大象传媒

We lived in Doncaster Yorkshire. My Mum Annie, my Dad Felix, and myself Margaret. I was seven when the Second World War broke out in 1939. I can remember seeing the newsreel of Mr Neville Chamberlain, returning from Germany waving the piece of white paper that he said guaranteed us ' peace in our time ' and then hearing on the wireless that we were now at war. That was an anxious time for everyone. Barrage balloons went up over our house, and Dad had to dig a big trench to take the Anderson air raid shelter that all the houses were issued with. Thank goodness we never had to use it. It was cold and damp and it sometimes filled with water. Later on workmen came and built us a brick shelter in the back garden. "Much better, we might all be saved now ".said Mum. Dad was in his eyeholes fitting it out with seats, a bed for me, and a fold down table, plus all electrics. We did go in that a few times. Us three, Polly our parrot, Darkie, the dog, and the Mitchell family from next door. Mr Mitchell not being as skilled as my Dad at DIY, their shelter was full of old bikes etc. The night the Germans dropped a bomb at Balby, supposedly trying to hit the railway lines, there was such a loud bang, my Dad jumped out of bed and put his trousers on back to front before rushing us down to the shelter. In the same panic Mr Mitchell forgot to put his teeth in. We all had a great laugh in spite of the upset. The siren had not gone. It was (so they said) a lone bomber coming back from a bombing raid over Sheffield getting rid of his last bomb and somehow he was not been picked up by the plane spotters or caught by the barrage balloons.
I think he managed to hit a train just about to go under Balby Bridge that night. There was some excitement one day when a barrage balloon broke loose, and floated across over our estate. It was trailing its cable along behind it, causing damage to the houses below. Coming lower and lower, it came past our house taking the canopy off our front door before carrying on its way. Gangs of children shouting and screaming ran along behind it. Luckily it came down to rest without anyone being hurt, but doing a considerable amount of damage.
Dad was called up for military service in 1940. He was quite anxious that the war would be not be over before they needed him. Needless to say Mum did not see it quite like that and she had a few tears as we saw him off to the recruiting office. He came back full of smiles because he had got into the RAF. He didn't fancy himself in the khaki army uniform, he said, and according to him he had sweet talked the doctor into passing him A1 for the airforce. In spite of being colour blind. Grandad always said he must have had the best war that anybody ever had. He only ever got as far as Lincoln and Sutton Bridge. As far as I can remember. He was first billeted in a Pub in Sutton Bridge where they treated him like a son. Off duty, he got to serve in the bar and entertained the customers with his singing. He had a great tenor voice. Polly the parrot finished her days in that pub as parrot seed was hard to get and Mum was finding it hard to cope with her. Dad said she was very happy there on her perch, and with all the attention she got, it was not long before she learnt to swear. After this posting, he and one or two other airmen were billeted in a big house with an ageing doctor's widow. They helped around the house and did a bit of DIY for her. She was pleased to have them there, and in turn spoilt them rotten. Making it more of a home than any of them ever had. What they were doing in camp to help the war effort I do not know.. He then moved on to be batman to a camp Squadron Leader and his wife. He worked in their house. Between looking after them with all the perks of the job and being the chippy for the camp amateur dramatic group, and barman in the Officers Mess I am sure he had a great time. On one occasion he received embarkation leave, I remember myself, Mum and Nanna all crying buckets full of tears to think he was risking life and limb going overseas to fight. We said our goodbyes, Grandad and Dad keeping the stiff upper lips and off he went. Only to return the next day to say the ships had sailed without his squadron and he was to be allocated to another camp. He finished the rest of the war being in charge of some Italian prisoners of war who under his supervision looked after and cleaned the classrooms etc of a training school for Officers. I think this made him feel very important. Both the prisoners and the young training officers loved him. I think it was there he received his nickname Curly. (His hair was cut so short, Mum used to say it was like a tooth brush)
When Mum went to work in a munition factory making shell cases for bullets, I was sent to live with my Grandparents in Hollingwood Chesterfield.(about an hours train journey away.) I was used to staying with them and had friends there so it did not seem any problem to me at all, and I soon settled into my new way of life.

I started in the first class at the junior school in Brimington, the next village to Hollingwood. I soon settled down, and made even more friends. Mum would come over quite regularly, and I loved that, but the best time ever for me, was when my Dad had a weekend leave and came to spend it with us at Nanna's . I was so proud of him in his smart blue uniform, and his cap with the gold badge on it. He would take me into Chesterfield town to a well known fish and chip restaurant where we would have a lovely meal. I thought that this was so grown up, and that everyone was looking at us. . Then we would go to the pictures and come home late, and very tired for bed. As I bounced along beside him, I thought my Dad was the most handsome man in the world, in his blue uniform.

