大象传媒

The day WWII started on Sunday 3 September 1939, I was six and a half years old, living with my father and mother in Shelton, Stoke-on-Trent.

My first memory of being at war was the newspaper boy running down our road shouting 鈥渨ar is declared - war is declared!鈥� I ran into the house and asked 鈥淲hat is war?鈥� I soon found out.

My father, Elijah Jones, a member of the Territorial Army was called up immediately (at the age of 36) into the North Staffordshire Regiment, eventually becoming a Lance-corporal. He saw service in Belgium, Holland and Germany. My mother Nancy, joined the W.V.S. (Women鈥檚 Voluntary Service) and I would go with her to the WVS house, set up in one of the streets to give temporary shelter to any family made homeless if their house was bombed. Fortunately in my area there were not too many bombs dropped. But you could hear the German bombers flying overhead to big cities like Birmingham and Manchester. After one particularly bad night for Birmingham, from our road you could see the sky glowing red in the far distance. You could identify the different engine noises of the British and German planes - and the famous Spitfire was the most recognisable of them all - and in Stoke-on-Trent we were very, very proud of this plane as the designer, Reginald Mitchell was born in Stoke-on-Trent.

When the wailing air-raid warning siren went off mother and I would bed down under the big oak dining table - very cosy at night in front of the fire. We started off joining our neighbours in their corrugated iron air-raid shelter out in their yard, but gave it up because it was cold and damp and mother reckoned that it didn鈥檛 matter where you were if your number was up!

Mother and I listened to all Winston Churchill鈥檚 speeches on the 鈥渨ireless". Even to a six year old they were memorable and truly inspiring - and with 鈥淢onty鈥� (General Montgomery) fighting the fight for us, never once did I believe we would lose this dreadful war or that my father would not come back home to us.

At my school,Cauldon Road Infants and Junior we only attended part-time - I think it was because of the fact that if the school was bombed, the community would not lose all the children. We didn鈥檛 mind part-time schooling at all - but on reflection, we did lose a lot of education! When father came home on leave {before going overseas, I would have more time off school (鈥渢o-day鈥� was what mattered because we might not have a to-morrow!), I remember him coming into the house and tipping his kit-bag out onto the table to reveal all the Fry鈥檚 chocolate bars he鈥檇 saved up for me and the pride I felt when he allowed me to polish the brass buttons on his uniform.

Food rationing did not affect we children quite as much as sweet rationing!. Cough sweets were not rationed and when news swiftly got around that they鈥檇 arrived at the sweet shop, off we鈥檇 all go - not too many coughs at that time, but teeth decay? The local grapvine worked very well and when the Co-op had a delivery of something special - like tinned fruit - there would soon be a queue forming. Hurrah for the fish and chip shop that supplemented our meagre rations! Clothing was also on ration - clothing coupons. You got extra coupons for feet over a certain size (i.e. big feet!) I fell into this category but never knew whether to be pleased about it or not! I was tall for my age , with feet in proportion. I seem to remember the extra coupons were granted (and someone came to the school to measure our feet for this purpose) because you were deemed to be in the adult shoe category that required more coupons per pair than children鈥檚 shoes. I readily identify with the public embarrassment of the ugly sisters trying on Cinder鈥檚 glass slipper!

Mother and I would regularly go to the cinema or theatre. On one occasion, at the Theatre Royal, Hanley, the air raid warning sounded. The comedian - I think it was Frankie Randall - came to the footlights and whispered: 鈥淭hose who want to leave the theatre please go quietlu - and when you get outside RUN LIKE HELL!鈥� mother and I stayed to the end of the show! The war-time films like Mrs Minever (supposedly aimed at the Americans to gain sympathy for our plight) and In Which we Serve. were wonderful - as were the Hollywood musicals, escapism from our austere, frugal existence. But the newsreels were harsh reality. The fighting, the aftermath of the bombing raids - the King nd Queen amid the devastation and rubble offering condolences and support to the people of London after the blitz.But nothing prepared us for the horrific newsreels of the liberation of the jews from the Nazi concentration camps. I remember crying with the rest of the cinema audience at the sight of the pitiful emaciated scraps of bone and rags that were the starving survivors who managed a smile for the shocked allied troops who were offering them hope and a future. I like many had to cover my eyes at the realisation of what I first took to be mounds of rubbish were, in fact, men, women and children waiting for the dignity of a burial. Stuck in my memory is overhearing my father telling a relative that the people who lived in the vicinity of the concentration camp he saw maintained they did not know what was going on beyond the wire. But, he said, the smell from the camp was horrendous, even a mile away.The newsreels of the liberation of the camps and the awesome sight of the atomic bomb explosions on the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki are indelible - the suffering of innocents caught up in the evils of war.

