大象传媒

This story has been added to the People's War website by Anne Wareing of the Lancs. Home Guard, the contributor wishes to remain anonymous, the story is in his own words....

Aged five my Mum sent me to buy bananas for my baby brother, Albert. He was then only one year old and poorly. There was myself and my older sister Freda aged 13. Before we were born there had been Olive, the reason for their marriage, who died aged 18 months and Bernard who had died young. However back to bananas. The request in the local green grocers was met with laughter, not withstanding pleading my brothers ill health "Did鈥檔t I know there was a war on?鈥�

My dad was very clever but condemned remaining working class. His marriage certificate, at the age of eighteen, lists him as a 鈥渞ing jobber鈥� but over the years he rose to be the mill engineer at Haston Lee Mill, Roe Lee. There he was in charge of two beautiful steam engines fed from Lancashire boilers. At times weekend work requires climb into the boilers to de-scale them. The equivalent of a super, but claustrophobic sauna. The boilers had to be on line for Monday morning.

When I was born he was listed as a stoker at the age of 30 in Great Harwood. We moved to Church, another job move! The house on John Street was plagued with cockroaches. These were regularly caught over night. I remember standing on the windowsill to watch the King and Queen pass by. Another move to Hertford Street in Blackburn, and then to Stephen Street. It was there that I had my shortest-lived Christmas present. It was a small glider fired from a catapult, my dad demonstrated it uses, unfortunately it flew straight onto the open fire. I remember that we got our first radio at than time. Dad was working at a mill off Standish St. next to Newman's slipper works. My sister and I took him his supper one night; it was pitch black as we felt our way along the concrete railings guarding the river Darwen. It was at this mill where he survived being taken round the 鈥渞ope race鈥�. The mill engines drove a huge flywheel which was had multiple grooves, each of which carried a rope drive to a one of the many lineshafts which in turn drove a room full of looms or other machines.

My dad took over as engineer at Haston Lee Mill, Roe Lee. During the war this mill provided meals for many other workplaces. The meals where delivered by lorries and during the holidays I often rode in them and helped loading and unloading. The least favourite run was taking the waste food for pigswill. In a hot summer it stank! The first war casualty I knew of was one of the drivers. Alan was conscripted and there was a tearful farewell with the office girl. It seemed no time at before he was reported killed.

My dad was a clever and resourceful man. He made model yachts; these were three foot long and stood some five-foot from lead keel to masthead. I had one, which we sailed on Queen鈥檚 Park Lake. He made one, which was proudly displayed as first prize in the Church annual raffle. The hull was a bread and butter construction on layers of wood roughly cut to shape and glued together. The result was lovingly shaped to smooth curved hull and decked off, where he got the wood God knows. I too made model planes, the bodywork cut and sanded to the correct shape from solid blocks of wood. I don鈥檛 know how often he 鈥渓iberated鈥� meat from the lock up walk-in freezer. The one occasion I saw the hinges were unbolted and the locks were totally useless. So when I dropped the week鈥檚 meat ration into the stream across from the butchers he interrogated me as to where exactly it was, recovered it and we ate it. He still kicked me halfway upstairs. Since the mill was a canteen there was plenty o food stored away in a big double door fridge, secured by padlock. Like my dad I have always been able to see weaknesses in security. On one occasion I was told to watch for visitors during a weekend visit. Going inside I was impressed to see both padlocked doors wide open with the hinges at one end unbolted. I don鈥檛 think he took much, but it was missed.

By now his marriage was on the rocks and he was kicked from the communal bed. He and I sleep together. My elder sister left home about this time and later it was suggested he had made drunken advances toward her. Well she had fallen for the charms of a married man with whom she worked. The same old story. I remember her taking an atlas that I had and colouring in the latest advances across Europe for her fellow workers. Dad eventually moved out and I was persuaded to stay with my mum. The courts approved separation and weekly payments. These were seldom made and on countless times we went to collect from an office on Northgate, only to be turned away empty handed. It still annoys me today when a man leaves home and begrudges payment for his children. My mum had not worked for years, it being the custom then. She was forced to find work with her health failing. First back to the weaving trade but her asthma soon ruled that out. Then as a shop worker, which although long hours, she coped with until she retired. We moved to Whitebirk, a smaller house and then to a two-bedroom house in CHURCH. Only one cold tap and after the move I remember cycling to the public baths in ACCRINGTON to clean up. This downward slide was force upon my mum because of the war and she died in poverty at that house, age 69, in 1972. My dad had eventually decided to get a divorce to legalise his current woman. My sister and I went to tell him of my mother鈥檚 death. When he offered to pay for the funeral we let him do so, he owed her that and she had saved him the cost of a divorce. She was buried in Blackburn鈥檚 old cemetery to rest with my brother Albert. Because the cemetery was seldom used there were bonfires of rubbish, it was like a scene from HADES. We met him later but his condescending attitude was too much to take. We saw little of him, at 80 years of age he had an exhibition in BLACKBURN library of his paintings. He died in Queen鈥檚 Park Hospital just weeks short of 89 years of age, in 1993. When I last saw him he was happily giving court to my sisters children. He never met my children I did not think he deserved so to do. After his death I was told he had left me two paintings but I refused to accept them. He deserted my Mum and me when I was eleven and I never really forgave him. I did look for his grave but unsuccessfully.

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