大象传媒

This contribution to People鈥檚 War was received by the Action Desk at 大象传媒 Radio Norfolk and submitted to the website with the permission and on behalf of Sheila K Peal
This is partly a story about war-time, but it led onto other things, directly post-war. In 1944 I was a junior physiotherapist at the West Suffolk General Hospital by day, and after 鈥渙fficial鈥� work I worked at the American Officers Red Cross Club. I could tell you endless tales of that time, some funny, some sad, but the story for you is about Creamed Chicken and Fur Gloves.

Finding acceptable supper dishes for the boys was always a problem, and my acquaintance with a Suffolk countryman led to a steady flow of rabbits, which he skinned for me, and the carcasses were cut up and boned. I took these to the Officer鈥檚 Club and gave them to the Cook (English and local) who cooked them in milk, minced them and served them in a white parsley sauce as 鈥淐reamed Chicken鈥�. That was a white lie, as the boys loved it and ate it with relish 鈥� rabbit would have been a no-no for most of them.

The skins were dried and cured, and made between 40 and 50 pairs of fur gloves (just like the pair on show in your clothing bit of 鈥渢he street鈥�) [VE day remembered in the Forum, Norwich] with the fur, brown cape, leather for the palms and un-rationed woolly knitted linings, sold to the Yanks at a steepish price, but they had loads of money, and were thrilled to have something to give girlfriends or in some cases to send home.

One evening, about 3 months before VE day, we were all planning our post war lives and a group of Yanks opened a school atlas at the USA, blindfolded me, put a pen in my hand and suggested I choose where I would go. I did what they asked, the pen landed on North Carolina: I wrote to the Mayor of Durham, North Carolina and 3 months after the war ended in Europe I was on a Liberty Ship crossing the Atlantic, to go to Duke University and subsequently to a wonderful childrens hospital in North Carolina; all done on the proceeds of fur-gloves.

I could go on at length, but eventually I spent 3 years 鈥渙ver there鈥� and only illness of my mother brought me home. Though not strictly war-time thereafter very few years have passed without my going back to the US 鈥� I鈥檓 83 now and off again, to Montana, in August of this year. Incidentally, my youngish very pretty mother, when she was called up in early 1944, worked as a driver and tea-lady on a Church Army tea-wagon that serviced Seething and Hethel US airfields, and we made some lifelong friends through her work there, some still living, but like me getting on a bit.
Sheila Peal
PS I could tell you the saga of the 4 fried eggs if I had room.

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