大象传媒

My 鈥榃artime Memories鈥� actually begin in the early summer of 1939. My parents had a general store and off licence in Hamworth (nr Poole in Dorset). There was a boatyard with moorings for yachts and, that summer, a young Dutchman was working as a steward on one of those yachts to improve his English. The following year he was going to France to do the same for his French. The owners weren鈥檛 on board much and he was lonely so came to the shop quite often. My mother felt sorry for him and invited him for tea several times. I was 14 and quite smitten 鈥� he was 19 and more interested in my friend (who was 16!). Anyway, one day in august, mum took me to the cinema to see 鈥淛amaica Inn鈥�. When we got home, my father said 鈥淗ans waited here for you for about 2 hours. He鈥檚 going home to Amsterdam to join the Army as war was imminent 鈥� he hasn鈥檛 been gone long鈥�. We raced down to the shore to try and catch him and heard the sound of his oars as he rowed back to the yacht 鈥� we called and called but he didn鈥檛 hear us: he did write once and then a Christmas card but we never heard after that.

We didn鈥檛 get much in the way of air raids in our area. My father joined the Air Force and we gave up the shop and moved into Poole. It must have been the first time we had an air raid alarm 鈥� I remember going to the front door and looking up to see a plane dropping a stick of bombs (they looked quite small). I think he off-loaded them into the harbour; I don鈥檛 remember anywhere being bombed on land.

We lived near the Fire Station and that was where the siren was situated 鈥� also, the path from a school, and the children were really frightened at first if the siren went off as they were going home. We used to invite some of them into the house and look after them until the All Clear sounded. That probably wouldn鈥檛 go down too well nowadays!

There wasn鈥檛 the media coverage then and children weren鈥檛 as aware of the horrors of war (although my friend was very worried and depressed when her brothers both went into the army) but, generally speaking, and also because we didn鈥檛 get the raids that other parts of the country were getting, we regarded it all as rather exciting. Air raid sirens meant going into the shelters (at school) and being given barley sugar sweets 鈥� presumably to calm our shattered nerves! So we quite enjoyed the added bonus of missing a lesson.

We heard gunfire one afternoon whilst we were still in class. Looking out of a window, we saw a German parachutist and when I went to get my bike to go home, there was blood on the handle bars and saddle. That suddenly made it all seem real.

My father had been in the Royal Flying Corps in the first World War, and he volunteered the moment war broke out to join the R.A.F. They wouldn鈥檛 let him fly 鈥� he was over age (he must have been about 44) but he was eventually posted to Cardiff, so given a Balloon Command. My mother, myself and my sister and little brother all went up to spend Christmas with him. That was 1940. We were in a B & B quite near to my dad鈥檚 headquarters. We set out to walk round there on our second evening and an air raid started.. Mum decided to just continue on our way but it got really scary with incendiary bombs falling all around us, apart from the big bombs. We were very relieved to reach the mess safely. This was a large house on the Taff embankment which had been privately owned before the war. As the bombing got worse, we all sat on the floor in the Hall with our backs against the walls. People were coming in off the street, everyone had a drink of some sort and each time we heard the whine of a bomb coming down, we all ducked, but everyone kept their drink upright, even my seven year old brother with his lemonade, and not a drop was spilled! A particularly loud bang cracked the wall in one of the rooms, and the deep lace borders on the beautiful window blinds all were ripped off. We had to stay overnight and the next morning, when we looked outside, the next four houses to us had disappeared and when we went into the town, there were huge icicles and frozen cascades where the water had frozen from the vast amounts from the firemen鈥檚 hoses as they tried to prevent all the shops from burning out.

I鈥檇 left school at the end of that term, and started work at the Public Library at the beginning of Feb 1941. Also we moved again to Rossmore.

The heath was nearby; there was a gipsy camp in a place called Heavenly Bottom. One night, a plane was shot down in flames and the gipsies all rushed over to try and put out the fire; we could see them silhouetted against the glow of the burning plane.

I belonged to a club a friend of my father had started for young people. We had a room in the Station Hotel in Lower Parkstone. We used to meet most evenings and weekends. We played table tennis and went out cycling in the country. We were out near Corfe Castle one day and a dog-fight started overhead. Now that really was scary. We didn鈥檛 know what to do; in the end we all tried to hide in the hedges. It didn鈥檛 last all that long and we just carried on 鈥� ah, the resilience of youth!!

Sadly, in Jan 1944, my mother died quite suddenly at the age of 39 of a massive cerebral haemorrhage. My father, invalided out of the R.AF. now, was doing war work at Fleetlands in Gosport. Within a couple of weeks we had been uprooted from our home, schools (the younger ones) and work 鈥� me, and brought to live in digs in Gosport. I was given a job at Fleetlands too; a far cry from my library work and all my friends, but had to make the best of it.

The change was dramatic. From a day starting at 9.30 am and an hour and a half lunch break, suddenly it was a 7.15 am start, 陆 an hour for lunch and a 5 陆 day week of at least 48 hours 鈥� and all in the black-out! The black-out ruled our lives, though it didn鈥檛 stop our going to dances or any other evening visits we made. I used to help a couple of nights a week at the Church Army Canteen in Gosport, walking home, quite late, with my friend Billie 鈥� she was quite a tall, well built girl and she kept a small (full) bottle of beer in her big calf-hide handbag to use as a weapon in case we got attacked! Her home was about half a mile before mine and I was a bit nervous on my own at first.

One night I encountered a soldier, quite drunk, who had about a dozen pairs of stockings hanging round his neck. He asked me if I knew anyone they might fit and I said 鈥楴o鈥� and walked away very quickly. I thought afterwards, I could have grabbed a couple of pairs and made a run for it! You had to have coupons for everything, and silk stockings were like gold dust!

The most frightening thing I remembered about the war was the doodle-bugs; self-propelled flying bombs. If the noise stopped suddenly overhead, that was supposed to be the danger sign because then they just came down and exploded and there was no time to get to the shelter.

I have good memories too; dances and dates, good friends and I had to learn to be independent. It was hard losing my mother at such an early age but life went on (and I鈥檓 still here!)

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