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CHAPTER FIVE

MATERNITY LEAVE

My Maternity Leave lasted thirteen years! Bill didn’t see his first child till Michael was nine months old. Although America was not yet at war herself, she was building ships for the Royal Navy and Bill had gone over there to take over a new ship, HMS Ettrick. Every time it left Boston on sea trials something went wrong with it and the entire crew spent a blissful ten months in America, thoroughly spoilt by all the local people and able to forget there was a war at all. So when Bill arrived back in the UK he came back to the War again.

We had moved to Sydenham by then and I had two rooms over a newsagent’s shop. My father had bought the shop and installed my stepmother and their children in the flat behind it. He, himself, was still serving at an Air Force base in Swindon. My stepmother is a wonderful mother and housewife but completely hopeless as a businesswoman, so she looked after Michael while I ran the shop. We couldn’t get anyone to do the newspaper rounds, so I would mark up the papers as soon as they arrived at 5.30 a.m. and go straight out and deliver them. By this time the conventional Air Raids of high explosive and incendiary bombs had lessened but we had a new fear to contend with — buzz bombs. These were unmanned aircraft that were launched from sites on the Dutch and Belgian coasts and timed so that the fuel ran out or the engine cut off when the aircraft reached London. Fighter planes would go up to try to shoot them down before they reached their target and large concentrations of barrage balloons were placed across their flight path. Even so, hundreds got through to London and almost all of them went over or dropped on Sydenham. We soon recognised their peculiar buzzing sound and breathed a sigh of relief when they had passed over our heads — but if the engine cut off before the plane reached us we made a concerted dash for the nearest bit of shelter and held our breath till the explosion told us it had crashed and, for the fortunate among us, life could go on again.

Several came over while Bill was walking home from the station — a warm welcome home he hadn’t bargained for after ten months of peace in the U.S. It was marvellous to have him home again and his leave sped by very quickly. He was transferred again and started another dangerous duty — minesweeping in the Channel and clearing harbours on the Continent as the Army were, at last, pushing the Germans back. The ship would return to port to take on provisions and equipment every couple of weeks and Bill would dash for Sydenham on a forty-eight hour pass.

I soon realised that Michael was to have a baby sister or brother and my father was about to sell the shop. He was discharged from the RAF on health grounds and took a job in an estate agents. This put him in an excellent position to look out for accommodation for us and, just after the arrival of Michael’s new sister, Frances, we moved to West Hampstead.

The War was slowly drawing to a close but Bill was still busy sweeping the harbours and wasn’t demobbed when Peace came to us at last. I think those last months of his service were the most worrying of all. It was bad enough for a man to be killed or wounded in the War but to suffer such a fate when it was all over must have been unbearable.

We had our name down for a Council house in the Staines area the week after we were married and had called and written to the Housing Officer several times over the years that followed — but still no luck — we had to wait. Then our younger daughter, Barbara, and finally a son, Andrew arrived. Bill was demobbed and had to think about getting work in Civvy Street again. If only we had managed to get back to Staines he could have returned to his former job but still the Housing Officer shook his head and regretted that we were still not at the top of his list. So Bill, remembering how happy I had been on the trams, decided to join London Transport himself and became a bus conductor at the Cricklewood Garage, working exclusively on route No. 2 between Golders Green and Crystal Palace. How I envied him!

We were both shocked and dismayed when, as a member of the Royal Navy Reserve, Bill was recalled into the Navy for two year’s service. But it wasn’t too bad, as a telegraphist he served the whole time in the Wireless Station at the Admiralty in Whitehall and lived at home. Finally, halfway through his two-year’s service, we were notified that we were being allocated a council house in Staines. At last — after being on the waiting list for eleven whole years we finally made it.

But those were lean times, it was certainly wonderful to live in a whole house instead of three poky little rooms but now we had the extra space it was necessary to find the extra furniture, floor coverings and curtains. So out came the sewing machine and I worked all day making ladies aprons, children’s bib and brace overalls, anything that would bring in a few shillings to help out. After Bill came home in the evenings he would take over the sewing while I caught up with the housework and that machine just about kept our heads above water. Only by keeping that machine on the go from morning till late at night could we earn about three pounds ten shillings or four pounds a week. It was slave labour really — I should think the clothing manufacturers made a fortune out of their outworkers.

As soon as little Andrew was old enough to attend school and Bill finally finished with the Navy we decided to work out a plan whereby I could go out to work. Of course, there was only one job for me — buses. We lived only ten minutes cycle ride from Staines Garage but bus work always involves shift work and the children would be home from school by 4 p.m.

Although Bill had quite enjoyed being a bus conductor at Cricklewood Garage when we lived in London he wasn’t happy after he transferred to the nearest Central bus garage which was at Hounslow so he decided to try working for the Post Office and that solved the problem for me too. Starting work at 5 a.m. at the Ashford Sorting Office, Bill was finished his day’s work and back home by 12.30 or 1 p.m. and the children never had to come home to an empty house. Frances and Michael acted as mum and dad to the younger pair, dishing up cereal and toast for breakfast when I was on early turn and escorting them to school.

When I was quite sure they could manage and Andrew had really settled into school I presented myself to the Recruiting Officer at Chiswick once again. I didn’t have to think up a good reason for wanting to come on the buses this time. My maternity leave was over at last and I couldn’t get back on the platform quickly enough! I sent off for my new PSV licence on my way home from the interview and reported to Staines Country Bus Garage as soon as it arrived by post. My new number was (and still is) 45652, Bill’s old number.

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