大象传媒

On 19th. November, 1940, I was at home alone in Grove Road, in the centre of Leicester. This was the night the Germans bombed Coventry, but some of the planes mistook their target, while others simply dumped their loads on the way home.

There was a terrific bang, all the soot fell down the chimney, and the lights went out. I'd been sitting by the fire, writing a letter, with my dog, Peggy and a stray kitten. The soot was set alight as it fell, but when I went for water, it was cut off, so I had to use a bottle of lemonade to put the fire out.

I knew I had to get out as quickly as possible, and go to the shelter, but I had to scrabble round on the floor to find Peggy, as I wouldn't leave without her. I couldn't find the kitten, but it had simply hidden somewhere, as I did find it again in the morning.

I went down to the shelter, where I spent the rest of the night. Nobody much spoke to me, but it wasn't until later that I realised this was because I was covered in soot and they didn't recognise me!

The next morning I went back down the street and called into my neighbour's house. The building was badly damaged and later had to be demolished. I found my friend Ken down the back garden, checking on the chickens his father kept there. As I arrived, he backed out of their cage, with a chicken in each hand. He gave them to me to hold by the feet, wings flapping, unaware thet I'm frightened of flapping birds.

My own house wasn't habitable after this night, either, and I had to move in with a neighbour. That's how it was in those days.

When the war started, I was working as a lockstitcher at Klynton Davis knitwear firm in Leicester.

We had to go to the Labour Exchange, where we were given the choice of jobs to help in the war effort. Our choice was either the Armed Forces, the Land Army, a munitions factory, or the Ordnance Depot in Old Dalby, near Melton Mowbray, to the east of Leicester.

Needless to say, my friend Margaret and I opted for Old Dalby.

We had to walk to Belgrave Gate where a bus collected us every morning, and delivered us back again in the evening. We worked there for the rest of the war. I used to sleep for most of the journey, but when the weather was bad, we had to all get off the bus at the bottom of a particularly steep hill just outside Old Dalby. The bus would then struggle up the slope, while we trudged up in our overcoats and wellingtons, and then climbed back on for the rest of the journey.

In the offices it wasn't too cold, but the men worked in huge sheds like aircraft hangars, with open doors either end, heated only by an old stove in the centre.

I began by working in the typists' office, but was taken out of there, to work with the main stores manager, Arthur Geen. This was a very important move for me, as I later married Arthur, and had our two daughters, Trish and Wendy, just after the war.

We had a depot cat, who had kittens in one of the filing cabinets. We weren't supposed to let her into the offices, and there was the occasion when the boss came in to ask for some papers. I had a lapful of kittens out of sight under the desk, and had to make excuses why I couldn't immediately get up and find what he wanted! We eventually brought the cat, Sally, home to live with us.

The work at the depot was vital to the war. We had to have double the supplies in stock to what was already in France ready for D-Day. There was a time when all one side of the Six Hills road between Old Dalby and Leicester was full of camoflaged vehicles, covered in netting, ready for transportation.

I remember on the announcement of D-Day, there were grown men crying at Old Dalby, because they were not able to go and fight.

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