大象传媒

When war was declared on 3 September 1939 I was seven years old. I lived in Hull, in East Yorkshire, with my mother and father at
24 Claremont Avenue. Mother was an invalid with a serious heart condition, so I tried to be good so as not to upset her. Father was a head salesman in a high class department store. I can just recall the agitation and excitement all around when a news reader on the 大象传媒 Home Service informed the Nation that Britain was at war with Germany. Looking back, people were probably aware that war was on its way. People were in the mood for a fight to win. They understood that it was necessary to overcome the enemy.

When I was seven, I was a pupil at St John's Church of England School, near to where I lived. I found school difficult. Being an only child, I had not learned to rub along with other children. Mother was ambitious for me, but I just wanted a quiet life. I hated school at the age of five, but when I learned to read I decided it was not too bad. To show how I felt, it is worth mentioning that I nicknamed the head teacher Miss Savage. To this day I recall feeling sickened at the sight of boys being caned.

Early signs that we were at war include rationing, gas masks and the blackout. Food was rationed when I was young and I recall taking the ration books to Jacksons, a food store on Beverley High Road, to buy groceries for father's breakfast. We had to make sugar, tea, butter and meat, including bacon, go a long way. People grew vegetables in their back gardens. For a time we kept chickens and I liked searching the hen house to see if they had laid any eggs. We had trouble with our chickens because they sometimes escaped and flew up onto the roofs of nearby houses. Neighbours came out to help us to catch our hens. Our chickens proved so troublesome that they were quickly sold by dad to his pals to make into pies. Early in the war, an air raid shelter appeared in our back garden. I cannot recall seeing it being built but there it was, complete with chairs, a table a heater and a bunk bed for me. It was in 1940 when bombs began falling on Hull and the blitz descended upon us. All that we heard on the wireless was news about an air raid over a North Eastern town. When venturing out at night it was completely dark. There was little to light the way, except dim torches. I remember father falling over in the dark. Once there had been iron railings he could touch with his hands, but these were removed for the war effort. There remained only the concrete base of the fence and he tripped over the base, hurting himself quite badly. He soon recovered, fortunately, so I am not sure what exactly was wrong. During the blackout, the curtains had to be carefully drawn, so no light could be seen outside the house. I remember forgetting about uncovered windows and switching on a light. Father's voice sounded like the wrath of God, "Put that light out now!"

We were not ready for war when the blitz began. German bombers were able to fly along the River Humber and in over the city. I recall one night being roused by the air raid warning, when in bed. Father shouted, "We'll have to go down to the shelter." Putting on a warm jumper, dressing gown and slippers, I made my way downstairs and out into the garden. Low over the roof was a fearful looking aircraft, with the pilot sitting at the controls. I stood watching, mesmerised, until father grabbed me quite roughly. I had never before heard him so cross, "Get into that shelter, do you hear me!" I did as I was told, but I have never forgotten the shock of seeing that bomber between the chimney pots. In the morning the windows were shattered in the front of our house. Furthermore, the house across the road was badly damaged. Fortunately there was
no-one living there at the time. Dad used to say that as soon as he had boarded up the windows, they were blown out again.

On one occasion, when I arrived at school, I was told that a land mine was hanging in a tree in the church yard, next to the school. We would have been sent home again until the Bomb Disposal Squad had made the bomb safe. When we returned to school, I recall seeing some children in siren suits because they had been "bombed out." There was an air raid shelter in the playground at school and we had gas mask drill regularly in case of gas attacks. We had to take our gas masks in little cardboard boxes when we went to school. I can remember the siren going when we were in class and we had to line up to go out to the school shelter. Once there, we sang popular songs, perhaps "Roll our the Barrel," assuming I have got my dates right.

People in the North East of England had a tough time in 1940 and 1941. Hull City Centre was flattened during the blitz. Three big department stores were destroyed in air raids, including the store where father worked. Old nineteenth century buildings were also bombed, including the Infirmary, Library, elegant shops and houses. Father found himself setting up his department in a museum. The city centre never looked the same again, after the bombing. The complete truth was not broadcast because it was unpatriotic to give away secret information to the enemy.

