大象传媒

My mother ran a shop during the war. The day the war started, two cars collided outside the shop. One of the cars' horns jammed and sounded continuously. My mother, thinking it was the air raid siren and we were about to be bombed, grabbed my sister and I and rushed along the street to the air raid shelter.

That evening in the local pub, my father talked to a drinking acquaintance who told him this hilarious story of how some distraught woman made a fool of herself pulling two children to the shelter, thinking a car horn was the air raid siren.

Gas masks and shelters

I had a Disney gas mask, my sister had a conventional one. I was happy. She complained. I thought the mask was Mickey Mouse but somehow I remember it having a flapping tongue. Maybe it was Donald Duck?

When the siren sounded at night we went to the air raid shelter, which was a short walk from the house. As the war progressed we had a Morrison shelter set up in the living room. A Morrison shelter was a sort of iron table, but it was more like an iron cage in which my sister, mother and I slept. Like animals, but not in the zoo. I mean, they wouldn鈥檛 put animals in a cage that small. Outside the wire grills, Mickey our cat patrolled and I would ask again and again if we could have him inside with us. My mother refused, no doubt envisaging the roof falling in and the cat going berserk as animals behind bars would.

At primary school there were dugout shelters. The windows had stick-on gauze so windows put out by a blast would not spread splinters of glass. Perhaps nothing to do with the war, but we each had a third of a pint bottles of milk to drink. Milk was revolting enough, but they made it even worse by warming it on radiator pipes so that the lukewarm milk tasted disgusting.

Rationing

There were coupons for all clothes. Shoes took coupons. I was big for my age. And those boys with big feet got more coupons. At school we had out feet measured and mine were just under the required size, so I was not awarded any additional coupons. My mother was normally a very easy-going person, but I remember she was outraged at this. Didn鈥檛 I know how hard it was to get coupons? Couldn鈥檛 I have stretched out my toes, for God's sakes? It was definitely my fault. I pondered on the logic of women.

Sweets were rationed, and how! It was said all sweets were sent for export to the States to get dollars for the war effort. One nice memory. Coming home from school on the bus there were a few US GIs - I was never sure what a GI was - and they gave my sister and I and the bus conductress sweets. Some were round, large and highly coloured.

We never took sugar in tea. Rationed too. To this day I still don鈥檛 take sugar. Sugar was saved in the sideboard cupboard (a sort of family secret) and was saved to make jam. We鈥檇 cycle out to the country and pick blackcurrants. So much blackcurrant jam.

Eggs were sometimes dried. I rather liked dried eggs. There was a menu book I had but have now lost, which was printed by the Ministry of Food. Twenty-four ways to serve cod and potatoes. We had a food parcel once. Delicious ham from Canada. The instructions for cooking were in French, which we guess-translated.

When the war ended I went to the local community hall where there was a party for the young children, which I hated. Enforced fun with silly games have never been to my taste. The mayor presented everyone with a scroll which had King George VI's duplicated signature on it, and the mayor also gave me a sixpenny piece which I immediately returned as my mother had told me never to take money off strange men. I insisted he have it back and he insisted on giving it to me. I think my sister had to be brought in to convince me to accept the sixpence. It might seem significant that I would happily take sweets off young American soldiers, who were genuine and maybe thought they were about to die, yet I spurned the compulsory handouts by officialdom.

I was surprised that newspapers were printed after the war ended. I had considered that newspapers - one printed sheet, I think, that is four pages (and cut up after reading for lavatory paper) - were for war news only. War filled our lives.

Peace. We were taken out to walk the streets at night to see the street lamps turned on for the first time since 1939. A treat, I remember, 58 years ago.

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