大象传媒

This story was submitted to the Peoples War site by Jenny of the CSV Action Desk on behalf of Peter Cotton and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

When I was asked the question 'what can you remember about the last war?'For a start I was only a young child, so how could I write my memories? It would have to be in the think hard and jog your memory category.
I was one of a family of five boys and three girls living on Beasley estate, Chesterton in a four bedroon coucil house. My parents were Albert and Selena Cotton. My age would be about 8-10 years. Father was a miner at Holditch Colliery, mother was a 'Jack of all jobs':munitions, cook, tile presser, laundry, call out voluntary midwife, layer out if someone had died. Any job she did to earn the extra to clothe and feed her family. My dad was in the Home Guard much like 'Dad's Army,' but he was serious and took his duty seriously. Our house had a stirrup pump and two buckets, one for water and the other for sand to be used in case of fire. The Home guard did practices around the estate making little fires. Out we would dash, mother leading with the two buckets, I with the stirrup pump putting out the fires, it seemed like fun at the time.
On the estate different houses had air had raid shelters to share with your neighbours. They were called Anderson shelters after a politician who thought of them. These were are safety places in the event of an enemy raid bombing us. There were bunk beds in them. The idea was that if there was a raid on or unknown planes about, a siren went off, everybody then had to dash to their alloted shelters until the all clear was given. Many times this was undertaken even during the night, most of us in pyjamas. My dad would take charge telling us to be quiet and looking up to the sky for planes. When we heard one, one of the questions to my dad would be; 'is it one of ours?' I don't know how he knew, but I was proud of him.
Mother at any time could be called upon to attend a birth if the proper midwife could not get there. That's how I found out babies were found underneath the gooseberry bush. She would also attend when anyone had died, the term to lay them out; we had a gate that was used for this job. I did not know what the gate was used for, but if the gate was missing I knew someone had died.
Back to my dad, at this time there was no Pit Head Baths, so everyday dad would come back home black with the pit dust, have a cup of tea, then a wash. I used to wash his back, mum would clean up his clothes- everyday a clean set.
Monday was my worst memory, that was wash day. Fill the cast iron boiler in the back kitcken, no such thing as washing machines then. Cold on shine, two dolly tubs and mangle out into the yard. The back kitchen like a sauna, mother would be mangling away, thinking back, girls would not be able to do that. When the washing was done mother would ask the neighbour if they wanted the hot water, saving the gas money for them. At times this favour was returned, such was the community spirit.
On one of our shelves was a silver cup awarded to dad's brother who won it boxing for his regiment. Alas, Uncle Arthur was taken prisoner in Burma by the Japanese.We used to say prayers for him. One of the memories related to this was one day the potato man came round with his cart. The mothers came out to buy what they wanted off him, but one day mum was crying in the street. I found out why; on one of the newspapers that he wrapped up with was a picture of an Australian prisoner kneeling down with Japanese soldiers about to cut his head off with a sword; my mother related that to Uncle Arthur's plight. After the war Uncle was hospitalised, but never spoke of his time under the Japanese.
I attended Albert Street School on VE Day, some men came to cut all the steel rails off the walls, this happened all over the place as we were short of steel for the war effort.
To forget the memory when Chesterton was bombed is impossible because of a situation that my mum volunteered our house into. This was that people had to be moved out of the area where the bombs fell so some families had to live with others until they could go back their own home. Well, there was one family that would not split up so no one would take them in except mum. Remember, we were eight children and five more, that's a full house with no prizes. We slept in bed, boys at the top, girls at the bottom. The other children were very young and clung to their mother. When she went to the toilet they all had screaming do's until she came out. Well, to say we were glad when they went home is an understatement!
One day a bus stopped in the village full of children with labels on their coats, I learned they were from London, they called them evacuees. They had moved from the dangers of living in the city that was being bombed all the while to a quieter area. They came to live with anyone who would give them a home. I watched as the bus got less and less children on it until there was only one boy of my age left on, he was crying. I fely sorry for him, so I ran home and begged mum to have him, she did. His name was Ken Powell, he stayed with us for a long time. But it did not end there, pits were short of men so those who did not go into the army for one reason or anther had to go into the pit. Well, Ken's dad was one of those, he came to Chesterton and lodged at our house. He was only a little man and was terrified to work underground. He came to terms when the next day came, but my dad took him under his wing until he foumd confidence on his own.
Such was my mum and dad's feelings for others that other memories stick with me. There was always a shortage of meat, but rabbit was a good meal, near us a poacher lived. When we knew he had been out mother sent us for a rabbit, she would make a super pie and share it with the neighbours. We kept chickens at the bottom of the garden, all the potato peelings were boiled and mixed with a spicy meal which was rationed. Our supplier was at the top of Chesterton, a cobblers named Kenyon. With a bit of pleading he would let you have more than your ration. Dad would be pleased as it helped to feed the cocks up.
'The Egg.' You should give some to the government, but we stored them in a bucket of water to which was added a powder. This enabled the egg to be kept for a week or more.
Most villages had a number of chapels. Our's was no exception, but we attended the Salvation Army. Each anniversary we went on stage to sing to the congregation, but it was also time for new clothes. This was a costly time for mum and dad, but thanks to the Provident and Northern Stores we always got fixed up and we marched across the street in our new clothes. The Provident was a weekly payment scheme. Mum left the money and a card on the back kitchen table and the collectors helped themselves. People were trusted; no doors were locked in those days. Dad had a new suit once but never had the chance to wear it...Mum would put it into the pawn shop or lend it out so others could do the same.
Other memories...
Fetching coke from the gasworks. Queuing for my first bananas. Farmers coming round for help to pick potatoes.
I write this as of my memories, but they also belong to my brothers and sisters. My memory does not recall young girls with babies, but they must have. That's the memory of my age. How lucky I was to have such a wonderful childhood with two loving parents.
I cannot forget the peg rug. To make them we all helped. Also the stippling on the walls, each family with its own designs. There was no wallpaper then.
Memories...
Patches on trousers. I dodged school one day because I had more patches on my trousers than trousers!
Darning of socks: A forgotton skill.
The watchman with the coke braziers who used to let us children roast potatoes.
The delivery men with the horse and cart. The bonus if you were quick enough to have the droppings for the compost.
The huge pile of bread on the table- a filler up with your dinner. The bread was grey and white because the flour was not refined.
The family playing together.
The command to be quiet while mum and dad listened to the news on the wireless.
As a child I cannot remember funerals. How did they carry the coffins to the churchyard? Remembering how poor people were.
The rent woman- a tyrant. She just walked in, looked around, told you off if you had not had permission to decorate or paint any other colour than council brown.
Never heard of burglary or people going to jail.
Was bonfire night stopped and how did start up again?
Chickenpox.Every child seemed to get it. Down to the clinic, stripped, painted with a solution, dried off in front of a fire, same treatment for girls. Done at the same time.
My favourite wireless programme - Dick Barton Special Agent. A type of 007, but listened to.
A memory not to be forgotton was the gas and electric man who emptied the meter's: shillings in the electric and pennies in the gas. You used to get a cash rebate when he emptied them so people looked at this as a treat - money for sweets. Such was the trust in communities, no doors locked. If you were not in, the money was left on the table.
Looking back at the bombing of our village, I give thought to miners who worked in the close pits. At that time there was no rescue equipment to get them out of the pit if the head sticks or power house got hit. This came after the war.
The bravery applies to the people, mostly women, who worked in the munitions factory. Local people who did their best for our country.

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