Father talked of joining the Royal Air Force when war was declared, but for some reason he was not accepted. Instead he joined the Home Guard and also became an Air Raid Warden. As a warden, he was very strict and I had to follow the rules and set a good example. As a result of being in the Home Guard, he learned to use an anti-aircraft gun and helped to man a gun at Hedon, beside the River Humber. The intention was to shoot down enemy bombers as they flew along the river, usually after dark. Search lights beamed upwards to mark the bombers, so that they were clearly visible. Despite some successes, other planes avoided the guns and flew onwards over the city. Sirens wailed and people hurried to the shelters. For me, it meant having to sleep on the bunk bed in our shelter, with mother and our neighbour sitting below, chatting and drinking tea. The neighbour lived alone and father had arranged for her to join us in the shelter.

I do not know how it came about, but it was decided that as a family we would move to live with my aunt, mother's sister, in Kirkella, a charming village on the edge of Hull. There was little bombing of the villages because the houses were well away from industrial and business areas, the docks and shopping areas. I had to attend a different school, where I felt lonely and had no friends. As a result, I did not pay attention to lessons and made no progress whatever. The only compensation was being able to go long walks with my auntie' black cocker spaniel. I liked dogs and found him company. We passed pretty cottages with bright flower gardens and I felt at peace for an hour or two. I am not sure how long we stayed with auntie in her posh bungalow. My uncle was away in the Army and she had a clerical job with a firm situated on the Fish Dock. I hope it wasn't my fault, but I remember mum and my aunt sometimes falling out and shouting at each other. Did it come about because I arrived home late from school having, at last, made friends with two brothers? They had a wonderful train set they invited me to see. I was flattered and forgot the time. I can just remember that there were some sharp words said as we stood in the spacious hall of the bungalow, with the thick cream carpet. There was no pause so that I could say, "Sorry". Dad was not around much now, because of work and his voluntary help with the war effort. Our house in Hull was occupied by tenants at this time, so we could not return to it at short notice. Instead, we moved to a different house near Cottingham. I had to change schools yet again. One thing I do know is that changing schools is not helpful for children. My mother knew this and was much troubled by it. I felt strange and uneasy. In time, however, I managed to make a friend to walk to and from school with each day. I was glad to get through the days without any worrying problems, but mother was not content and wanted better results from her nine year old.

A desperate shock awaited me. I was to learn what it means to lose a close relative who you rely on totally, in both a physical and emotional way. My mother, Norah, had a faulty heart valve, due to the fact that she suffered rheumatic fever at the age of thirteen. I remember the family doctor visiting her regularly at home to check on her health and to ensure she was taking the right medication. Sometimes it had to be changed. From quite a young age, I knew where she kept her tablets. I could run and find them for her, in the dressing table drawer, when she was feeling ill. She gradually grew weaker and I last recall seeing her in the big bed with the green silk bedspread in our comfortable front bedroom. The last words she said to me were, "Be a good girl love, be a good girl." By this time, we had returned to our house in Claremont Avenue. Dr John was in and out of the house quite frequently and so were specialist physicians, as well as my aunts and grandmother. I did not know what was happening, except that she was poorly. I was going to school each day until the beginning of the summer holidays. It was then that I went to stay with my auntie in Kirkella. Once again I found compensation by walking with auntie's black spaniel. Sometimes I played with Michael who lived across the road from auntie's bungalow. I had been at Michael's house all day, when dad and auntie came to find me. I am not sure of the exact sequence of events, but there was a strained silence as dad and I walked to the car for our journey home. We were saying goodbye to auntie, when he said, almost in a whisper, "We've lost your mother. We've just come from the funeral." Tears filled my eyes and I began to cry, but he insisted, "Don't cry, you must be brave," so I dried my eyes.

