´óĎó´«Ă˝

'This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Ruth Jeavons for Three Counties Action on behalf of Elizabeth Brown and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.’

War was declared on 3 September. My birthday was 29 September I remember that birthday because I had a lovely Mickey Mouse birthday card from my Dad. He wasn’t there himself and I missed him. My father volunteered. He was an ambulance driver at Dunkirk — on the beaches. We were Catholic, and all he came back with was a large wooden crucifix. He’d had to abandon everything else — even his rifle. But he brought this wooden crucifix (about 8” x 6”) back tied to his belt. I still have it on my mantelpiece.

My mother wouldn’t let me go be evacuated. She did the right thing. She had a baby girl on 23 October, so I stayed with her and my baby sister in Sunderland. Sadly the baby died of meningitis at the age of 18 months, on 12 May, the same day as my Mum’s wedding anniversary.

Sunderland got heavily bombed during the war because of all the factories. We all had shelters. Granddad across the road had an Anderson shelter. Ours was brick. My uncle Nick was a pit man (aged about 22 at the time). I remember him sitting on top of granddad’s shelter kicking his heels and looking up to see a flight of planes. He shouted up at them “Go on! Go and get the huns!” Then the planes started diving down and he realised they were enemy aircraft. They nearly broke their necks trying to get into the shelter after that! It was a daylight raid. There were only two in Sunderland.

When we went down into the shelters we had to wear a “siren suit”. This was like a boiler suit on top of your pyjamas. I remember the excitement of being in the shelters.

My father said he never joined hands, but he joined up. He was in Aldershot and then France, part of the British Expeditionary Forces as an ambulance driver for the Royal Army Service Corps. He was shell-shocked after Dunkirk and never the same again. It was the blast of a shell that did it. He was listed as missing for a time he said he’d never seen so many dead bodies. He was in hospital in Birmingham and my mother and a friend went to visit him there and took the baby — Sheila Marie was the baby’s name.

When he was on leave my father kept a rifle in the coal shed from training. I remember him and my uncle Nick (only about 20 at the time) doing drill with this rifle, marching up and down. When he came out of the army my dad wore a blue suit — hospital blue. People applauded them wherever they went. Then they would ask for a drink.

My dad was a coach painter by trade. He died aged 71 in Sunderland. His name was Walter McCarthy, and his wife was Eliza. Baby Michael was born in February 1945. And I remember my dad “kicking his height” [jumping for joy].

One other thing I remember about the war is Lord Haw Haw’s radio talks. “Garmany Calling! Garmany Calling!” (That’s how he used to say it.) I was scared stiff when he threatened to knock Vesta Tilly off the top of the Empire. He didn’t manage this, but a German land mine did hit the King’s Cinema down the road.

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.