大象传媒

This contribution to People鈥檚 War was received by the Action Desk at 大象传媒 Radio Cleveland and submitted to the website by Jane Tombling, with the permission and on behalf of Sheila York nee Rowntree.

I was standing on the steps of our church waiting for my mother who was talking to some members in the foyer. Someone came up to me, I can鈥檛 remember who, and provided me with an indelible memory which has been with me through the decades. They said we had declared war on Germany.

So it was, that Sunday, September 3rd 1939 at ten past eleven became a time I would never forget. I was eleven and just nine days off my twelfth birthday. What does a child think when he or she is told something like that? There must have been an infinite variety of thoughts children and when the news sank in. My first thought was so odd and so individual; it鈥檚 worth recording for its peculiarity!

I remember wondering what would I do if we were bombed. Where would I go for safety? Then it came 鈥� I would stand as flat as I could against the red brick wall of the front of our house, by the drain pipe, that went past my sister鈥檚 and my bedroom window. Looking back, maybe that thought came because the drainpipe was an important part of our lives. We used it as a way to get in if we鈥檇 been locked out and the bedroom window had been left conveniently open. And we used it as a way of escape when we wanted to go out without being noticed. The pipe went past the flat top of the bay window of the downstairs room and it was this we climbed onto. I don鈥檛 think we ever got found out even when Marion, my best friend, who often stayed with us, and I dared each other to get out via the drain pipe and climb onto the concrete roof of the air raid shelter. It had been built in the road in front of our house. Not an easy task as we lived almost at the top of a steep hill. We danced a waltz on the shelter roof in our pyjamas amidst much giggling and wishing that the night was even darker than it was.

We鈥檇 got used to the blackout which seemed to train our eyes to see more than we did before, when we relied on street lighting and the comforting glow from people鈥檚 windows. The air raid wardens were very strict. If you left just a chink of light between your curtains, already made double with blackout material, you would expect a knock at the door and a good telling off!

We were beginning to hear the air-raid siren wailing out almost every night at twelve o鈥檆lock. Then there would be quite a few hours until the all clear sounded. This didn鈥檛 mean we were getting raids every night. It was more of a precaution, because German bombers having raided Hull would fly up the coast and drop any stray bombs they had left on Scarborough. They were usually being chased by our fighter planes. All these interrupted nights means it was easy, if you were not careful, to fall asleep at your desk in school. My sister Heather, older than me by three years, was away at boarding school. Marion and I were pupils at Scarborough Girls鈥� High School. We were both bright except at maths and this could be forgiven because I was destined to become an Art Teacher and Lecturer and Marion a Concert Pianist.

The school was a new building, built on the outskirts of Scarborough, set about two miles back in the middle of the North and South Bays. A line of brick air raid shelters had been hurriedly constructed across the front of the grounds. When the sirens sounded during school hours, we all trooped out of the classrooms, carrying our gas mask boxes to our allotted shelters. There we sad huddled together until the 鈥榓ll clear鈥�. We took to singing loudly to fill in the time, although some of the more fearful teachers, disapproved of this because they wanted to hear if any German bombers were approaching. We quickly learnt to detect a German plane by the sound of the engine. The heavy chug-chug would cause a wave of fear and I can remember, sometimes my knees would knock and my teeth would chatter involuntarily!

But we were British children and the stiff upper lip had been passed on to us, so as far as you could, you kept your fear to yourself, and we were always grateful for anyone who could make a joke out of the situation. One night no one felt like joking. It was the night of the heaviest raid on Scarborough. This wasn鈥檛 just bombs left over from Hull. This was the real thing!

My father put up a mattress against the side of our grant piano and my mother and I crawled under for some kind of safety. I was worried about our cat Twisty, who had gone out earlier to do some night prowling. The noise became terrible, a deafening cacophony of guns and bombs. Suddenly a huge explosion blasted the air. The locks blew off our front and clamped to the window to stop flying glass. This time it had little effect and strands of net and shredded glass flew all over.

I peeked out from under the piano. My father, who had served in the First World War and suffered severe shell shock, was standing in the doorway of the drawing room completely immobilised. He had been a conscientious objector as he was a devoted Quaker. This had not prevented him from taking park in some of the worst battles as a stretcher-bearer. The shell shock was never treated and this terrible night it came back.

Mummy, as I always called her was curled in a ball under the piano giving small sobs. I stood up amidst all the din and said the first thing that came to me which was The Lord鈥檚 Prayer. It was also an inward pleading for something to break the awful responsibility of that night.

My prayers were answered when Twisty, jumped through the big gaping hole in the middle of the bay window, landed on the back of the couch and calmly sat there washing his face! It was such a beautiful calming thing to do. Daddy came to and said 鈥淐ome on now, we must get up this broken glass鈥�. He gave me a shovel while he used a broom and we got to work. In the morning, we found out a land mine had dropped in a field at the top of the road, only a short distance from our house. When Marion and I went up to school, the playing fields had been peppered with incendiary bombs.

The night of the big raid, I saw how vulnerable my parents were and it made me realise, I had to grow up. As a young teenage, I had to learn to try, as far as possible, not to show fear. My strong faith in God was a great help.

