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A wartime wedding

I was born on Newey Road in Coventry on 20 July 1915. I lived with my parents, James and Jennie Fairfield, and my brother George and sisters Margaret and Mary.

I cried when war was declared on 3 September 1939. My wedding day was all arranged. My fianc茅e, Bill Edwards, was working in the south, and I had been sewing for six months making my trousseau, my wedding dress, my mother's outfit and so on.

Then the government, in its wisdom, decreed that no more than 12 people could assemble in one public place. Invitations had already gone out to some 50 guests, most of whom had to cram into my parents' small three-bedroom semi!

Married bliss started in Withington, Manchester. I have memories of getting home from a visit to the cinema during the blackout of 1939-40, during a real Manchester smog, with the bus conductor walking in front of the bus holding a white handkerchief.

My first baby born

My first baby, Michael Anthony, was born at home in August 1940, at the end of the 'phoney war'. A long spell of gunfire accompanied my labour pains and I begged the nurse to put me UNDER the bed.

One morning while I was bathing my new baby son, the Air Raid Warden came to tell me to go to the Anderson shelter, which was located in my next door neighbour's garden, without delay. I grabbed my baby and a prized wedding present - a glazed chintz bedspread - and hurried down to the shelter, hearing the shrapnel falling on the garage roof as I ran. We were there for some hours. Anderson shelters notoriously leaked rusty water, and the prized eiderdown was never the same.

By this time the Germans were bombing the Channel Islands, and a new mother with a tiny baby boy was evacuated from Guernsey to Withington, Manchester. Because I too had a new baby we were introduced to each other. It soon became obvious that both Jeanne and her tiny baby were far from well. It was arranged to baptise the wee one and I loaned them the christening gown (made out of my wedding dress) and my baby's shawl (made with 21 ounces of two-ply wool) for the baptism. Jeanne's mind was sorely affected by her experiences. I never saw her, the christening gown or the shawl again.

The winter of 1940-41 was a very cold one in Manchester - the water froze in the pipes coming into the houses, so water was at a premium. Jugs and buckets were filled from a tanker in the street. How to wash the nappies? A lawn covered in brilliant white snow seemed the answer. I filled the gas boiler to the brim with snow over a very low light, very confident I had solved the problem - but I was totally unaware of the soot content of the Manchester snow!

Bill is called up

My husband was called up in February 1941, having been a part-time firefighter in Manchester and Salford. His initial training was at Blackpool for six weeks. The landlady had no idea of men's appetites, and seated at tables for four, the men tossed to see who should eat the frugal breakfast. Unfortunately Bill was unlucky enough to lose the toss frequently, so parcels of breakfast cereals had to be sent to him.

Alone in Manchester, night after night when coming up out of the shelter I looked towards the city, the night sky aglow with fires.

Soon I was evacuated to Market Harborough. Everywhere was crowded. I got two rooms in a terraced house for myself and my baby, but the landlady's young sister, who had been evacuated from Birmingham, was also staying there. For a time all seemed well, although food and money were short and there was an outstanding Income Tax demand which constantly nagged me. Women of my generation will remember a cash box with several compartments where small sums of money were set aside for a 'rainy day', which was most helpful. But the cash box vanished and so did the young girl from Birmingham. The cash box was eventually found empty at the bottom of the water butt.

Preferring bombs to being robbed I returned to Coventry to live. My parents had been sent to Chatham on war work, my dad was an engineer and their house was therefore empty.

Bill's life saved by the birth of his son

Eventually Bill was allocated to Bomber Command as a wireless operator flying in Lancasters. From Blitzed Coventry I was evacuated to Warwick to have my second baby, Paul Graham, in December 1943. The matron would not allow the radio news or newspapers to be brought into the ward, but my bedmate's visitors came out with the remark, 'My, didn't we lose a lot of Lancs last night, 124!'

My temperature went sky high. But Bill had been given 48 hours compassionate leave to come and see his new baby son. His crew took someone else in his place, but they failed to return from a raid over Germany.

These were anxious days, or rather nights. Later I learned - seven nights out of 11 were spent over Berlin; there a low level attack on 笔别别苍别尘眉苍诲别
; then they reported late back at base in Lincolnshire. As was the normal practice, Bill's locker was cleared of his personal possessions, including precious oranges and butterscotch saved from his special air crew allowance. Much later it was learned that, after a troubled flight limping home, they had to land way up north. The news of their safety arrived at base just in time to stop the telegram being sent to me.

On another occasion Bill was stood down on his 29th Op, the experienced pilot taking a 'green' crew. They did a tour of 30 and they also did not return. Can you imagine the feelings during that final 30th trip?

And so the war ended. In 1946 Bill was working in Somerset, living in lodgings. I was pregnant again. After five broken years we were together again, but miles apart - I was still in Coventry. Six weeks before my third baby, Phillip Hugh was due, a telegram arrived. Miracles happened. Bill had found us a house. What joy! Once settled in our new home, we then went on to have our precious baby daughter Anne Veronica 18 months later.

Bill died in 1972 from a heart attack.

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