大象传媒

Gerry and I made a nostalgic visit to the old place recently and the newish brickwork of the rebuilt houses could be clearly seen. It was interesting for us to recall that the V.J. (Victory over Japan) street party for the kids was held on the cleared rubble of those dwellings. I still have the black and white grainy photograph of that exciting celebration blow-out. The jam sandwiches, with the dark bread - not the brown bread that we now eat for health reasons, but an austere wartime, everything goes in, 鈥淲hat's white bread Mummy?鈥� kind of bread. Butter was rare indeed and marge was the order of the day. When butter did appear, you may guess that it was thinly spread. Sixty years later I can remember scraping the butter paper from a newly opened block and enjoying it on a corner of crust. It lives with me, in that I still carry out that simple act when unwrapping a new block and each time I remember the sheer ecstasy of that moment all those years ago.

They are all there you know, 鈥榦ur gang鈥� in that photo! Perusing the raggedy crowd, I note amongst then one Cameron. Only ever known by his surname, he was older than us: powerful, daring. He had some of Dennis Bushell鈥檚 teeth out on the grass. Cameron had smashed a school window in order to retrieve our only cricket ball. It belonged coincidentally to our friend Bushell. Once Cameron was well inside, Bushell, for something of a jape, cried in false alarm of the arrival of the school caretaker. Seemingly unable to appreciate the jest, Cameron offered his fist to the offender's jaw. I remember they were strangely white, those teeth, with blood at the end. Bushell didn't see the joke either and nor did Mrs 鈥楤鈥� who was just a mite put out to saw the least!

It was Cameron, desperate for a loan of my ancient roller skates, offered in exchange a swap with a 9mm Luger pistol! Yes; A real one! I truly can't understand how Mum and Dad allowed me to keep it. It was in full working order but without a magazine. It was my treasure and I stripped it down endlessly, to the very last screw. It was obviously a war trophy in the Cameron Clan and once it was missed, the wiley Cameron duped me with some facile yarn and my treasure was gone. He did let me have my skates back though.

Jean Dowe smiles shyly from the picture. Jean Dowe of the bushes in the park. The bushes round the old swimming pool in the park. When Gerry and I went back to Tanfield Avenue we wandered to the park but the pool had been filled in and the bushes were long gone. Part of our remembered lives had been cut away: I felt it keenly.

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Becky Barugh of the 大象传媒 Radio Shropshire CSV Action Desk on behalf of Raymond John Lawrence M.B.E and has been added to the site with his kind permission. Mr Lawrence fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

Continue reading Mr Lawrence's story by clicking below:

• 1) At the beginning鈥�
• 2) Life in the shelters
• 4) We barely made it
• 5) We kids were all pretty well behaved
• 6) We had our fair share of attention from the Luftwaffe
• 7) The 鈥楪olden Couple鈥�
• 8) An evening鈥檚 entertainment
• 9) The 鈥楿nderpant鈥� Episode
• 10) Where did I fit in?
• 11) The School Song
• 12) I wonder鈥�

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