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I was ten years old when World War Two broke out, and in my final year at Blue-Bell Hill Junior School. Our family lived in a tall three-storey terraced house plus cellar on Blue-Bell Hill Road. At that time they were quite nice substantial houses, they are now demolished and replaced with modern town housing, the district is now called St. Annes.

September the third, 1939 was a glorious Sunday morning. We all sat round the living room waiting for the broadcast by Neville Chamberlain. When he said we were now at war with Germany, my Mother collapsed in tears, head on arms on the table, frightening we children.

War preparations had been going on for some time. Air Raid Shelters dug in the parks, gas masks issued, and our cellar was re-enforced by the council. They made loose brick panels leading into next door’s cellars, so that if any of us were trapped, the panel could be pushed out and we could escape through next door, or they through our cellar.

On the first night of the war the Air Raid Sirens went. We were all scared stiff and grabbed what clothes we could and ran down to the cellar. Our lodger, cousin Linda, came down in a long coat, my dad’s boots and wearing her gas mask which set us kids off laughing and made us feel better. Another neighbour came in carrying a box containing her house deeds but by the time we were all gathered together the All Clear sounded and we all trouped back upstairs.

Windows had to be blacked out and Dad made a shutter for the living room window, old blankets were bung over the others together with dark roller blinds over the doors. Air Raid Wardens came round at night to see if there were any chinks of light escaping, if so you could be prosecuted.

Street lights were put out, shop windows dark, bus windows blacked out, and their headlights had hoods fitted over them with slots in. Suddenly a very dark dismal world and much more so as the winter progressed. Schools, cinemas and other places of entertainment were closed and immediate preparations to evacuate children were put in hand.

Four of our family were to go. Only Joyce who was working and Sylvia who was only two years old were staying at home. We were to go on Tuesday. Our change of clothes was packed, the neighbours turning up trumps with little old cases for us.

The buses lined up outside my school in the early afternoon. Although the weather was warm my Mother insisted I go in my gymslip and jumper and I was roasted. My Mother saw us off holding Sylvia in her arms and far from feeling afraid I was excited and wanted to be off. We waved our goodbyes and travelled for what seemed ages, I was in a different bus to my siblings, and I was put out when the buses went to different villages and we were separated.

When we arrived in Sutton Bonnington, it might have been the ends of the earth.

A Townie in a sleepy village.

I had the freedom of the city streets at all hours, but life was to change and Mrs. Moody made me toe the line.

She and her sister, two middle-aged ladies were in the village hall along with other villagers and the vicar and his wife, deciding which children went where. My friend Enid and I were left until nearly the end, I don’t know whether we looked unsavoury or just potential trouble. Mrs. Moody was given a large tin of biscuits amongst other things and we walked down the village street to her house.

We were introduced to Mr. Moody, a kindly chap, and to their son, a chap in his late twenties.

It was a recently built house (her husband owned a small garage) and it looked very imposing, we were soon to learn there were house rules we hadn’t come across before.

At home, shoes were wiped but left on (we had no carpets to worry about), no crumbs on the floor, sit up straight and only two slices of bread allowed. Enid, being a tiny little girl, sometimes used to slip me one of her slices. No mixing with the village kids, no going off without permission. Early bed-times and no reading in bed. Sheer torture.

The school was very close, a small village school, the local kids were a tough lot, determined not to be over-awed by us townies.

The school nurse came to examine our heads, some of us had got lice. Mrs. Moody soon sorted that out, and cut my hair very short which mortified me.

On Saturdays, our lunch was boiled potatoes, tinned peas and a thick slice of sloppy potted beef. Enid and I hated it, and would wait our time and sling it to the dog lying under the table, where one gulp and it was gone.

I was most unhappy there, my Dad came over by bus once to see me, and it was agreed that as soon as a place could be found for me, I would move to Gotham where my siblings were.

That day couldn’t come fast enough and on a wintry Saturday morning, snow quite deep, I was put into the coal merchant’s lorry with my few belongings. The driver was on his way to deliver coal to Gotham, the first time I was to travel in a coal lorry, but not the last.

My new family lived in a semi-detached house belonging to the Grypsum Co., just outside the village and where the men living in these houses worked.

There was a son and a daughter, both younger than me. Graham the son was a spoilt boy who wouldn’t have had much sympathy from my Mother, a quick clout or two was what he needed.

Between us, we drove his Mother mad.

I was moved again to a bungalow with a lovely couple who had just the one daughter. She was a live wire who tried her parents’ patience sorely, but we got on very well, and I liked them all.

The winter continued very hard, deep snow, everything iced up, lacy patterns on the bedroom windows, no central heating then for ordinary houses.

I was glad to be near my sisters, Jack didn’t stay long, as soon as he reached fourteen years of age he went home to work.

The war seemed not to exist as far as danger was concerned, but the shortages were beginning to bite. Those with money had been able to stock up, but for the ordinary week to week wage-earner, that wasn’t an option.

The black-out and a quiet village made for very dull life.

One Saturday afternoon, the A.R.P. Wardens were on exercise in the village. A ‘BOMB’ had been planted and they had to find it. We kids knew where it was and sat on a wall watching the wardens hunting in the front gardens. We knew it was in the church-yard, but we let them sweat before we told them.

The family moved from the bungalow to a house along the road, and my sister Margaret came to join me, the host family were paid by the government and I suppose it was as easy to have two as one.

However, two’s company, three’s a crowd and so it proved to be. We started to get homesick and to go home sometimes at weekends.

We went to the village school and had some of our own teachers with us. I was put down to take the Eleven Plus which I did at West Bridgford High School. I remember my shoes were very shabby and I went in Beryl’s shoes, the girl of the house.

Although there was fierce fighting on the Continent, in Nottingham there seemed to be no danger, and gradually a lot of us ‘vaccies’ drifted back home.

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