大象传媒

WORLD WAR TWO
By Pauline Druiff

鈥楾he day war broke out鈥�

The lives of millions of people were changed on 3rd September 1939. My memory of that day is vivid. It was a warm sunny Sunday. Our house in Brighton was on the brow of a hill and, immediately after Neville Chamberlain鈥檚 historic broadcast the air-raid siren sounded. We went outside, as did most of our neighbours, to be chased back indoors by panicking air raid wardens running up and down shouting 鈥淭hey鈥檙e coming across the coast鈥�, 鈥淭ake cover, take cover鈥�, 鈥淕et back into your shelter鈥�. We all disappeared indoors again. Nothing happened. Everyone came out again and decided that it was going to be a non-event, this war. And so thought most of Britain 鈥� for the first few months.

On our bikes

As wartime restrictions bit we moved to Worthing for Dad鈥檚 job. Some things became out of bounds, but small gangs of giggling girls and boisterous boys managed to cycle around a lot of West Sussex. We thought we were quite harmless and I suppose we were. But we still managed to get up to mischief. Riding back to Worthing from Arundel one day we came across a haystack just asking to be climbed. In minutes several of us were on top, having a great time burying each other in the straw. Suddenly a more timid member of the gang called up 鈥楬ere comes a policeman鈥�. Our response was to jump up and down chanting 鈥榟ere comes a policeman; here comes a policeman鈥� until we realised that there actually was one, standing looking up at us and demanding to know what we thought we were doing! Suitably chastised, we hurriedly slid down, remounted our bikes and peddled off in the direction of home.

Britain鈥檚 defences !

The beach was closed off with barbed wire to repel a German invasion. Dad joined the Home Guard and Mum was a Fire Warden. It was as well that Hitler did not realise what a motley crew made up Britain鈥檚 first line of home defence. Early one evening I watched Dad struggling get on his bike in his khaki uniform, forage cap firmly in central position on his head and his rifle slung over his shoulder, leaving for his Home Guard duty. Being quite a short man his bicycle saddle and handlebars were as low as they would go. He got astride and set off, but somehow his rifle got caught in the spokes of his back wheel. Wallop. Off he came in a heap. Mum and I collapsed in giggles. He didn鈥檛 see the funny side.

At night Mum patrolled our road in a tin hat. How we laughed one morning as she related a happening from the previous night. The irony of German bombers dumping their incendiary bombs on the local cemetery appealed to our rather manic wartime sense of humour.

The rationing of food, clothes, sweets and furniture caused headaches for most families and all catering establishments. Most fruit and vegetables were locally grown and only very occasionally were there 鈥� oh joy 鈥� bananas! Strictly available only for children, I had to share mine with Dad!. It certainly made us appreciate everything, and very conscious that we mustn鈥檛 waste even tiny scraps.

We kept chickens in the back garden of our detached house in Offington. Needing a chicken for Sunday lunch Mum didn鈥檛 do a very good job of strangling the oldest bird and the poor thing was running around clucking in fright 鈥� and probably pain 鈥� until Dad put it out of its misery. That was the last time we tried eating one of the hens. Most of the garden became a vegetable plot. I grew up hating gardening 鈥� largely because my parents spent every spare moment gardening, not realising then that it was a question of survival.

A shortage of toilet paper gave Mum鈥檚 large collection of dress patterns a new use! and make-do and mend meant using every scrap of old clothing for something or other. I acquired my first shop-bought clothes after the war when I started work and got my first pay-packet!

We discovered the dubious delights of eating Spam, dried eggs, bread and scrape (miniscule amounts of margarine 鈥� butter was a distant memory!). Sweets were scarce and on the ration. Towards the end of the war bread was rationed and we had to present our 鈥楤U鈥檚鈥� (bread units) at the bakers to get a loaf. Fatless cakes were the rage because it was impossible to get enough margarine.

There are many more memories of wartime life 鈥� preserving eggs in isinglass; taking cover in the cupboard under the stairs during a raid, only to find Dad couldn鈥檛 be bothered and had gone to bed where he slept through it all! Not to mention my Aunt and Uncle鈥檚 Morrison table shelter 鈥� a hideous metal contraption with wire mesh protection round the sides. The bed was made up underneath where my cousin Jo and I would sleep while the adults got together for an evening of cards. Every time we sat up we banged our heads top of the shelter. Winter fuel became scarce and, with no central heating, it was like braving the Arctic Circle going upstairs to bed.

Another memory is of falling off my bike after gathering souvenirs from a German 鈥榩lane which had been shot down on the Downs 鈥� getting bruised and grazed, the nearest thing I had to a war wound! Though I was lucky to escape unhurt when just before D-Day I was knocked off my bike by an army lorry. Unhurt, my bike and I were bundled into a staff car and dropped at my gate. I managed to go through the house and down the garden to find Dad before bursting into tears and telling him what had happened. I escaped injury by being thrown on to the grass on Broadwater Green. The bicycle wasn鈥檛 quite as lucky as the following vehicle had run over it! Dad, quite rightly, was indignant and annoyed that no-one came in to explain what had happened.

Aged 9 when war broke out I was 15 when it finally ended. During those years I had left childhood behind and become a teenager; a young woman. But the memories are still sharp and clear.

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