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 Daphne Brunning,nee Baxter,and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions

鈥淚 went from Petersfield to Bridgwater when I was eight. My first billet was unhappy and I moved to Phyllis Glass鈥檚 in Coleridge Road. She had a two bedroomed house; Mr Glass senior occupied the back bedroom. I shared with Phyllis as her husband Bert was in the RAF. The Glass鈥檚 had a large chow called Wuffy. Phyllis鈥� mother Lillian West lived in West Street and, when Bert came home on leave, I had to share Mrs West鈥檚 feather bed and I could not understand why!
I walked every day to a school evacuated from Poplar, which was situated near Blake Gardens. Here I made friends with the Killick sisters, Peggy, Doris and Margy, billeted at the 鈥淣orth Pole鈥� in North Street. En route to school I would leave Coleridge Road round by the park and straight up the road, the river or canal was on the left. Meeting up with other children, sometimes we would walk on the towpath to the top of that road where we would turn left over the bridge, past the 鈥淢alt Shovel鈥� along North Street to the 鈥淣orth Pole鈥� to meet the Killick sisters, then left at the end of North Street through the town to school stopping at a shop that sold broken biscuits displayed in tins stacked outside the shop and buying large paper bags of our favourites.
We would often meet some Italian POWs on the corner of West Street and North Street who arrived in coaches or lorries to do agricultural work. Italians love children and we would often hang around to see them. One came from Naples and he taught me to sing Santa Lucia in Italian, a language I still enjoy today.
At school we had community singing where we learned national anthems from all over the world and many patriotic songs. For RE [Religious Education] homework we had to learn all the books of the Bible. I can still recite them all today. Once I was told to write an essay on any subject. I chose the Jacobites. I believe it was on this basis they expected me to pass my 11+! The school put on a concert on the bandstand in Blake Gardens and I danced and sang 鈥淭he sailor with the navy blue eyes鈥�. My mother sent me a sailor suit especially for the purpose. The school took us to see the bore [a tidal wave]. We all stood on the bridge across the river Parret. We could hear it coming. It was quite frightening.
I was one of a group of children, we went everywhere together, myself, the Killick sisters, Rex Ball, a local boy, and 鈥楽oapy鈥� Wills. His mother would not always let him come out. We used to play in the park where, one day, we were attacked by a German fighter and Rex Ball shouted for us to get into the bushes. Sometimes we would go to Wembdon Fields and watch the Lysanders fly over. Other times we would go with the men rabbiting. I suppose they were the local farmers. They would sell the pelts and some rabbits to the butchers and they would give a rabbit to us telling us not to eat the buckshot! I never felt threatened it was a different world in those days.
One weekend the Killick sisters and I met my mother at the railway station with my father. It must have been a year or more since I鈥檇 seen her and I asked my father 鈥淲ho鈥檚 the lady with you?鈥� He hissed, 鈥淚t鈥檚 your mother!鈥�. I remember my mother held Margy鈥檚 hand and sang 鈥淢argy鈥� to her -much to my disappointment. She had been directed into factory work at the K.L.G. sparking plug works in Roehampton Vale. I remember hearing Works Wonders on the radio and my mother singing, 鈥淐an I forget you鈥�.
We were given a great deal of freedom. I think my mother must have sent me a postal order and I took the Killick sisters to see 鈥淭he Great Dictator鈥� in the cinema. I don鈥檛 know what it was called but it was on the corner of North Street. Phil Glass took me to the seaside where there were tank traps on the beach, like scaffolding, I remember swinging on them. Another time I went to Cullompton, fruit picking. It was a catastrophe; I still hate camping and remember stirring the porridge with wood smoke in our eyes and mosquito larvae in the cold washing water. My first taste of scrumpy [cider] was with the old locals outside the pub. They thought we 鈥榝oreign鈥� children were highly amusing.
It would have been the summer of 1942 that I passed my Junior County examination and came back to London for school at Woking.鈥�

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