Dad and I went home to an empty house. I felt numb and wondered how God could have taken away my mother. Why had I not been with the others to the funeral? Why was I left out? I felt miserable and alone. My mother died in September when I was ten years old. I returned to school soon afterwards, but could not concentrate on lessons. I sat at my desk in a daze in a room filled with rows of desks, and the teacher's high desk at the front of the class. It was a dark. plain room and hardly anyone spoke to me. Perhaps people didn't want to upset me, but when I dared to laugh on one occasion, a classmate remonstrated with me,
"I don't know how you can laugh when your mother has just died." Was she reminding me that for me, in the future, there would be little fun or enjoyment? There was no counselling for me when I lost my mother. Many people lost relavites in the war and "keeping a stiff upper lip" was expected, even of children.

Dad was badly shaken by the loss of his wife. He returned to work soon after her death and he engaged a housekeeper to take charge of me. My memory of how I behaved is not one to be proud of. One day when I returned from school to find her waiting in our pleasant living room, with the coal fire, pretty wallpaper and fire side chairs, she told me to set the table for tea. I was not used to the strict, sharp tone she used and retorted, "Set it yourself. Aren't you paid to do it?" I then went up to my room, where I refused to cry because I was too cross. I was, however, in for a thorough telling off when dad heard about my impudence. The next morning, before I left for school, I heard the words, "What you need is to learn some discipline." Sadly, I trotted off down the avenue to school. I knew I had been naughty, but I did not like the new housekeeper. Perhaps, looking back, I won because I never saw the housekeeper again.
It was not long before grandma arrived at Claremont Avenue to try to put things right. Her children had grown up by this time and left home. My grandfather had passed away years before, when I was three. I can just visualise him with wiry ginger hair, taking me in a push chair to the park to feed the ducks. After grandma settled in with us, life became more bearable. I still lived in a world of my own though, in which I imagined I could talk to my mother's spirit in the front bedroom, where I had last seen her. I told my cousin about it when she came with one of my aunts to visit us. I should have kept quiet, because soon my fantasy was general knowledge. I was taken to see Dr Raines, who was consulted about my strange ways. To encourage me to give up talking to the ghost, grandma took me to visit mother's grave. We took flowers and said a prayer for her soul. I had to face the harsh truth that mum was buried beneath our feet. Later, it became my job to cycle to the cemetary with flowers for mother's grave.

Am I deceiving myself, or was mother's death partly due to the stress and anxiety, which increased excessively during the war? She worried desperately about me, but I was a survivor. Who cared for her and looked after her? The answer is that I don't know, but indirectly I feel she was a casualty of war and so was I.

By the time mother died, the worst of the bombing in Hull was over. According to dad, our fighter pilots were winning the battle of the skies. I am not sure how much time passed but fairly soon our bombers could be seen in the evening sky, flying out from Leconfield RAF Station to enemy targets in Germany. Service men and women from the United States could sometimes be seen out and about in Hull. It made a huge impression on me when a young man in the uniform of the American Air Force began coming home with one of the girls next door. He looked extremely smart and she probably met him at a dance, because ballroom dancing was popular during the war.

I was a school girl throughout the war, not leaving school until 1948. I sat a scholarship examination when I was about eleven and managed to scrape into a central school, which later became a high school for girls. I hated it when I first joined the school and struggled to cope with the change. When I was due to start at the new school, the school building had been destroyed in a bombing raid. For a time, our school was conducted in a college, built as a training establishment for teachers. The students were away in the country at the time to avoid the bombing, but when they returned the girls from our school had to leave. If my memory does not deceive me, we had nowhere to go to school for a time, until a very old building was roughly repaired, so that it could be used again as a school. It had been closed because it was in a very poor state and it was not much better when we attended classes there. I had a long journey to undertake, involving two buses, to yet another school. Not surprisingly, I found it hard to settle down. For years after mum died I seemed to live a half life. I was not interested in or aware of what was happening around me. When I was not at school, I liked to visit the library, either to borrow books to take home or to sit and read in the library. I also liked listening to the wireless, for example the Home Service News, or Dick Barton or Paul Temple. (Forgive me if my dates are not quite correct.)
Changes in our school life can be linked to Butler's 1944 Education Act. The school building that was bombed earlier in the war was rebuilt, so that we could return. The school leaving age was raised, first to fifteen and soon after to 16. Secondary education of three types was iniated, grammar, technical and modern. Clever children were separated from the average pupils. Some, like me, were a little above average and received a technical type of education. At our school, girls could choose either a commercial course or a science course, for those wishing to train as nurses. I have often regretted not choosing a nursing career, because too late in the day I found being a secretary did not suit me. Father chose it because mum had been a secretary, but I was not mum. It was not easy for him, being responsible for a girl. He used to get up early to prepare a cooked breakfast, but I could not eat mine. If possible, I got rid of it when he was not looking. He was not at all pleased when he discovered what was going on, but afterwards left me to get my own cornflakes. I felt guilty, but I could not face heavy meals.

