大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site by Lin Freeman of Radio Derby CSV on behalf of John Crones and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

My boyhood memories of that time are not exceptional, but just a few weeks ago (VE Day anniversary)I remembered my reaction to the war's end - which was that I'd lost my chance to be a Spitfire pilot. As Captain Mainwaring might have said ..."stupid boy!!"

Perhaps it all seemed more adventurous from my safe vantage point of the West Cumberland coast, which was judged suitable to take evacuee children, and this gives rise to the earliest of my memories. In the war's early days I went with my mother to our local school, where stood a group of children each with a label on their lapel and carrying the regulation gas mask plus a bundle of belongings. She looked them over, said "we'll take this one" (a blond lad of about my age) and off we went home! Being then an only child, I was delighted to get an instant little brother who stayed about 18 months.

Though in a "safe" area, we often heard the stomach-churning air-raid sirens at night and the distinct throb of German bomber engines as they flew over us to raid the ship/submarine-building yard at Barrow a few miles south. We got the occasional "accidental" jettisoned bomb, but nothing much. However, we had a Morrison shelter, a huge steel table (it almost filled the living room) under which was a sprung base and sleeping matress, and we kids had fun in there as our den. Another diversion (pre Blue Peter!) was helping to put sticky-back tape in diamond patterns on the windows to reduce flying glass. In early days we had to carry our gas mask everywhere - in a cardboard box on a length of string - and the height of "cool" was to get a leatherette carrying case!

Whilst unbombed ourselves, we worried about Uncle Bob (who worked at Barrow shipyards) and family when the bombers headed their way. I vividly remember the day that cousin Joe (my age) appeared at our front door saying "we've been bombed out - can I stay with you?" and we learned that the house two doors away had been demolished by a bomb and their own house was uninhabitable. Joe had been put on a train to find his way to us, and his brothers and sister "farmed out" to others in the family. No phones then, of course, to make advance arrangements!

With father away in the RAF, mother had to cope and I had to help on the "Home Front" - my main task seemed to be to run errands and stand in endless queues at shops, not only to get the regular rations via our coupon books but also home-in on any special treats whenever word got out that the butcher or grocer had any non-rationed "extras". And we got by OK.

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