As a child, I remember the war as an exciting time. There was always something happening. I was fortunate not to lose any family because of it, and not old enough at first to worry about the worst of it. Rationing and clothing coupons were not for me to deal with. Going out in the blackout, carrying my torch and gas mask was as exciting, as hurrying with my Nan to join a queue we had heard was forming for a tin of salmon or something else that was so scarce. .
The news on the wireless 'with Alvar Liddell reading it' was interesting to listen to every day. We went to the pictures to see wonderful films made to boost the morale of the people, and assure us we were going to win the war no matter what Adolf Hitler had to throw at us. Half way through the programme the Pathe Gazette newsreel came on and there was news of the fighting, and our brave soldiers, sailors and airmen. The Generals and the Prime Minister Winston Churchill, all boosted morale and made us so proud. King George and Queen Elizabeth and the little Princesses, Elizabeth and Margaret, were seen at home in the palace doing their bit for the war effort etc.
The Queen said she and the children would not leave England, as their advisors wanted them to for safety, but would stay in London to be at the King's side. She and the King toured the bombed out streets of the Capital talking to people who were probably homeless, helping to give them comfort and encouragement. It seemed like London was a city of rubble and sandbags. When a bomb hit Buckingham Palace, the queen said she felt she could now look the people of London in the eye now that her home had been bombed like theirs had.
Hundreds of children were sent away from London and other cities to live in the country to be safe from the bombings. They were packed onto trains and taken to village halls etc, where they were shared out with the local people who pledged to look after them. Some it turned out were very happy, and some did not fare so well, and were very miserable away from their homes and family. In a lot of cases their parents missed them so much, they returned them home again, to risk the bombings, and spend night after night in the London underground subways that were turned into air raid shelters. My great aunt, Nanna's sister Sarah and her husband Bob Gregg who lived in Heanor Derbyshire, looked after two little black evacuees all through the war. They were the children of Leslie Hutchinson (Hutch) who played the piano and sang on the wireless and in theatres all over. . He became a great friend to Aunt Sarah and Uncle Bill, and looked after them after the war. The children always kept in touch and came to visit them as well. They were both great characters, Sarah and Bob. Funny kind and very down to earth. Uncle Bob was quite a celebrity in Heanor, having won the Victoria Cross in the First World War for single handedly wiping out an enemy gun post and carrying his wounded officer to safety. He was a most sincere and modest man as all heroes usually are. The swimming baths in Heanor are named after him. A great honour.

At home in Hollingwood my Grandad had a large map on the kitchen wall, where he would trace the progress, or otherwise, of the latest battles taking place in the war zones by sticking little flags where the latest action was. For a long time, most of the little flags had swastikas on them as Germany took control of most of Europe. Thank goodness as the years passed that was to change.