My memory of what happened later in the war is less clear. We listened to broadcasts on the wireless by and on behalf of Churchill. The term austerity continued to apply until after the end of the war. As well as ration books for basic food items, there was a points system for clothes and things like jam and tinned goods. When I had been fitted out with my school uniform, there were few points left for pretty dresses. Petrol was rationed and not approved of for pleasurable outings. A utility scheme was devised by the Board of Trade for furniture and household items.

I recall having a holiday with several members of grandma's family in a guest house on the Yorkshire Moors. Goathlands was a place of outstanding beauty we had visited several times before. We were not, however, used to finding our way without road signs to guide us. There were no direction signs because these would have been helpful to an enemy. Consequently, we spent some of our time getting lost in uncle's Austin motor car. How he managed to get the car on the road for a holiday I am not sure, but he was home on leave from the Army, so perhaps that had something to do with it. Even with a map, it was not easy to find the way to Robin Hood's Bay and Whitby. It was just as bad when it came to returning to our hotel in Goathlands. I can remember heads being put together to work out whether it was this way or that. As I recall, there was little traffic on the roads, no one to ask and it was quite different from the state of the roads during holidays nowadays.

When I was twelve or thirteen, I began to mature quite quickly and to make better progress at school. Gradually, I adjusted at home and probably owe a great deal to grandma for putting up with me. When the war was coming to an end, I do not remember a great deal of partying or celebrating. We breathed a sigh of relief when we heard on the news that German forces in North West Germany had surrendered. Father and I spent a lot of time listening to the radio, including programmes about current affairs. On the 7th May 1945, surrender on all fronts was announced and on 9th May VE Day was celebrated. I believe Members of the Houses of Parliament gave thanks for victory at St Margaret's Church, Westminster and King George gave thanks at a service in St Paul's Cathedral. Everywhere, church bells were ringing out, lights were shining brightly again and some people literally danced for joy. Rejoicing was, however, soon to be replaced by concern for problems that remained. The Japanese war had still to be won. A general election was held in July when people voted for Attlee, in spite of admiring Churchill as a hero. My dad was well pleased. He wanted Labour to win the election and usually supported the Labour Party. No doubt he celebrated with a drink with his pals in the pub. It was not a party for children!

In August 1945, President Truman, with the consent of the British, decided that atomic bombs should be dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Soon afterwards, the Japanese Government surrendered unconditionally. It is a sobering thought that hundreds of thousands of our people lost their lives in the Second World War, many of them civilians. President Truman ended lease lend on VJ Day and without American aid Britain was bankrupt. The British public, including my dad, expected improvements to their living conditions after the war. They looked for new houses, new clothes, new cars and an end to rationing. They should not have expected too much. There was, nevertheless, a new mood and atmosphere around after the war. A good community spirit and neighbourliness were built up during the war. Voluntary work was respected and regarded as being an honourable calling, something that has been lost more recently. During the war new industries developed including electricity, motor vehicles, iron and steel, nylons and chemicals. There was reason for a positive outlook for the future. We had to look forward, not back, but we would not forget those who, like my mum, were no longer with us. If she had lived a few more years, she could have had an operation to correct the faulty valve in her heart and would have been treated on the NHS. We forget how lucky we are now and should pray for peace and never consider going to war, unless there is no better way of defending our way of life and our Country.

Sheila Rowland

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