大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site by Mrs Richardson. She fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

---

Like many of us before the War, I was just an ordinary girl working as a cashier in the family Butchery business. I worked with my brother for three years and then, when he got married, I moved on to a shop in Knightsbridge. It was hard work but quite normal at that time; getting up early to travel from Northfields to open up the shop and work a ten hour day, all for 30/- a week.

It was about that time that the political situation between Britain and Germany was rather tense and my boyfriend Bert, being a member of the Territorial Army, was called to Arms. It all happened so quickly, he reported at the depot, was moved on and we had no idea of where he was. Imagination ran wild and stories, of how in WW1 troops called up went immediately to France, prompted me to think the worst. I was naturally very worried and visited his parents to find out if they had any information but to no avail. It was here that I heard the news, "We are at War with Germany". Later at my parents house I had a phone message from Bert to say he was not in France but at Holland Park and would be home for tea; what a wonderful relief that was.

The uncertainty of what was to come was very frightening and my parents were not prepared for this sort of situation. However we did have a cellar under the Butchers shop which could be used in an emergency. At twenty two years old, material thoughts of war and survival were almost non-existent and my main concern was that my lover boy had gone away. However you felt you just had to get on with life and take it as it comes. Bert and I had been very content with our way of life, spending much time together in long walks, enjoying the simple pleasures of each other's company. We could not afford frequent visits to the cinema but, when we did go, it was a very special event and Bert always bought me a bar of Cadbury's Milk Chocolate; what a lovely treat that was.

Considering the uncertain future ahead of us I suggested to Bert that, although we were already engaged, we should get married as soon as possible. He thought that under the circumstances we should wait, but I said I needed something to remember him by. I wished to be married and have at least one child whilst he was still with me. He eventually agreed and, being the gentleman he was, went to my father and asked his permission. However, being just twenty two years old and making a decision under pressure, the question of whether we could afford it or not was not important. It was approaching Xmas and, as both our families were in the Buchery business and would have to stay open until late on Xmas Eve, we would have to be married over Xmas. The Vicar was hesitant since it was not normal practice to conduct weddings during that time but, under these exceptional circumstances, he agreed and we were married on Boxing Day 1939.

It was a bitterly cold day with a thick yellow fog trying to cast a cloud over our celebrations, but it was our day and we braved the elements to make it one of the happiest days of our life. Next day we gathered together all our parcels of wedding presents and luggage. Father ordered a taxi to take us to Waterloo and, after many goodbyes, we were on our way. Well, that was what we thought as the taxi, which Father had insisted on paying for, carried us in comfort towards the station. Bert suddenly realised he had no wallet in his pocket. It had been left back there on the dressing table. All the money we possessed, just 拢5.00, and his Army papers was in it so we had no choice but to turn back. It was a mad rush back to Waterloo and we arrived as the train was about to leave. The guard objected to all our luggage being stored in his van but, after much persuasion, he relented and we settled down for our journey to Portsmouth.

After the hectic events of the past few days, the relaxing journey by train was just what we needed and prepared us for this journey into the unknown; a new life together. It was hassle all over again, unloading all our parcels and luggage and dragging it to the ferry for the last stage of our journey to Gosport. We had rented a one bedroom flat with lounge, dining room and kitchen at a rent of 12 /6 per week including electricity. Bert was stationed at the Barracks and had a sleeping out pass so we were more fortunate than some, although the conditions under which we shared our life was certainly not ideal.

Life was a daily struggle to make ends meet; the rationing of bread, butter, milk and sugar brought out culinary skills which people never realised they possessed. The limitations imposed with 1/- worth of meat plus 2p of corned beef and perhaps some sausage, if you were lucky, supplemented by vegetables grown in gardens, window boxes, and flower pots, were soon overcome by the need to survive. Another problem was the shortage of coal. It started off at 1/6 per cwt but soon increased to 1/11. Our coalman was most apologetic but he was a good man and would have supplied us with more, but we could not afford it. At that time, on a total income of 29/- per week, our daily spend was calculated down to the last penny and nothing was wasted. Later, when my income increased to 31/-, it was marvellous having a few more pennies to spend. However, with children around, it was not always possible to maintain a stringent pattern of life and just a few moments distraction could result in crisis. With no fridge, food was stored in a cupboard and the inquisitive nature of children tends to be forgotten. That was how I lost much of a week's rations when I found my daughter sitting on the floor mixing a lovely pie of butter, sugar and anything else she could lay hands to. Fortunately mother-in-law and neighbours came to the rescue and helped out with little bits of everything. That was the nature of people born from the trauma of a common struggle for survival.