We never had any air raids where we lived, but sometimes the air raid sirens would sound. On dark but moonlit nights we could hear the German bombers going over our houses to bomb Sheffield in the distance. They had a distinct droning sound different from the British planes that we saw and cheered going over in the daytime. In the night sky we could stand in our back garden and see the searchlights playing over the city of Sheffield and hear the dull thump of the bombs being dropped. ''They're getting it tonight alright, ' Grandad said. 'Iye, poor devils God bless them ' Nanna would answer. Sheffield was very badly bombed, It stands in between Doncaster and Chesterfield so we very lucky indeed to miss any air raids. When the sirens did sound, because we did not have an air raid shelter like we had in Doncaster. Nanna would make me a bed up under the stone thrall in the pantry and there I would try to sleep until the all clear sounded. She was obviously taking no chances with her special evacuee.
My Nan was brilliant at making our rations go a long way and we always had plenty to eat. Well I thought so. No doubt she gave up her rations for Grandad and I sometimes, that was how she was. (Like a lot more Mums and Grandmas who did the same I am sure) Grandad worked in the nearby steelworks and needed his strength keeping up according to Nanna. Mrs Wragg .who lived next door made his mouth water one day, and mine. Her son had managed to get her a piece of bacon, (probably on the black market.) She sliced and fried it, and could not resist coming to our back door, opening it, and waving the pan of bacon around our kitchen. I can remember the beautiful smell of bacon wafting through into our living room, and all our three noses twitching. We sped into the kitchen to see Mrs Wragg with the frying pan, laughing her head off. I can't remember if she gave us a taste or not, but it certainly caused a laugh that day. That was how I remember my time spent in Derbyshire. People laughing and sharing, being kind and good neighbours.
Nanna was also a whiz at making me clothes to save clothing coupons. 'Make Do and Mend' was the order of the day. An army blanket made me a lovely warm coat, and parachute silk a nice nightie. I was very sad when I realised that one of Grandad's rabbits from his allotment had provided us with a lovely stew to eat, and my new fur winter pixie hat. She knitted long black stockings for me, which I hated, and socks and mittens for the soldiers, that were collected by the British Legion and sent off to war. On the newsreel we saw that even the Queen had a knitting circle in the palace. Wonder if she put her name, and good wishes inside the socks she knitted, like some of the ladies did.
When later in the war the Russians came on our side and were fighting the Germans, Mrs Clemontine Churchill the Prime Minister's wife started a fund called 'Tanks for Russia ' and appealed on the wireless for help to buy the tanks. My two best friends, Doreen Wills and Muriel Butler and I decided we would do something to help. We would be about nine then. First we went round the village collecting packets, and tins of foodstuff to make up a raffle.. People were very good, and we soon had two decent boxes of food and toiletries.
Even soap was hard to come by then, and it proved to be a popular raffle. Now, it was winter, and the bare twigs of the cedar trees (collected from Cedar Avenue) were ideal to help us make flowers of. Using these and coloured sealing wax. We sat in our kitchen at night after school, making these up into bunches, and sewed small silk sachets, which we made into lavender bags. When we had enough, we went round the village again, selling these and the raffle tickets for the groceries. Every house made us welcome. All our efforts raised the grand sum of fourteen shillings and eleven pence halfpenny, a commendable sum in those days (now just under seventy five pence). This was changed into stamps, including the halfpenny and sent off to Mrs Churchill. Wouldn't you think someone would have made up that halfpenny to fifteen shillings?
In due course a letter came from no 10, Downing Street, Whitehall. Dated the 17th of December 1942 headed to Dear Margaret, and signed, Your sincere friend Clemontine S. Churchill, thanking us for our gift and the ' trouble taken to help the brave Russians in their terrible struggle in the glorious defence of their country.' I still have this letter written on 10, Downing St. notepaper in Mrs Churchill's own handwriting. Needless to say it is my proudest possession and a wonderful reminder of my childhood in what I now know were the dark days of war.
It was in July of this year that my brother Malcolm was born and the following year I went back home to live in Doncaster with my Mum and the baby. just in time to start my first year at Senior school. My evacuee days were over. Dad was still in the forces and came home on leave, but no leave could compare with the ones shared, when I was seven years old, and treated to fish and chips, and the pictures.

I was older now, and my main memories are of the Americans soldiers coming to Doncaster giving out sweets and chocolates from their lorries to the boys and girls as we came home from school. They were very popular with the local older girls, but not with our boys. I remember well the night the girl next door was canoodling with an American soldier on our front fence. Her boy friend, on surprise leave from the Army, caught them and gave the Yank a good hiding and a punch that landed him in our garden. Mum said it was a good job he did put an end to the romance, as it was ruining our privet hedge, and the pink fluff from Kath's jigger coat was stuck all over it. I only wished that I was a bit older!
By now, I had a new baby sister, and Margaret, Malcolm and Marilyn, became the 3 M's sending love to Dad in her letters to him still away fighting for King and Country in the wilds of Lincolnshire.

I also remember seeing the prisoners of war, in the camp made for them in the middle of the race course and the German Spitfire on show in the Corn Exchange. And the girl called Gladys at school, who in front of all the class, would devour everyday a bar of chocolate. Obviously enjoying the envy of all of us, who did not have the sweet coupons she must have acquired in large numbers.
Nothing seems to come to mind like the early days of the war I spent as a small child in Derbyshire. I do remember the war being declared over. Seeing the newsreels of Winston Churchill and the King and Queen on the balcony at Buckingham Palace waving to the cheering crowds below, and all down the Mall they included Princess Elizabeth and Princess Margaret, who were now grown up. Like me. (Nearly)

It seemed quite fitting that I celebrated Victory at the street party held in Sycamore Road, Hollingwood, Chesterfield, with my friends and family there. I hope you have enjoyed reading my childhood memories of the second world war and the very fond memories of my wonderful Dad and family as much as I have writing them.

THE END

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