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This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Sabrina Parkar, for Three Counties Action, on behalf of Margaret Aitken, and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.

When the war broke out, I was 14. I lived in Stoke Hammond, Buckinghamshire where I was born at the village shop. As well as the shop, my father had a paraffin and hardware round and my brother, Fred, who was seven years older than me worked on the round with him.
Early on, Fred, was called up. Mother was distraught, convinced that her only son would never survive the war. After basic training in Kempston, Fred was posted to Swindon and then on to France, where he was seriously wounded by shrapnel and shipped back to a military hospital at Epsom a week before the evacuation of Dunkirk.
My friend, Jean, and I cycled to work in Bletchley, me to the Rodex coat factory and Jean to the Co-op office. However, I had to leave my job to replace Fred on the round and also to serve in the shop.
Living in the village the war made little difference to our lives. Food rations were tight, but we kept hens, and there were always wild rabbits to be shot or snared. When the first air raid warning interrupted our life, Mr Gadsden, the air-raid warden, cycled around the village during the night blowing his whistle, but most of the village slept through it.
Jean’s uncle sold some land to the Air Ministry for a wireless station to be built and we were excited at the prospect of young Airmen coming to our village. First, riggers were billeted in Stoke Hammond to erect wooden pylons, then fitters came to attach the aerials, but they were older men, which was disappointing. Eventually, living quarters were built and soon after, the RAF boys moved in. They used to come to the shop for cigarettes and I got to know some of them. Some came to the Methodist chapel which Jean and I attended, and after the service would come to my aunt’s house where I played piano and we sang hymns. My aunt always managed to provide spam sandwiches for us all.
On VJ Day Jean and I went to a promenade concert at the Royal Albert Hall with two girl friends. We had never been there before and were very excited about it. On the way, I remember buying plums and we sat in the Albert Hall, spitting the stones into the paper bag, and giggling at the thought of what we were doing. When we came out, crowds had gathered to celebrate the end of the war with Japan and we got caught up with them. It was scary being pushed and jostled, and not knowing London we were afraid of being separated, I forgot how but we ended up spending the night with our friends’ relative. When I got home I had a severe telling off from my mother — not for being out all night, but for not being there to serve in the shop when they were busy!

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