大象传媒

This story was written by Joan Emmie Banks, and has been added to the website with her permission by the staff of Blackpool Central Library.

I had barely turned 12 when the war began, just as we returned to school after the long summer holiday. Blackpool was full of evacuees and our school population doubled overnight. We had girls from Manchester, and I think we were as bewildered as they were. We were three to a desk; classes of 40 or 50 girls were normal. Sometimes we had lessons sitting on the playing fields in the lovely September weather.

There were gas mask drills and shelter practice, when we tried to break the record for walking quickly to the air raid shelters.
We all had evacuees in our homes. At first we had two little boys, but their mother missed them so much she took them home after a week. We then had a girl my own age and, as I was an only child, Iris was like the sister I never had. We got on very well and my mother was her 鈥楤lackpool mum鈥�. We are still in touch to this day (2005).

In those days school leaving age at Secondary Modern school was 14 and when the time came Iris and I reluctantly parted, she to work at the Burtonwood American Air Base, near Widnes, where her home was. As I left school in July 1941, and I was not 14 until 21st August, I had to wait until I could go to work. By far the biggest employer was the Vickers Armstrong factory at Squires Gate Blackpool, and that is where many school leavers, including me, found employment.

We didn鈥檛 have qualifications from school in those days, and the final testimonial from the headmistress had to be produced at the job interview. Mine must have been acceptable because I was told to report to the Correspondence Office at 8.30am the following Monday morning. The hours were 8.30am to 12.15pm, 1.00pm to 5.30pm Monday to Friday, and 8.30am to 12noon Saturdays. The wage was 13s.6d (75p) a week, and after a month we were expected to do two nights鈥� overtime until 7.30pm, and every few weeks to work Sundays 9am to 4pm.

We were not allowed to work on the factory floor until the age of 16. I duly reported to the factory gate and was issued with a pass and escorted to the Correspondence Office. The factory was huge and the main offices were upstairs along a 400 yard long corridor. Part way along there was a window down into the factory, and as I passed I had a confused glimpse of machines and noise. Then the supervisor was showing me into the office. We had no such thing as work experience in those days; it was up to us individually to make the leap from school to work.

My first job was as a messenger. I was assigned to a boy of about my age called Ewart and after I had been issued with a cream cotter overall (which was miles too big and had to have the half belt stapled to make it fit) Ewart instructed me to collect a bag of internal mail and to follow him. We had to deliver mail to the foreman鈥檚 offices down in the factory; these offices were sited at the end of various bays built with blast walls in case of bombing. The offices were up about six steps so that the foreman had a good view of his domain.

Nothing prepared me for the noise and the dust and the smell of this massive factory. The machine shops with dozens of lathes, and the smell of metal and swarf, the grinding and drilling and milling machines and the shriek of pop riveters, and the massive overhead cranes carrying aircraft engines across the factory. I almost turned tail and fled, but I suddenly remembered what the headmistress had written on my report - 鈥淛oan is very adaptable鈥� 鈥� and so I thought I鈥檇 better live up to it.

No sooner were we back in the office that we were off again, but by the end of the week I was an old hand doing the round on my own. I stayed at Vickers Armstrong throughout the war in various offices. I really enjoyed the switchboard work, although being left in charge of 50 phone lines, and the old plug and wire board, was a bit nerve-wracking at first.

We had many disturbed nights when the air raid sirens went, but no one ever stayed off work and we still managed to enjoy ourselves despite the rationing, the blackout, carrying gas masks everywhere and listening to the news, which was sometimes very grave and later more encouraging. Near the end of the war all the workers watched the last Wellington bomber fly from Squires Gate - we were happy, yet nostalgic, and perhaps a bit apprehensive about the future.

When I was 15 I joined a little band (I suppose you would call it a group nowadays). They needed a pianist and I was fairly competent, having had lessons since I was 7yrs old. It consisted of two accordionists, a drummer and me. We played Wednesday evenings at Poulton British Legion and Friday evenings at the 鈥淭oc H鈥� at Squires Gate, Blackpool, which was roughly were the old Vulcan bomber outside the Airport now stands. I also played on one or two workers鈥� playtime concerts in the works canteen, and once at the old Feldman鈥檚 Theatre in Blackpool on an 鈥淎id to Russia鈥� concert. The producer was 鈥楶eter Webster鈥�. He worked in the Central Control Office and went on after the war to become quite famous on the Central Pier as 鈥楿ncle Peter Webster鈥�. Looking back it all seems so unreal now; in those years I grew from a very timid schoolgirl to a reasonably confident 17year old, independent and able to face up to life. We were all in the same boat, we all had a job to do and there were no excuses - we had to pull together.

I think the self-discipline we learned all those years ago has stood us in good stead up to this day.

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