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'This story was submitted to the People's War site by Rick Allden of the CSV ´óÏó´«Ã½ Coventry and Warwickshire Action Desk on behalf of Nicki Gibson and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions'.

1942-43

It was at about the age of fourteen when I became seriously aware of boys. Before, except for the odd whistle and banter from youths watching us through the railings of the playground at net-ball practise, attending a girl’s school as I did, boys were a bit of an unknown quantity. And even when our college was requisitioned for government offices, and we took alternating morning and afternoon lessons at the Boy’s College; there was only the briefest of encounters with this rare breed.
But now reaching the age of puberty, things quickly began to change, and a gang of Warwick Public School boys and Leamington College girls, would meet in Victoria Park. It was here that I first learned to smoke, for to refuse a proffered ‘ciggy, from peers at least four years older, was to be thought extremely infra-dig. Even worse was to be considered too young for initiation into this elitist group.
There was a boy, I recall, whose thatch of white blonde hair crammed under his navy school cap, sent the girls wild with desire, and I was both the object of resentment and envy when he asked me for a date. For some unearthly reason Bic and I decided to take our bikes over the fields, after having to lift them over numerous locked five -barred gates, understandably our new relationship was short lived.

1944-45.
Alas also short lived were the delightful if dangerous liaisons in the park, as one by one, these gorgeous youths enlisted and were replaced by an invasion of nationalities, Czechs, Poles, Belgians, French Canadians, and GI’s, convalescing at camps on the outskirts of the town: boys who were only a few years older than ourselves, but years older in experience. With the addition of glamorous fighter pilots stationed at two nearby air fields, there were plenty of war time romances, some as quick to end as they began. I for instance, fell madly for an Australian flier serving in the English Air force, with all the ardour of puppy -love, and was heartbroken when, without even a goodbye, when hostilities ceased, he went home.
I was eleven when the conflict started, and sixteen when it finished. Yet for all the living crammed into those five years, looking back, I realise the Second World War had cost we youngsters something irretrievably precious… Our adolescence.

This story was donated to the People’s War website by Nicki Gibson, of the Leam Writers. If you would like to find out more about Leam Writers call 0845 900 5 300.

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