大象传媒

Early War Memories by Sheila George Sheila@sheilageorge.f9.co.uk

I was clutching my spade as I stood on the platform with my family waiting for the train to come in. We were going to the seaside and I was jumping up and down with excitement. My spade was a plain wooden one and had been the one disappointment of this holiday, father insisting that it was much safer than a metal one which would probably result in my injuring myself. Suddenly my excitement turned to terror as the giant monster came hissing and roaring towards me and I grasped my mother鈥檚 skirts while she laughed and put her hands over my ears. I was six years old and had never been on a train before. I soon forgot my fear as we scrambled on to the train, making ourselves comfy in the carriage and father and the boys put our luggage on the racks. Most of the luggage had gone on to Mablethorpe earlier in the big tin trunk, packed tightly and a thick leather strap fastened around it. It would be waiting for us at the boarding house on Fitzwilliam Street.
The thrill of being on a train and going on holiday overwhelmed me. The train now made happy noises- clickety clack, didlee diddlee diddledee. It seemed to be saying 鈥淥ff we go, down the track, off to the lovely lovely sea鈥�, and suffusing all the lovely noises was the entrancing smell of steam! I gazed happily out of the windows; at the views of the countryside and the funny way the wires went up and down between posts, up and down, up and down. I became aware that there was a competition going on with my sister and brothers. I was the youngest of four and didn鈥檛 understand their excitement. They always seemed grown up to me and I often felt left out of their games and conversations. Kathleen was the oldest being seventeen , then Bob who was fifteen and Eddie thirteen. Suddenly one of them shouted out 鈥淭here it is , there鈥檚 the sea, I鈥檓 first!鈥�. We had arrived.
We were staying with a Mrs Hawkins and her house was a small terraced house. How we all fitted in I just don鈥檛 remember, perhaps there was an attic. It was handy for the beach and the shops. Mum would shop for our food every morning and Mrs Hawkins would cook it for us and have it ready for us. After a good cooked breakfast we would head for the beach, going home for our dinner at 1 o clock. . After dinner, mum made sandwiches to take to the beach for our tea and we would picnic at the beach hut. They were usually salmon sandwiches and whenever I eat salmon I always remember Mablethorpe and sandy salmon sandwiches. Dad would sit on the beach hut steps, puffing away at his pipe and keeping an eye on us all. The beach hut was lovely and mum could boil a kettle and make tea. However it wasn鈥檛 equipped with a toilet so I was told to go under the beachhut and dig a hole and cover it over again 鈥� unless I needed the public toilets which were a long way to walk, especially in a hurry!

There was a Pierot Troup performing on the sands every day and these young people soon made friends with my sister and brothers. Also during the week my family鈥檚 friends from back home came to visit us staying for odd days so there was a jolly crowd of young people on the beach every day. Cricket matches were very popular and I would plead to have a go, but I was soon bowled out when they got tired of me. How I wished I were older. However I too made friends. Dennis was a boy about my age and I enjoyed playing with him, building castles, digging in the sand and paddling in the sea. He had a metal spade and would sometimes let me use it 鈥� how I loved the clean sharp cut it made in the sand.

It was very sad when it was time to go home and there were many fond farewells. 鈥淪ee you next year鈥� everyone said but I couldn鈥檛 imagine a whole year going by before we came again. But it did, and it was wonderful again. All the same people were there, the same Mrs Hawkins, the same friends, even my friend Dennis and his family in the next beachhut. The weather was glorious and we paddled and played on the beach getting sun tanned and being gloriously happy. I remembered the salmon sandwiches (they were a luxury at home) and the feel of the sand in my sandals after being barefoot all day. But mum and dad seemed worried, I barely noticed but something wasn鈥檛 quite right. At last I heard dad say 鈥淚 think we had better go home鈥�. I was so upset, it was only Wednesday and we should be staying until Saturday. People were gathering in little groups and talking in anxious voices and our friends had already left. It was August 1939 and I took an instant dislike to that man everyone was talking about, the man who had ruined our holiday 鈥� Adolph Hitler.

