大象传媒

In readiness for our return to Liverpool our parents had arranged for Raymond and me to attend a private school called 鈥淲estwood鈥� in Lance Lane, Wavertree, Liverpool. Westwood was an entrepreneurial move by the wife of a master at the Institute, a qualified teacher who ran a small kindergarten before the war but took the opportunity to expand and provide an educational refuge for returning evacuees, boys and girls, while the local authority schools in Liverpool were closed. Many of the members of staff at Westwood were teachers who had chosen not to be evacuated with their own schools.
After two years of diminishing support for the evacuation, the Institute returned to its building in Mount Street, Liverpool, in September 1940 but retained a branch of the school in Bangor for evacuees who wished to remain. Raymond rejoined the Institute straight away, but I remained at Westwood another school year. By this time many parents, at least those with children at the Institute and similar schools, had decided to face the risks of bombing as united families. This did not apply to some of the poorer districts near the docks, where parents of large families welcomed the possibility of their children enjoying a better standard of living with their temporary hosts than they could provide for them at home. There were sad stories of evacuees being orphaned when their mothers were killed in air raids and fathers in the armed forces or the merchant navy.
As I had been away from the Institute for five terms, the headmaster, Mr.J.R.Edwards, required me to take the entrance examination again, and would not credit the year I had spent at Westwood. This put me back a year and seemed perverse at the time. However, it turned out to my advantage, as I would have been too young to go to University, and would have had to repeat my final year at school. There were no 鈥済ap year鈥� facilities, as there are nowadays, to fill in between school and university.
I was back in the soot grimed building in Mount Street with its Victorian pillared fa莽ade, in September 1941, where I was to complete my secondary education. Compared with the schools of today, 2005, those of my generation subjected children to a regime of greater discipline. The Institute, under 鈥淛ack鈥� Edwards was run like a traditional Public School. The masters wore their academic gowns and the Head included his mortarboard.
Despite the war and clothes rationing, the wearing of school uniform, black blazer, grey trousers, grey shirt, school tie and cap, and a navy blue raincoat, was compulsory, though seniors could wear a tweed jacket and an inconspicuous shirt. Actually, school uniform was the only style of clothes most children had, so that 鈥渓eisurewear鈥� was old school clothes or 鈥渉and-me-downs鈥� from someone else, and 鈥渂est鈥� (if you happened to have enough clothing coupons) was the new jacket and trousers that would eventually become daily wear. Mind you, there wasn鈥檛 much choice available in the way of clothes to personalise one鈥檚 manner of dress. Essential items of clothing, were manufactured in accordance with the standards of the government鈥檚 鈥淐ivilian Clothing Order, 1941鈥�, called 鈥淯tility鈥�, and bore the CC41 label. Specifications under this order were later extended to include a limited range of furniture for replacing items destroyed in air raids.
Most mornings Raymond and I walked the 3 miles from Fairfield to school. On arrival we had to wait in the school yard at the back of the building until the doors were opened, twenty minutes before assembly, or 鈥減rayers鈥�, at 9.10 a.m. At this time the yard gates were locked and late arrivals had to enter the school by the front door and the school office, where they were registered as 鈥渓ate鈥� and received a 鈥渄etention鈥�, which would be served after school or on a Saturday morning, when the school was otherwise closed. There was never the opportunity to 鈥渂unk off鈥� without being caught, as the only way out was through the school office and it was impossible to get past the eagle eyes of the school secretary.
The 鈥淏lack Out鈥� was a feature of wartime living. An hour after sunset it was illegal to show even a chink of light from a window. There were no street lights and vehicles had their headlamps masked so that the weakened beam pointed downwards. All reflective chrome work had to be painted over with dull white paint. Roadside kerbs were painted with white stripes. All this was a strictly imposed discipline to obscure as far as possible ground features visible to enemy aircraft.
