大象传媒

A WARTIME CHILDHOOD

I was born during a thunderstorm after a scorching hot Bank Holiday Monday, the first and ultimately the only child of Jack and Winnie Moore. When I was barely two months old Czechoslovakia was sacrificed to the invading German army, to give Britain more time to prepare for the inevitable war. As I celebrated my first birthday Hitler invaded Poland and France and Britain declared war on 3rd September 1939.

We lived in Streatham South West London, my parents had moved from the work starved North East to find employment in London in 1937. They lived in a flat in Credenhill Street and when I was born in 1938 their happiness was complete. When the London Blitz began every night was spent in the air-raid shelter and although I have no memories of this whatsoever, the sound of a siren still makes my stomach clench with some far distant memory of apprehension. I am told I watched the Battle of Britain being fought in the hot September skies held securely in my father鈥檚 arms. In January 1941 my father was conscripted into the Royal Artillery and was away for six years. Left on her own in an uncertain London my mother returned to her Darlington home and lived until 1947 with her parents, her sister and my cousins Alan and Doreen. We were fortunate that my grandparents lived in a large four bed roomed house, with the men of the family in the services we were not cramped.
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I was blessed to avoid the curse of the 鈥渙nly child鈥� that of being spoilt, by being brought up for five years with my cousins, Alan 7 and Doreen 6 to my 2 years of age. Indeed many people thought we were brother and sisters and the sibling bond was well and truly welded and remained for the rest of our lives. Another bond was forged which has lasted sixty-three years, that of my friend Jean Geddes the daughter of a neighbour who was brought to play with me.

My mother worked at the munitions factory in Aycliffe and my Aunt and Grandma ran the home. At five I started school at St John鈥檚 Church of England school and went happily into Miss Doidge鈥檚 class with Jean. In Miss Poulton鈥檚 class we sat in rows and repeated our tables parrot fashion. Our headmaster was Mr Stokoe a terrifying man who threw blackboard rubbers at naughty children and used the cane to instil discipline.

Children are remarkably adaptable and once I lost my London accent I became a typical North East child. Jean and I played in the back lane with the other children and although the war must have been terrifying for our parents we were safe and secure. We lived just a few miles from Middleton-St-George RAF base so watched the planes flying off on their missions to Europe. The Canadian pilot William MacMullen who gave his life to save the people of Darlington became our local hero. In April 1945 Pilot Officer MacMullen was returning from a bombing raid over Germany, his plane was damaged and he ordered his crew to parachute to safety, realising the plane would crash on houses and there would be much loss of life, he stayed with his plane until he reached the outskirts of the town. Too late to get out of the doomed plane, William was killed when the plane crashed in fields.
People living near the scene recorded how they watched the plane come down with its remaining ammunition exploding. Darlington people are truly grateful to this brave man.

As lorry loads of American and Canadian servicemen trundled down Yarm Road we, children would call out
鈥淕ot any gum chum!鈥�

Our mothers would have been horrified.
Although rationing made life very difficult for the women cooking the family meals, I never went hungry and was never aware of shortages, I guess my mother and grandparents went without to ensure we children had enough. I remember being served dumplings with gravy as a first course and, many years later asked my mother if my memory was correct, she replied

鈥� We had to fill you children up with something and dumplings were cheap and filling鈥�.

In Autumn we gathered brambles along the country lane to Neasham and then my Mother and Aunt made jam. No lemonade or Coca Cola for us, we drank liquorice water and were quite happy. Christmas must have been difficult, yet I remember only the wonderful times we had and the presents, a dolls鈥� pram, a desk and chair, which my mother carried on the bus in the blackout from a village nine miles away. We always had a stocking with a few sweets, a torch, a comb and hairslides and a sixpence. One Christmas was especially wonderful when all the men of the family managed to be home on leave together, where we all slept I have no idea, but it was a memorable time. In the school playground we played skipping games and 鈥榮ixie鈥� (a ball game against the wall). The shortage of sweets didn鈥檛 bother me unduly, since I was only a baby when the war began I had no memory of having sweets, so the Kali and Spanish (liquorice) we bought for a halfpenny and the Rhubarb and sugar quite satisfied my sweet tooth. I remember we also bought Oxo cubes and ate them.

When the war was over we had a street party, some of the women came to each house and collected a teaspoon of Tea and another of sugar for the party. My grandfather unearthed a huge union flag which he hung from the bedroom window. We had a fancy dress competition and I won first prize dressed as little Bo-Peep.

My father was fortunate that he remained on the south coast of England throughout his war service, although it was his proud boast that he had served overseas when he spent some time on the Isle of Wight. As an anti aircraft gunner he defended, Falmouth, and various parts of the Devon and Welsh coast. The war ended; and at school we learned to sing 鈥淟and of Hope and Glory鈥� with the correct phrasing, which I remember to this day.

Perhaps the saddest legacy of the war for me was the break in the relationship with my father. Disappearing from my life when I was three, I was too young to understand where he had gone, coming home on leave I called him 鈥淭hat man鈥� and when he came back home for good in 1947 I was jealous of the attention my mother gave him. He was a kind and gentle man who loved me dearly but the six years of war scarred our relationship. Children can be hard and unforgiving and I mourned the loss of what might have been had Adolf Hitler not interfered in all our lives.

Maureen Snowball
17th May 2005

Word count 1159.

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