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This story was submitted to the People’s War site by a volunteer from Northumberland on behalf of Mrs. Mary Sherwood (nee Coulson). Mrs. Sherwood fully understands the site’s terms and conditions, and the story has been added to the site with his permission. It is written in the first person.

I was fourteen years old when the Second World War began in September 1939. A number of especially memorable things spring to mind from the early days of the War. The first occurred, probably, in 1940 when a German plane flew very low over the harbour and town, machine-gunning ships in the harbour, the Fish Market and the main street in Amble, Queen Street. My Grandfather, Edward (Ned) Coulson, had a grocery and chandlery shop by the quayside, which, fortunately, was not hit.

I remember when air raid shelters were made available to households. Those with gardens were issued with Anderson shelters. Otherwise, you received a Morrison shelter for use indoors. These were strong wire mesh cages into which you crawled with rugs and cushions, to make things more comfortable. We were issued with one of the Morrison shelters but sometimes making a cup of tea was more important than cowering in the shelter! At the time, we lived in Scott Street, Amble, in Northumberland.

Another memory I have is of the bombing raids themselves. On one occasion, the Germans were obviously trying to hit the airfield at Acklington when a stick of three bombs came down not too far from us. As the falling bombs got closer, everybody’s face grew whiter! After another raid all of the local butchers were called out, to collect and butcher lambs killed by a bomb that landed in a field. I remember the land mine at Radcliffe and the time when another mine fell on Alnmouth. I'm not sure if the Alnmouth mine was a land or sea mine but I do remember that people were trapped in the resulting fire and two, at least, possibly three were killed.

A most unfortunate event was when one of our own planes, diverted to RAF Acklington after a raid over the Continent, caught some overhead wires during its final approach in dense fog and was brought down on the farm of Mr. and Mrs. Robson at Togston. The top floor of the farmhouse was totally destroyed and all five of their children were killed. Their names live on with the names of roads now forming Cliff House Farm housing estate: Robson’s Way leads to Sheila’s Close, Sylvia’s Close, Ethel’s Close, Marjorie’s Close, and William’s Close..

As soon as I was old enough, at sixteen years of age, I joined the Voluntary Fire Service, to man the telephone switchboard. One Sunday night, when the rest of the fire-fighting team was away on a training exercise leaving only my Father, Richard Coulson, and me on duty at the Fire Station, a call came in about a fire at the local gas works, which was at the bottom of The Wynd, quite a steep hill leading out of Amble and on the road to Warkworth. After reporting the fire to the Station at Alnwick and requesting their assistance, there was no alternative for me but to stay at our Fire Station, to answer any other telephone calls and pass on messages. Father began to manhandle a small water pump left in the Station. We realised that there was no way he could handle that himself, especially down The Wynd. He left the Station saying that he'd collect some men from the street on his way to the fire. Fortunately, he was able to do so and the fire turned out to be not too large, so it was quickly extinguished.

I felt that I wanted to contribute more to the war effort, so, as soon as I could do so, I volunteered to become a nurse. I worked at St Nicholas’ Hospital at Coxlodge in Gosforth, near Newcastle upon Tyne, where mental patients and those suffering from combat stress were treated. Most of the Ward Assistants had gone to the munitions industry, so much of my time was spent scrubbing, waxing and polishing floors. In addition, occasionally I undertook fire watching duties, following which, invariably, I was provided with a supper. However, my nursing career did not last long. We were so busy with menial tasks that there was no time for proper training and, with the prospect of no nursing training I soon became disillusioned.

I knew the manager of Meadow Dairy grocery store at Amble, Mr. Wilkinson, who had close contacts with the three NAAFI operations at RAF Acklington (NAAFI Club; WAAF NAAFI; and Men’s NAAFI) and I was happy to accept a job as one of two cooks at the NAAFI Club. Although it was an operational base, because there was only one conurbation within fifty miles, Tyneside, squadrons were rotated through it to give their pilots and other personnel much needed rest. Not surprisingly, come the time for squadrons to return to frontline locations most threw a leaving party, which meant there could be a party every couple of weeks or so. Preparations for such parties fell outside the scope of the normal duties of us cooks so Mr. Richardson, the manager, often had to ask for our help, which we were happy to give. At the NAAFI Club I cooked meals in individual portions, which was different to what normally happened at the other NAAFIs, and I sometimes continued to do so when I later transferred to those NAAFIs, which made me very popular with those personnel using them!

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