Because air raids on Liverpool were a regular occurrence, all buildings had to be watched for incendiary bombs, so that fires could be extinguished as quickly as possible. For this surveillance, men were required to be available when the wailing air-raid siren warned of the approach of enemy aircraft. My father, who was too old at 40 to be conscripted for military service, was on a rota to do this duty in Fairfield, where we lived. Public buildings, like the school, which were normally uninhabited at night, had to have 鈥渇ire-watchers鈥� who took it in turns to sleep at the school to be on hand, should there be a raid, with stirrup pumps and buckets of sand. The aim was to extinguish fires caused by incendiary bombs, before they had a chance to get a hold. Part of the basement of the Institute and one of the two school yards were requisitioned as an Emergency Fire Station and there were always firemen on duty, but night time fire watching of the rest of the building fell to the masters and some of the most senior boys. I was not old enough to be involved in this scheme.
Though Dad was not called up for active military service, he none the less had 鈥渨ar work鈥� as a part time schools鈥� dentist, replacing younger dentists from this service who, like his brother Jack, were conscripted as dental officers into one or other of the armed forces.
The Blitz (bombing raids) on Liverpool was particularly heavy during 1941-42. During this time, my parents, my sister and I lived on the ground floor of our house at 1 Laurel Road, having vacated our three bedrooms upstairs. A double and two single beds were moved to the lounge where we all slept in the one room. Ground floor accommodation was considered safer should we not get to our air raid shelter in the cellar before a bomb hit us, and it was better that we were all together if rescue was required. Details of our air-raid arrangements had to be registered at the local A.R.P. (Air Raid Precautions) depot.
Our air raid shelter was in the cellar. Sandstone steps led down to a narrow area at the foot of the stairs; a coalbunker, which was supplied by a chute from a grid in the driveway outside,(our escape route in an emergency), and a large room where Dad had his dental laboratory. The narrow area, which was about six feet wide and ten feet long, was reinforced with a timber beam supported on wooden pillars, and two bunk beds fitted across the width and two along one side. In the space beside the bunks were deck chairs, and a tin box containing emergency rations. Also at hand was a torch in case the lights failed. When the siren went, usually after my sister and I were in bed, but before our parents had retired, we children were roused and quickly dressed in our 鈥渟iren suits鈥� over our pyjamas. Siren suits were one-piece garments, made famous by the Prime Minister, Winston Churchill who was often pictured wearing his. They had a long fastening (zip or buttons) from crotch to neck, a hood, and elasticated cuffs at the wrists and ankles. Mum had made ours from old curtains using a pattern she bought or perhaps acquired from a magazine. Outdoor clothing was snatched from the hallstand and Mum took her fur coat as we rushed down to the cellar where Val and I bedded down. I never remember Mum and Dad using their bunks, and I don鈥檛 remember actually going to sleep! We listened anxiously for exploding bombs, estimating how close they were. There was a power station with railway sidings a mile or so on the other side of Newsham Park and we thought these were targets for the bombers.
Beside ourselves, we sheltered Mr. and Mrs. Williams, who had a greengrocer鈥檚 shop nearby in Prescot Road. Their shop, and flat above, had already suffered damage in an air raid; their windows had been shattered and were boarded up. Mrs Williams was very nervous of staying in her own premises or going to the public shelter, and Mum had taken pity on her and offered her refuge with us. Mr. Williams had an evening job as a musician in the orchestra of the Empire theatre in Lime Street. When the sirens went the theatre staff and audience would be evacuated into public shelters and trams and buses would stop at the nearest air-raid shelter and go no further. People were not supposed to be on the streets during a raid unless on duty in some capacity. Mr. Williams was determined to get home and would walk and run the three or four miles from Lime Street to Laurel Road, giving the excuse to any police or warden who challenged him that he was dashing to the next shelter. Knowing that her husband was out on the road during the first hour or so of a raid did nothing to calm Mrs. Williams鈥檚 nervousness.