As children, my friends and I were on the whole quite happy. But we were encumbered by the gas masks we carried in a cardboard box dangling from string over our shoulders. They were black rubber with a perspex see-through section. They were quite heavy and looked ominous - like something out of Dr. Who. But worst of all was the feeling of claustrophobia when your face was encased in the very tight fitting monstrosity. I dreaded gas-mask drill at school - fortunately they were never needed, there were no gas attacks. We played games fighting the Germans - cowboys and indians took a back seat. I learned to knit socks for the sailors on four needles. There were 鈥楬olidays at Home鈥� in the local park. The one thing that chilled the heart for those of us whose fathers were away fighting, was the sight of the telegraph boy who just might deliver a telegram to your house to say that your dad was missing in action - or worse. Letters from dad were always eagerly read and re-read. He couldn鈥檛 give much away because all the letters were censored. In 1943 tragedy and sadness struck our family when my cousin鈥檚 husband, Dennis, who was in the Fleet Air Arm, died when his ship 鈥淭he Dasher鈥� was blown up in home waters in the Clyde. He鈥檇 only just returned to the Dasher after seeing his newborn son..

I was one of the lucky ones whose father survived. I remember standing on the platform at Crewe railway station with my mother, watching the demobbed servicemen pouring off the train in their demob suits (my dad chose bird鈥檚 eyes as opposed to pin-stripe!) A happy ending to my war. But our men were still fighting in the far east until the Japanese surrendered on 14 August 1945.

This news of the final end to World War II was expected hourly on the 鈥渨ireless鈥�. I was allowed to stay up for the historic announcement When it finally came my mother said she would love to be in London for the VJ DAY celebrations the next day (which co-incided with the opening of Parliament). Father replied: 鈥淲e鈥檒l go - on the midnight train from Manchester to London.鈥� I was quickly dressed - I was in my nightie ready for bed - and out we went on to the road. All the neighbours were there , everyone kissing and hugging. When we told them we were going to Stoke Station to catch the London train two of the neighbours decided to join us. The train was packed with service people, some lying in the corridors. They had not heard the news that the war had finally ended, since leaving Manchester -.some got off the train saying they were going back home to celebrate with their families. Mother was given a seat and I slept on her knee until we arrived in London about 5 a.m. The whole day in London - my first ever visit - was filled with the most joyous happy memories. Sitting on the wall at the Home Office watching the parade for the opening of parliament. Winston Churchill with his cigar raising his hat to the crowds. Tea in Lyons Corner.House; an outside viewing of the famous Stage Door Canteen; a visit to the Royal Opera House (all red and gilt and chandeliers) albeit only to visit the toilets! Sitting by the Serpentine and and posing for a young American soldier who wanted a picture of an English family to take back home; sitting on father鈥檚 shoulders right by the railings around Buckingham Palace (haven鈥檛 spotted us all the times I鈥檝e seen this clip on the television!) shouting with the crowd 鈥淲e want the King - we want the King鈥� and nearly toppling off with excitement when the King, Queen, Princess Elizabeth and Princess Margaret finally came out on to the balcony. to wave to us.

The streets of London were jam-packed - you couldn鈥檛 put a pin between the bodies - and it was a miracle I didn鈥檛 get lost in the crush. In the evening you had to fight your way through groups doing the Lambeth Walk; Hands, Knees and Bumps-a-daisy and the Okey Cokey.. The noise was deafening!Was there ever a more memorable occasiont in my life - apart from the birth of my daughter? - I don鈥檛 think so!

I do feel that we children of the war gained strength of mind and body from our shared experiences - but I pray that my daughter, son-in-law and grandchildren are never put to the test!

Mrs Shirley Winifred Dixon
2 College Gardens
Worthing
WEST SUSSEX

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