We had been married just eight months when a very cruel blow disrupted the quality of our life. Bert had come off duty and we settled down for the night but, in the early hours of the morning we were called to the front door by a warden with a sombre expression who announced he had bad news for us. My parents had been killed in the Blitz. Bert got a 72 hours leave and he took me to his parents in Ealing. They had lived a very close relationship with my parents and were therefore very shocked by the news. We visited the scene of the disaster which was a very sad and disturbing experience for me. To see the place where I had spent much of my early life completely demolished along with the house next door, just a pile of rubble spread across the street, was just too much for my already shocked state of mind.

The lady next door had also been killed but her daughter had been blown out into the street. She apparently disappeared for about two weeks and returned with no knowledge of where she had been. It was strange that my father, who had suffered with breathing problems for many years and had not expected to last out the war, was taken suddenly in that way. To add to my problem, my parents Butchery business, which had survived, had to continue serving the public until the Ministry organised an alternative source of supply for our customers. I stayed for about three weeks but, trying to cope with the additional stress of losing my parents, it was just too much and I handed the business over.

It was also a very frightening time in this area with almost continuous Air Raids and yet somehow it was exciting to watch the spectacle of planes moving about in the sky, pot marked with a pattern of exploding shells, in a horrendous atmosphere of gunfire and explosions. If caught out in the open during a raid the safest place, other than a dash to the shelter, was to sit in the gutter and keep the body low on the ground. On one occasion, when returning to Gosport, I had just reached Waterloo Station when a very heavy raid started. We were not allowed in, but I was not keen to stay outside with bombs dropping all around, so I moved along the outside wall towards the sidings end of the platforms. The scream and bursting of bombs became unbearable and I dived into the gutter for protection. I felt much safer there but most uncomfortable and my nice raincoat was plastered with mud.

Back at Gosport there was spasmodic bombing in the area and on this day I had spent four hours in the Air Raid shelter and was pleased when Bert came home after eighteen hours on duty. As the sound of the bombers faded we would retire to our lounge and relax with a cup of horlicks and soak up the last dying embers of our coal fire. However there was one night when our silence was disturbed by a loud bomb blast very close which shook the house and fetched a cloud of soot down the chimney. It filled the room with a choking acrid cloud and spoilt a lovely cup of horlicks. We had hardly got our breath back when a second bang caused us to dash out on to the stairs to be met with a shower of debris from above. The attic ceiling had collapsed cascading down the stairway. After many sleepless nights we were too tired to think reasonably and decided to hell with the Air Raids we are going to bed. What a wonderful night's sleep it was and we awoke in the morning to be told of a night of heavy raids; we never heard a thing.

Bert was posted to Cornwall on a course. I went with him and, at the end of his training, we set out to return to Gosport. At the station we were surprised to find soldiers everywhere, not orderly smart troops but something more representative of a rabble; they were scruffy, unshaven and many just partly dressed. We piled into the train amongst them to discover they were survivors from Dunkirk. To date we had heard nothing of an evacuation but learned much from these exhausted soldiers who chatted freely with relief that they were once again back home on English soil. One old soldier, probably in his forty's, said to me, "I have a present for you my dear. I have carried it all the way across France and now I would like you to have it". What a wonderful gesture; it was a small bottle of scent and I treasured it for many years.