After my grandmother died in December 鈥�41 our family sometimes used her house at Meols, a seaside town on the Wirral peninsula on the other side of the Mersey from Liverpool, as a refuge from the bombing at weekends. Travelling on Friday evening after my father had finished surgery it behoved my sister and me to have finished our homework! If Dad had sufficient petrol coupons we were able to use the car and drive through the Mersey tunnel, otherwise we had to take the no.10 tram to St. James Street underground station, from where we caught a train to Manor Road station, Meols, then walked to 15 Deynshey Road. Alternatively, we sometimes took the tram all the way to the terminus at the Pier Head, opposite the Liver Buildings, part of the famous Liverpool waterfront onto the Mersey. From there we walked down a gangway to the floating landing stage to board the ferry to Birkenhead, then took a Crossville bus to Meols. The Monday morning return was often uncomfortable and stressful on crowded bus and tram and with school and surgery deadlines to be met.
When there was a raid over Liverpool the siren would sound even in Meols and we could sometimes see from Gran鈥檚 house, the German bombers heading for the dockland targets of the riverside and the flashes of anti-aircraft gun-fire. One night in May 1942 the raid was particularly intense and fires from the burning buildings lighting up the sky made a spectacular scene viewed from our vantage point some ten miles away. After such a raid we would see some of the damage the following morning, and our return journey would be delayed or diverted. Though severe damage was done to the city, to my disappointment, the school was never hit! Our house in Fairfield received damage to the roof, which was temporarily repaired, until properly dealt with after the war. Collecting pieces of shrapnel from shells and bombs was a children鈥檚 activity following air-raids. We often found pieces in our garden. One sometimes came across an unexploded incendiary bomb, which one would report to the police or the A.R.P. post. These bombs consisted of a metal cylinder, about 18 inches long and 3 inches in diameter, filled with explosive powder and with small fins on one end; they were potentially very dangerous. Unexploded high explosive bombs were another hazard after a raid until they were found and disarmed by bomb disposal squads.
Weekends at Meols were a real pleasure, particularly in the summer months, as there were the beach, the promenade and sandhills. One bank holiday weekend Raymo came with us, and I remember that we shared a bedroom and didn鈥檛 sleep a wink all night, until finally we got up as soon as it was daylight, crept out of the house and went to play amongst the sandhills on the opposite side of Deynshey Road. We were back for breakfast, but I am sure my parents had no idea we had been up, and out of the house for so long!
We used to watch out for a fisherman with a boat he propelled with a single oar over the stern, who would land his catch of small plaice on the beach near the end of Deynshey Road and sell to passers by. These provided a welcome addition to our limited menu of rationed food.
The War in Europe ended on 8th May 1945 and a public holiday was declared. The ships in the Mersey blew their sirens and church bells rang. This latter was a great sound as a ban had been placed on all bell ringing during the war, as the only time bells could be rung was as a warning in the event of an invasion. Fortunately it was never necessary to give any warning, and exceptionally the bells were allowed to ring to celebrate the victory of El Alamein in October 1942. This, the first significant victory of our land forces, was said to be the turning point of the war in our favour.
To celebrate the end of the war in Europe street parties were held throughout the country, including in some side roads in Fairfield, but I don鈥檛 remember there being one in Laurel Road. It had been apparent for some weeks that the end was near, and petrol rationing was eased sufficiently for my father to be able to use his car for us to celebrate by going for a day out to Blackpool, that brash seaside resort about 50 miles north of Liverpool, which we used to visit on Whit Mondays before the war.
On 6th August (remembered because it was my sister鈥檚 11th birthday) the war in the Far East ended too, following the dropping of atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki and the consequent capitulation of Japan. We were on holiday in a rented cottage at Dolphinholme, a village south of Lancaster, at the time. I can鈥檛 remember how we celebrated, but there was a tremendous feeling of relief that it was all over at last. As more and more service men were expected home, banners of welcome were often seen across roads. My Uncle Jack was demobbed from the Royal Army Dental Corps, in which he had served as a dental officer throughout the war. He had spent most of his service in Hastings.

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