I think I was thirteen when we had a brief daylight raid. My sister, Heather, was at home from boarding school. I was walking up to the High School with Marion. It was a lovely wooded road with houses set well back and above them the fields where we played. This particular morning we were caught up by our history teacher. A rather frightening sergeant-major sort of woman. She was like a barrel in shape, topped by a head of bright ginger frizzy hair. And at the feet, supported by strong calves and thin ankles. We became shy and were not at all sure what we should say to her.

Along one side of the footbath, there was a low, damp ditch backed by hawthorn bushes. There was no siren but suddenly we heard the awful sound of a German bomber. Then a wrenching scream at a bomb dropped. There were others but our attention was completely diverted by Miss Driver. The history teacher had leaps into the itch and landed on her back. It was a sight which reduced Marion to helpless giggles. I felt supremely sorry for Miss Driver, as it was obvious she was unable to move, except to wave her arms and legs about. We tried to pull her out by her hands, but she was far too heavy. I saw a couple of prefects cycling up the road, so I waved them down. They took in the situation and we did a four corner heave by way of the arms and feet. Miss Driver remained quiet and uncomplaining. When she was standing, I noticed her back was covered in mud and started trying to scrape some of it off. She assured me she was alright and she had something to change into at school.

By now Marion had disappeared. I knew instinctively where she had gone. If she giggled too much she wet herself. Sure enough, she鈥檇 gone home to change her knickers! The teachers wore hats in those days and were all unmarried ladies. It was somehow sad to see Miss Driver in the ditch with her neat navy blue hat, pushed forward over her face and he fiery ginger hair sticking out on either side! Heather told me late, at the sound of the German plane she had grabbed the cat and gone into the cupboard under the stairs. Daddy was at work and Mummy had gone to see a friend in Filey. So we got through another incident which was to remain with us.

One of the most exciting personal events of the war for me, occurred during the long school holidays. We missed walking on the sands which were out of bounds. They were mined in case of invasion and heavily protected by huge rolls of barbed wire. Instead, we took to talking through the gardens on the South Cliff. The cultivated part was somewhat boring to us, so whoever in the gang joined Marion and I, would find themselves going beyond the official footpaths where they trailed off and turned into wild tunnels through bushes and on uneven cliff.

One day, before we reached the wilderness of the cliffs, we noticed three men standing talking urgently to each other on the path in front of us. They moved on and the man in the middle leaned heavily on a stick and had a decided limp. Marion and I thought something about them wasn鈥檛 right. Another friend, Margaret, wanted to turn round and go back but we followed them. Suddenly we had to hide in some bushes because two of them sat down on the bank while the third remained standing and staring out to sea. Then we saw a light flashing from far out in the bay. The man produced some sort of lamp from his coat and started flashing back. This was scary so we retreated and resolved to try and find them again another day.

We had no television to instruct us in these things and the wireless was listened to occasionally for entertainment. We kept up with the main news of the war and were well versed in all the propaganda posters such as 鈥淐areless talk costs lives鈥� and we weren鈥檛 about to tell anybody what we had seen.

I can鈥檛 remember how many days passed until we saw them again, but we did. They were in almost the same place where we had first seen them. Two of the men were walking in front and the third man who was lame was several yards behind. To our amazement, he put his stick over his shoulder and rang to catch up with them. There was no one about except Marion and I and they hadn鈥檛 seen us. 鈥淗e was just putting on an act鈥�, I said in an excited voice. 鈥淗e hasn鈥檛 got a limp!鈥� We became more convinced than ever that we were watching German spies. The light we had seen flashing far out in the bay, must have been from a German submarine. The seriousness of the situation was beginning to dawn on us. If we told our parents, or anyone in authority, that would be the end of our walks on the cliffs. We needed more proof! The logical thing to do, to our na茂ve way of thinking was to put it temporarily on hold and we delighted in keeping our awful secret!

There was one last event and a day I certainly would never forget. I don鈥檛 remember how many of our gang were there beside Marion and I, but we felt a great surge of excitement, when we spotted the three men standing by some railings that edged a steep grass bank above the path we were on. 鈥淲e need to hear what they are saying鈥�, I said 鈥渙r at least what language they are using鈥�. We had had a German au pair girl living with us for a while when I was six, so I felt I was qualified to know a little German. Also, I was the most athletic of the gang so I decided to crawl up the bank on my tummy clutching on to tufts of grass, until I was beneath where they were standing.

How daft can you get? I almost reached the top when the man with the stick saw me. He leant over the railings and started thrashing at my knuckles with his stick, cursing in what sounded like German. I had a blur of a face red with rage and me sailing backwards down the bank still on my stomach. The others stared at me in fright I shouted 鈥渞un鈥� and getting to my feet, we fled into the comparative safety of a mass of trees and from there back to the more civilised part of the gardens. The two miles or so to Falsgrave and home were done at a job. Fear had now gripped us and with no hesitation I told Daddy what had happened and of the other times. He listened in stony silence then made us promise never to go there again. Then he went off to tell the authorities. We never heard what happened to our spies but we felt we had truly been involved in the war effort! Continued in High School to Art School Part 2.

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