We came home to a different world. Dad was a joiner and carpenter and began to make blinds for the windows; no light must be seen from outside. People were putting sticking paper across windows to stop them shattering in a bomb blast. We had to go to collect our gas masks and ration books. The gas mask was pretty frightening at first and we had to practice wearing it every day for about half an hour. It smelled funny and rubbery and our breathing laboured. We looked weird sitting wearing them and hoped we would never have to wear them in a gas attack. We had to take them everywhere with us. They were supplied in little cardboard boxes with string handles to wear round our necks. Some grown-ups bought fancy leather cases with shoulder straps and zip compartments for personal bits and pieces 鈥� was this the start of the fashion for shoulder bags I wonder?

Bob was longing to join the Air Force but was only sixteen. He had carved his initials on our front gate which were RAF and he probably thought this gave him the right to join immediately. He lied about his age and in next to no time he was in air force blue and I nearly burst with pride; he looked so handsome I thought he could win the war single handed. I鈥檓 sure my mother鈥檚 feelings were very different.

That first winter was pretty grim in more ways that one. I never felt warm and the snow came up to the window ledges. Our house was a council house and lovely in the summer, but deadly cold in the winter. It had one huge living room from front to back with large windows either side. The only heat came from a central fireplace and we would crowd around trying to get warm, but our fronts would be warm whilst our backs remained cold. The coal was rationed and often it was poor stuff which gave out little heat and was full of rocks which exploded in the heat sending shards flying across the room. The rest of the house was even worse. A trip into the kitchen was like a polar expedition and going to bed was purgatory. We would get undressed in front of the fire then dash upstairs. Mum would take the oven shelf out, wrap it in a blanket and put it in my bed to help me get warm.


In the morning the windows were covered in frost and I was amazed at the delicate beauty of the patterns. Mum would tell me that Jack Frost had been busy in the night. This was bad enough but in wartime it was misery. I remember still how my stomach would churn at the sound of the sirens and my sister or my mum would shake me awake from a deep sleep. Warm clothes would be hurriedly donned and we made our way to the top of the garden where dad had built the Anderson shelter. There was a platform to sit on as we perched over the water-logged concrete floor, feeling cold and scared. What a relief when the All Clear sounded.

Christmas 1939 was very different to previous years. Food rationing was biting, but we did manage to have a piece of pork for Christmas dinner. No turkey, no fruity pudding, no Christmas cake and jelly was disgusting, cloudy and gritty. I was told not to expect presents, certainly Santa wouldn鈥檛 be coming, but I did get some second hand toys: a teddy bear and a painting book. I longed for a sledge; the snow was hard and icy on the rise and children were out enjoying the snow that Christmas holiday. I managed to share rides on my friends鈥� sledges and we had a great time. There was little traffic and the snow shone like polished steel. The main roads were heavy with traffic; trolley buses ran up and down Carlton Road every few minutes and the snow was piled high in the gutters.