Back at Gosport the fall of France brought a new threat, possible invasion of the south coast and the Army was alerted to prepare for such an event. I, at home in the flat, was always prepared for sudden moves and for that purpose I had a small case containing all our legal documents and a few small items necessary for survival, including underwear. Considering the possibility of German soldiers wandering our streets, and bearing in mind the character given to German soldiers after the first World War, I barricaded our back door with a heavy wardrobe and anything else that would obstruct intruders. For my personal protection I included in the case a very large carving knife with the intention that I would use it if necessary. However, by the grace of God and the Royal Air Force, I was not called upon to defend my home.

At the end of our garden there was a railway line which was a frequent target for enemy fighter planes. They would fly along the line firing guns and dropping bombs in the hope of disrupting rail traffic. Unfortunately my clothes line stretched down the garden almost to the railway and, incredible as it may sound, the enemy seemed to pick on the days I had my line full of washing. No way was I going to allow them to make holes in my sheets so, when a raid started, I would run down the garden and fetch the washing in; how ridiculous, they could have made the holes in me.

I was now expecting a baby and, with this change of circumstances, we decided that I would be better placed near to his Father and Mother in Ealing. I had a small flat there, about two miles away from them and walked to visit almost daily. Our standard of living had improved slightly with Bert's promotion to 2nd Lieutenant, therefore I was much better placed to give our baby the best chance we could afford. However, being the wife of an Officer, the charge for my confinement in the Council nursing home was 拢6.00 per week, whereas for a Private Soldier it was only 拢1.50. The Council home was some distance away so we opted for a St. Johns nursing home much nearer and at the same cost.

Our daughter was born on 2nd April 1942 then a boy in 1944 and many were the hours we spent cuddled up sitting at the bottom of the stairs, or under the dining room table if time did not allow the ritual of collecting everything together and dash downstairs. In those dark dangerous days in London the children were absolutely marvellous. To them, in their innocence, it was just a game with a never ending task for me to keep them occupied and mentally remote from the real horror of our predicament. With the memory of sitting at the bottom of those stairs, in the presence of a large glass door window and a glass skylight above, comes the horrifying thought of the ridiculously dangerous situation I had placed myself and the children in.

The limited resources imposed a routine of make do and mend and I was constantly occupied with making clothes for the children with any material that came to hand. The family all played their part with cast off handed down clothes that were taken apart and remade to make our children look clean and well dressed. Mother-in-law was a gem, she would take apart discarded woollens, wash, stretch, rewind the wool and make woollies for the children. Everyone played a part in those days of survival. The shortage of water created problems which undermined your normal standards of cleanliness and forced the adoption of a changed pattern of living. You were allowed only five inches of water in a bath; that is if you were lucky enough to have that facility and a boiler to heat it. But with water heated in a large bowl in front of the fire we were able to bath the children to a reasonable standard. This method I adopted for myself, standing in the bowl and washing down a few times a week. It was remarkable how quickly and easily the mind adopted the inevitable and accepted the standard it produced.

The War seemed to drag on endlessly with hardly a glimmer of hope and then the landings in Normandy heralded the invasion of Europe and a beam of light appeared at the end of that long tunnel of despair. News of the battles in Europe brought excitement and sadness but the mind had little room left for the sorrow of others. We had all suffered the degradation of living and surviving from day to day but now our hopes for the future began to look brighter. I was in my flat in Ealing when my next door neighbour came in and informed me it was all over. Although it was expected, it was very exciting news which took time to really believe it was all finished.

My first reaction was right, I am going to join everyone down Ealing Broadway and celebrate. I put the children to bed in the afternoon; they were really very good and always accepted that they were put to bed to sleep and that was it until I roused them at six, wrapped them up in the pram with a water bottle, and prepared to leave. Sadly the children fell fast asleep in the pram and that was the end of my celebration, although it was good to see people milling about in the streets waving flags, singing and cheering. I was just pleased that it was all over; no more screaming bombs, guns firing and schrapnel rattling on the roof. What a wonderful transformation from those six years of darkness. Even with the limitations of rationing people joined together to arrange parties and entertainment; the spirit of the British, always present, was roused again.

The process of demobilisation was slow and frustrating but eventually, after some months of waiting, my husband Bert returned and we continued with our wonderful happy life.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.