform, for the material made us perspire profusely.
At the school, we were given a treat for doing well in our work. It was a ride on Mother Superior鈥檚 pony and trap.
We often passed an internment camp for German Prisoners Of War. We were admonished not to stare at the prisoners, but it was tempting as there were German Shepherds guarding them and the German uniforms were quite unique.
On a bus returning from visiting friends in the seaside town of Whitstable, there was a 鈥榙og fight鈥� overhead, and some Shrapnel hit the top of the bus. We all had to lie in a field at the side of the road. Two Germans parachuted from their plane, one landing in a tree and the other nearby. People don鈥檛 ever believe, that the series 鈥楧ad鈥檚 Army鈥� was so near to the truth, but believe me it was. One chap with a pitchfork and the other with a rifle, collected their prisoners and took them away in the back of a farmer鈥檚 van. We continued on our journey but were fearful that our house had been hit by an enormous bomb. Fortunately, we were O.K. It had exploded harmlessly in open country.
The Battle of Britain was becoming more intense, so with my mother, grandmother and sister, I was evacuated into Devon. We had the opportunity of becoming Government evacuees and moving to Canada or the U.S.A. but the family decided to stay together. Grandpa handed over his precious binoculars and the iron railings at the school were given up for the war effort.
We later moved to the Midlands. Food was always a problem but particularly when anyone was sick and needed anything special. Mother queued for ages to get me some fish when I had gastroenteritis only to be told there was none left. This was particularly galling for her, when she knew that hotels and 鈥楤lack Market鈥� profiteers were always being supplied. People were kind and a lady offered half of what she had bought. The vicar of the church I attended, brought me a tiny drop of brandy and port which cured my stomach bug.
Some of mother鈥檚 food turned out well and some not so well. She added beetroot to apples to make them go further but they tasted awful. My father couldn鈥檛 stomach it, so we girls were excused also. However, she did make a wondrous cake one time, and we were all quite puzzled as to where the fat had come from. We only learned in later years, that the cake was mixed with medicinal paraffin oil. We had one or two parcels sent to us from an uncle in India and they were a Godsend. They contained large packets of tea and sugary sweets. One parcel which was thought to be just rancid butter, was ordered to be thrown away by my father. Mother knew that Indians ate this butter - I believe it鈥檚 called 鈥楪hee鈥�. She made cakes with it and we all lived to tell the tale.
We lived in a flat over a shop and were dismayed when the cat downstairs had kittens. They could not be fed, so my father had the terrible job of drowning them. We did save enough food from our rations though to feed the mother cat.
We had adequate food but always lacked anything really tasty. Fortunately, we always managed to buy chips and carbonated drinks from the local shop. At the chemist, we could sometimes get a tin of black currant puree which was heavenly and really nourishing.
Although young, I was a terrific film fan from the age of five, after being taken so much by my grandmother. It was a blow to me, that because I did not have a regular order of the magazine 鈥楶icturegoer鈥� I could not get a copy delivered. I made do with second hand copies which could be exchanged at the shop, for other precious looks at life in Hollywood. The pages were so thin, they had to be handled with extreme care.
Envelopes were slit open and used to write on. Then labels would be stuck on them so that they were used as often as possible. In offices, pencils had to be used down to the stumps and handed in before a new one could be issued. Silver paper was carefully smoothed out and then handed in to the voluntary services.
As a Girl Guide, I spent many hours carrying messages to the local hospital on an old Raleigh bicycle. It was an uphill ride in all weather鈥檚 but everyone felt that even the children could help in this time of crisis.
The material side of the war was hard, but the effect of the buff coloured telegrams that arrived so frequently were traumatic. Our neighbour had a husband serving on a minesweeper. It was Mrs. Small who called with 鈥榯he envelope鈥�. As my father was away, mother was delegated to read the message. It was to say that her husband had been killed. We also received our own telegram when my twenty one year old, pilot cousin was killed on his last mission before his leave was due to start. It was the first time that I had seen my father cry.
My school days ended when I was fourteen. As I had been to so many schools, I was a poor student. I learnt shorthand typing and became a secretary at a local building society. I badly wanted to go into the factory as the pay was 拢3 a week against my poor 拢1. 5. 0d. However, it was not considered ladylike so I toiled for this meagre sum. To save money, I cycled to work. I often landed up behind a truck carrying Italian prisoners of war. They were a happy bunch but I found it embarrassing when they whistled. The good hearted British Corporal, always reassured me they meant no harm.
I went to the cinema many times in a week, collecting sandwiches and a flask of coffee after work. It was a form of escapism and very affordable, although there were often long queues for the favourite pictures.
We had many American soldiers where we lived in Leicester, and I had been warned to have nothing to do with them at any time. I was approached once by a 鈥榊ank鈥� as we called them and he offered me 鈥榝orbidden fruit鈥�, (a Hershey Bar). I had just had a most disagreeable meal at a British canteen and was feeling particularly aggressive towards the luxury the Americans had, and I told him so. He turned out to be a delightful young man and when he assured me his that his intentions were honest, I took the chocolate bar but refused the gum. I could hardly believe my luck. I shared it with my fellow office workers and saved a square for my sister. Sweets had never tasted so good.
My uncle suffered the humiliation of being in a 鈥榬eserved occupation鈥� and as he had no uniform, was considered to be a 鈥楥onscientious Objector鈥�. However, he did have a responsible and dangerous job. He was in charge of the Esso plant at Fawley. If the Germans had bombed that, the country would have been ablaze.
Mother did her bit for the War Effort, she worked part time for the Womens Voluntary Services darning clothes. She taught me how to do this. She grew fresh vegetables in the garden, saved every scrap of paper and string, and even looked after evacuees from the London Blitz, as well as teach my sister and I how to be survivors. Due to the shortage of staff at hospitals, visiting hours were also curtailed and her dear mother was dying of cancer. Her poor brother did not arrive in time to see his mother before she died.
Clothing coupons were very carefully used. Mine were traded for clothes from a friend. She had money and I had little. When there were sweets on offer, my sister sold me hers. I had a sweet tooth and she wanted to buy books.
My own dear mother has now died. She deserved a medal for her quiet courage. We often asked her in those early days, if we were going to die. She would laugh and answer.
鈥淥nly when you are quite old and your time has come.鈥�
She worried about my father, who because of his claustrophobia, would not go into a shelter. He would 鈥榙on鈥� his Air Raid Warden鈥檚 helmet and stay out, in the open even at the height of the bombing.

Anne Downs.
Caringbah. N.S.W. Australia.

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