Dad had fought in the trenches in the First World War and the injury to his leg still gave him much pain. It was December 29th and Eddie鈥檚 fourteenth birthday. Dad loved his church choir and on this Friday, after being at work all day he set off to cycle to choir practice at St. Mary鈥檚 Church Nottingham. He didn鈥檛 get there. The roads were icy and made narrow and treacherous with piles of snow. He was hit by a trolley bus in Nottingham and died instantly. He was fortyfour and left my mum a widow and my sister my brothers and myself fatherless just three months into World War 2. We were devastated and my mum took to her bed after the funeral. For weeks she wouldn鈥檛 get up or do anything, she just wanted to die. Then suddenly when my poor sister, just eighteen was frightened and in despair, mum got up and said she was going to get a job. In the First World War, mum had worked at the General Post Office while the men were away fighting. The call had gone out again, they were crying out for workers 鈥� especially with experience and mum had no trouble in getting a job. She said later that this job 鈥渟aved her sanity鈥�. The hours were long and it was shift work, early, late and night shifts. She started in the Sorting Office, standing for long hours sorting letters into boxes on the wall. Then with her previous experience she was promoted into the Cage. Here the workers were locked in as this was where the registered letters and parcels were sorted. Everything had to be recorded and balanced and no one was released until everything was correct. I would often walk to meet her when she was on a late shift, walking our dog for company and sometimes had to wait outside for a while if she was late balancing up. Then we would walk home and if we were lucky we would find a chip shop open and contentedly eat them out of the paper on our way. Chips kept us going in the war and assuaged the hunger pangs. I was always hungry. Often a shop would be closed through lack of supplies 鈥� fish, potatoes or fat.
There were some strange experiments. One shop proudly displayed signs advertising whale meat which didn鈥檛 prove popular but dried egg from America was a hit and made lovely omelettes. Real eggs were rarely seen and it wasn鈥檛 until the end of the war that I sat down to a plate of egg and chips. It was a duck egg, but that didn鈥檛 matter. We had gone for a bus ride in the country and how I enjoyed that real egg, dipping my chips into the runny yolk. It had been so long I could barely remember. Other things were either scarce or disappeared altogether. Oranges or bananas might be seen very occasionally or as a Christmas treat, but tomato ketchup was just a memory and never seen till way after the war. Perhaps the food most missed was sugar. Tea was rationed too but we were careful so just about managed. But tea without sugar was a real hardship and caused more bad feeling in our house than anything. My sister would go without anything but this and would soon use up the family ration. I liked a sweet cup of tea myself but gladly gave up sugar in my tea in exchange for a spoonful of golden syrup. Mum and I tried it and liked it but Kathleen hated it. Condensed milk too was a reasonable substitute but I preferred the syrup. What was so surprising was that it wasn鈥檛 rationed although it was the waste product from the refining of the sugar. Both mum and Kathleen missed sweets and chocolates but I didn鈥檛 mind so much and gladly gave them my sweet ration.

I was a rather lonely child, even though I had many 鈥榩laymates鈥� as we called them then. Mum was always at work , asleep or busy at home, but she always preferred the night shift so she could be home for us at teatime and the evening. Kathleen too worked full time; she was a secretary at the Nottingham City Transport and had to do her bit for the ARP in the building which meant fire watching at night once a week. She also worked several nights for the WVS on the railway stations, providing hot drinks and sandwiches for the troops. She was so good looking and must have cheered up many a serviceman passing through. I thought she was beautiful and would watch entranced as she applied her makeup. Brother Bob was in the air force and Eddie had left school to be an apprenticed joiner and they all seemed so grown up. The only time Eddie was at home was when he was playing the piano. He was a talented pianist and went to the Stockwin School of Music in Nottingham. I loved to hear him play 鈥� Beethoven, Lizt and my favourite Chopin. The Palais de Danse would hold talent competitions and Eddie would invariably win first prize, especially when he played The Warsaw Concerto from a popular film of that time called Dangerous Moonlight. Unfortunately this didn鈥檛 inspire me to follow in his footsteps 鈥� I loved music but wouldn鈥檛 practice so didn鈥檛 make much progress. I regret that now, but I did love to sing and singing has been a life long pleasure.

My friends during this time lived all around me and we all went to Manvers Infant & Junior School down the Rise. I was going to this school when war broke out and at first the authorities didn鈥檛 seem to know what to do. Some schools were closed and others became headquarters for dispatching evacuees. I was terrified I would have to go, but mum decided to keep us at home and said she would kill us herself rather than let the Jerries get us . Then the schools were opened in holiday times to make it easier for some mums to go to work. This idea didn鈥檛 appeal either but I was very pleasantly surprised. There were no lessons, just games and short outings on foot to the local Colwick Woods for fresh air and exercise. This didn鈥檛 last long either, so the holidays became a problem 鈥� or rather I did. Twice I went to stay with my aunt and uncle at Highfields, but I was unhappy away from my mum. Sometimes I would go to friends homes for the day and they would take me on little outings. No one went far in the war, it was frowned upon to use public transport, petrol was in short supply and rationed. Few people in those days owned cars and fewer still were allowed to use them. Large posters appeared with stern faces and underneath were the words 鈥淚s your journey really necessary?鈥� Posters like this were everywhere 鈥� 鈥淐areless talk costs lives鈥� 鈥淧ut that light out鈥� or 鈥淒on鈥檛 forget your gas mask鈥� etc.The buses had all been blacked out with paint over all the windows and the light bulbs too, it was like going into a dark cavern. ....continued

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