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During 1939 my parents had a house built in an old orchard on the outskirts of Cheltenham. Moving day was Thursday August 31st and war was declared at 11a.m. on Sunday September 3rd.

I remember an atmosphere of anxiety during the day, but greater consternation arose at dusk, when it was realised that all the houses had blackout and we had large windows and no blackout. Blankets were hastily strung across windows in two rooms and we camped out. The next day a visit was made to the Miss Shills' drapery shop in the Bath Road to buy bales of dark green material and vital hangings were quickly sewn. Later shutters were made for some windows.

To add to the chaos, my aunt arrived with my cousin. My father’s brother was in Denmark and she was convinced she was a widow. This was not to be. He arrived later in the week and instead of beginning to create a garden, my father and he dug an air raid shelter. This was fairly easy in the sandy soil. Railway sleepers lined the walls and made the roof; benches were constructed on either side; steps led down to a door and a pipe placed at the far end for ventilation and all of it turfed over. It was never used.

I think there were two raids on Cheltenham. One of which affected all the neighbourhood. This was the night of the attack on Coventry and despite the howl of the sirens we did not use the shelter. There was the drone of planes, gunfire and two explosions which shook the house. A stray plane had ditched its bombs, hitting a pair of houses a quarter of a mile away and demolishing the railway bridge over the main line to London and the shortest route into town. Until a temporary footbridge was provided it meant an extra mile each way to school and that was four times a day as there were no school dinners.

Shelters were provided at both the schools I attended, but were only used for practices. I can still smell the stuffy, damp, earthy atmosphere. At the second school, the prefects, whom I held in awe as a seven year old, carried short wooden cylinders. I thought they were for some sort of punishment but later learnt, inside were tapers to light the candle lanterns in the shelters.

Another horrid smell came from the rubber of gasmasks. Before the war we went to somewhere in the Bath Road to be fitted. Periodically a van came to school and we all sat inside as tear gas was pumped around and any leaks detected. My friend Margaret Breeze emerged with streaming eyes after one test. There was also a rehearsal of a gas attack and everyone was told to carry their gas masks. I was in Woolworths when canisters of tear gas were let off and customers and assistants donned their masks and purchases had to be made by signs.

My father worked as an engineer for the Office of Works so was home. He and my mother became firewatchers. To make this more comfortable on cold nights, a shed was put up at the end of the drive, facing down the road. Towards the end of the war my parents heard a strange noise and, looking out, saw the hut moving down the road and turning into the garden of an elderly man, who was too infirm to firewatch or assist the A.R.P. He also made a hinged ladder which he could put over his fence to the productive garden of a neighbour to help himself to vegetables.

Later, my father ran a team that toured the Cotswold villages demonstrating how to deal with fires and casualties. I would have paint daubed on various parts of my body to indicate injuries, which were treated by the St Johns Ambulance Brigade. My mother joined and passed various exams. Again I was subjected to much bandaging. My father even created a gadget to rewind bandages and made a number for local first aiders.

Food was not a problem for us. Part of the orchard became a hen run and these provided eggs and meat. The egg ration tickets were surrendered and a coupon for poultry meal was issued. Neighbours supplied us with all their scraps and this and the meal was boiled up in a small cauldron. The orchard provided apples and plums and instead of the flower garden originally planned, most of the land was used for soft fruit and vegetables.

Sugar was hoarded to make jam, so when I started to drink tea and coffee it was always unsweetened. My grandparents liked plenty of strong tea, so we gave them some of our ration. Butter was one of the things we missed most. My mother once rode her bicycle to the Lower High Street to obtain two oranges. Dried fruit was kept for Christmas puddings and a cake.

At some time during the war double summer time was introduced to give farmers longer hours in the evening. Whether it was always warm I’m not sure but I do remember being sent to bed and hearing my parents and friends sitting in the garden and chatting as I tried to sleep.

At my grandfather’s Cotswold farm, because labour was scarce, men came from their day job and helped with the harvest, working until after ten with the extra hour of daylight. First they worked the hay, then when the corn was ripe, stacking the sheaves and then making the cornricks. When all but the last square of a corn field was cut the men gathered round with sticks and stones to despatch the rabbits that had been sheltering, so providing tasty meals. Finally, the women from the village came to glean — picking up the fallen ears to provide food for their poultry.

There were a lot of hand-me-downs in clothes, items of school uniform were passed on. When war was declared my parents had two suits made for each of them and winter coats for my mother and me. I do remember my mother vowing never to mend another sheet as she turned sides to middles and hoping my feet would reach size 5 when extra coupons were provided.

War certainly changed life for my mother. Previously she had had a maid who did rough work in the morning and looked after me while she rested in the afternoon. Now she rode everywhere on a bicycle, father bought one for each of us, mine a little large to last, then she picked, bottled and jammed fruit, preserved beans in salt and eggs in isinglass and fed the hens.

Most people relate stories of the suffering of evacuees. We suffered at the hands of evacuees. We had a mother, father and son billeted on us. To start they behaved quite well, but gradually started inviting friends in for noisy boozing sessions and behaving as if they owned the house. When a complaint was made to the billeting officer it transpired that the husband had deserted from factory work in London. They took final revenge by sticking pins in all our bicycle tyres, wrecking a radiator and stealing various things. My mother became quite ill at the mention of their name, A.

Before D-Day we were asked to billet an American soldier. Russell Martin was so very different; quiet, charming and appreciative of everything. To me he gave chocolate and oranges. He also introduced sweet corn and when it was ripe he acquired butter to serve it to perfection. One amusing memory is he said he had a brother stationed at Warchester — we could not find it. Then one evening at supper, he saw the sauce bottle and pointed at Worcester — ‘that’s the place’ he exclaimed, but they did not manage to meet. We wrote to his parents in Michigan, pretending we had known them for years and so letting them know where he was in England and was well and happy. Our dog, Jan, loved Russell. He always returned by the back lane whistling loudly and years after someone came whistling up the lane and Jan raced up to greet him.

When peace approached in 1945 it was announced that there would be two days holiday and, with the thoughtlessness of youth, we all hoped it would be delayed so it did not fall during the Easter holidays. Eventually it was declared in May. My mother and I walked up the hill behind the house and saw the lights of Cheltenham being gradually switched on and on the tower of Charlton Kings church a large V shone out.

On V.J. Day we were returning from my first seaside holiday at Teignmouth. We somehow had just enough petrol to drive there and back. The car was very cramped with four adults and two children and a large collection of shells, as the beaches had been closed for five years. The barbed-wire entanglement had just been pulled back in one place, allowing access to the long deserted beach. So on the return journey we drove through town bedecked with flags and saw innumerable street parties.

Sometimes I feel guilty that I had an easy war. There was no chance of being evacuated, or having a father or near relation in one of the armed forces. There were no sleepless nights or being bombed. I was lucky to have lived in Cheltenham.

Entered by Petersfield Library

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