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In this part of my memories of World War 2, I would like to begin by writing further about my twelve months as a wartime evacuee:

When my brother and I had settled in at No 3 plantation Street bloughfold, I felt immediately that we going to be well looked after, although I must confess I was unaware of just how happy we were going to be. It wasn’t very long before I could really feel the affection that Mr and Mrs Dawson felt for us. Their Grandson Fred also lived there; he was 19 years old and treated us just like a couple of younger brothers. Unfortunately Fred had to go into the forces and this upset us all very much. I hope with all my heart that he came out of the war unscathed.

Sunday afternoons was always our most exciting day. We used to go into the parlour and get out our toy soldiers and play mock war games. My school days at Bloughfold were very happy and I’m sure that our morale was boosted by the presence of having our own teachers from our home town school. They were terrific and we could always go to them for sympathy and understanding. We couldn’t have wished for kinder school friends than the boys and girls who lived and attended the school at Bloughfold.

My brother and I stayed in a house right on the edge of a big field which bordered some woods. We had some great games of football and cricket in that field and played hide ‘n’ seek in the woods. At the end of the row of houses were some slopes and in the winter snow we could toboggan down those slopes. I feel sad sometimes when I ask myself why all the children in the world can’t be as fortunate and happy as we were.

I must now move on tell you about why my brother and I returned home. I think everybody began to feel a little complacent about the possibility of bombs being dropped on us by the German planes. However we were soon to learn differently. All the taping of our windows which had been done to prevent the shattered glass from flying and injuring people, and the brick built air raid shelters were soon to have their uses. People with gardens were supplied Anderson Air Raid Shelters, these were made of steel and were partly submerged into the earth. Somehow they always seemed to remind me of the Igloos that the Eskimos lived in. Quite a lot of people had shelters built in the backyards of their homes. The parents made these quite comfortable and put a bed and chairs in them so that we could rest in them when the bombing was going on.

I cannot say rest easily or peacefully because the fear of a bomb dropping on us was always with us and the noise of gunfire from the artillery guns that were sited only a couple of miles away and the exploding bombs and the roar of enemy planes was one of the most frightening experiences of my life. There was one thing about the raids, which were becoming more and more frequent, and that was how we tried to hide our fears, be cheerful and act as if we would all be alive the following morning. I think that those air raids really made me believe that if you prayed hard enough then God did answer your prayers. Perhaps, sometimes, we ask too much of God.

I remember one night my mother, my brother and I were worried out of our minds. The cause of the worry was that my sister Edna had not returned home before the bombing had started and that night turned into a particularly bad raid. You can imagine the joy and relief we all felt when she turned up safe as the all clear siren sounded. I can feel myself becoming very emotional when I think of what a wonderful and caring sister I would have lost if anything had happened to her on that night.

During the war my mother worked in a nearby factory in which the women used to dye reams of cotton. I marvel now at the way she carried on during those six years of war, the work was very heavy and she only weighed about seven stones. Conditions in the factory were primitive and there wasn’t even any washing facilities provided. I can remember as if it was yesterday standing on the doorstep and seeing my mother walking down the street, her overall and her hands covered in dye.

From the moment my mother walked into the house, which was about 5.30pm, I always felt contented, it was as if a voice inside me was saying everything’s okay. Money was in short supply in most families at that time but my mother always managed to take us to the cinema once a week and provide us with enough money to go to one of the many local cinemas on a Saturday afternoon.

My mother is still alive and is now aged eighty-two years old. It’s ironic that while she was always so very slightly built, worked so hard for many years and survived a major kidney operation in her early thirties; my father who had been a miner before the war and was a heavily built man, had died aged 65.

I haven’t mentioned my father much and I would like to tell you how he was affected by the war.

I can remember when the male population was being medically examined with regard to their fitness for army service. We all loved our fathers and perhaps I wasn’t being very patriotic when I jumped for joy on hearing that my father had failed his medical examination. It meant that as far as I was concerned he would always be with us. My father was unemployed at the outbreak of the war and so he was placed into a unit known as the ARP. This job appeared to be a very cushy one indeed, but as you can see from the war news pictures how very dangerous this job became when the air raids started. Some extremely heroic deeds were performed by the men in the ARP; these men had to be on the open streets while the bombing was taking place and they saved the lives of hundreds of people who were trapped in the rubble of collapsed buildings. Sadly, they also had to bring out the dead bodies of the more unfortunate ones.

I remember my dad coming home one morning to our house in Gill Street white faced and shaking. He told us that during the night’s bombing, somebody had told him that some houses in Gill Street had been demolished and the families killed. Can you imagine the torment he must have been suffering, not knowing whether his family were dead or alive and yet still having to carry on his duties bringing out the dead bodies of other men, women and children?

I have dealt with my childhood days as an evacuee and now I would like to tell you about my school days when we came home. We started by doing part-time schooling which meant of course that we all had plenty of time for playing or just roaming the streets. We used to go up and down the roads looking for shrapnel from exploded bombs. It was a great feeling when you picked up the biggest piece. The other kids in the street would look at both the finder and those pieces with envy. Sometimes we used to find some open ground, build a small fire and then just natter away like a group of old men. We also spent a lot of time walking in Drinkwaters Park where we would take a bottle of water and some sandwiches. The park was a great place to go blackberry picking.

Although food and clothing was rationed we still managed to eat fairly well, we used to eat powered eggs and spam became a regular item on the table. We were still able to get a monthly ration of chocolate and sweets, so I suppose we did quite well really. As we never saw any actual fighting I don’t believe we became too concerned about how the state of the war was going.

I remember the excitement that the arrival of American soldiers caused in the area. The Manchester Racecourse was used as a base for some of them and quite a lot were based at Warrington. As children we looked at them in wonder, almost as if they came from another planet. I know they were very generous with chocolate and chewing gum and also gave away a lot of cigarettes to the adults.

I finally left school in July 1943. I started work in a factory making hosepipes; I know a teacher at school was very disappointed on hearing this, he felt that I had the intelligence to make a career of some kind. He wasn’t the only teacher whom I had disappointed. The Headmistress from my previous school St Georges was terribly upset when, after passing my Eleven Plus which I had sat at Bloughfold, I chose not to go to Grecian Street Secondary School but went instead to Wellington Street.

I have never regretted the decision, the rest of my teenaged years up to the end of the war were fantastic, life and living was terrific, out dancing every night. If my life had taken off in another direction I would never have met my dear wife with whom I spent thirty seven years before she died last year.

However, I do advise youngsters of today to take their lessons seriously and to make the best of their capabilities.

I will end my story now. I must say how glad I am at having had the opportunity to put down on paper the sad and the happy times of my life during the war years and also my feelings and thoughts about the people I have met… and in particular the members of my family.

Robert Dolan.
(Submitted on the behalf of my step father R. Dolan)

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