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This story was submitted to the People’s War website by Tracy Yates, Centre Manager of Mayfield UKonline Centre on behalf of Margaret Greenaway with her full permission. The author has received a copy of the site’s terms and conditions.

A Journey through Childhood

I was rudely awakened by mum pulling me out of bed, her voice urging me to hurry and saying ‘Quick get under the bed’. This was no game — being thrown under then bed when I was 4 years of age is my earliest memory of childhood during the Second World War.

Whilst under the bed I heard the alarming sound of a warning siren, screaming and wailing its mournful sound, alerting residents an air raid was imminent. As the noise receded I heard the sound of slow heavy footsteps approaching and finally stopping outside the front gate.

Muffled voices reached my ears, but I couldn’t make out any words. I knew mum was out there talking and remember feeling very frightened as I though the enemy had come to take her away and keeping fingers-crossed they wouldn’t find me!

I found out later an air raid had taken place and mum assured me the footsteps belonged to a friendly fire warden doing his patrol.

It was pretty grim and scary for a child of those times. Our home was austere and plainly furnished, no colour, and blackout curtains drawn in the evening so no lights shone out to alert the enemy aircraft above. No street lights either of course and any of the very few vehicles that were on the road were restricted to low, dim, shade lights.

Some time later an Anderson shelter was erected at the bottom of our garden, and at bedtime I would trudge along with my sister and brother holding our ‘Mickey Mouse’ gas masks, grumbling we didn’t want to sleep in the shelter. It was always so cold and I had achy legs in the morning.

At night using the outside loo was a bit of an adventure in the dark. Torches weren’t allowed and we groped our way along through the garden to reach it. The winter was a particularly miserable time to want the toilet, especially if it was raining and snowing. No lights to see by and using squares of old hard newspaper to wipe our tender bottoms with! No warm bathrooms, very often no hot water to wash in unless it was Monday when mum lit the fire beneath the copper in the scullery ready to do the washing.

We had no electric in our small cottage, but had gas lamps coming from the ceiling which used gas mantels, fragile, funny little net things, which if handled roughly would put a hole in them, they couldn’t be used then. Mum would be cross, for replacements would cost 3 old pennies from the ironmonger across the road.

At a later time I recall a rare occasion when we slept in the house, my brother had an asthma attack during the night, mum woke me to accompany her to the doctors surgery a fair walk away as there was no other means of contacting the doctor as no homes had telephones during the war. Surgeries in those days were often part of the doctor’s house and medication was dispensed there as well. A charge of 2/6 was made, plus the cost of the medication as this was before the NHS. It was 2 o’clock in the morning and I vividly remember feeling afraid as it was pitch black apart from the searchlights weaving and waving across the sky and plump barrage balloons looming overhear looking like huge monsters bobbing about. It was the sort of scene imaginations are made of. But this was very real!

At school during the day things didn’t seem so bad. The sirens were still active, and if they sounded during class, we stopped what we were doing, grabbed our milk from the crate and filed down to the shelters where there were long benches where we sat as long as it took — A good opportunity for a game of I-Spy or getting involved with the noisy chatter of our class friends.

There weren’t many luxuries in those days, in fact not much of anything. So it was a great pleasure on the rare occasion at school to receive a food parcel from Canada. Not everyone was lucky enough to get something, so names were out in a hat for the fortunate few. I received a tin of fruit and on another occasion a tin of drinking chocolate, gifts so rare and quite a treat, which is probably why I remember them!

Most food was rationed and obtained with ration books. The amounts received were very meagre indeed. Mum used to tell me about her 2ozs of tea — the quota of one adult per week. She used the tea leaves three times, nothing was wasted and I dread to think what the third pot of tea tasted like! Mum’s weekly shopping could be carried in one bag, unlike the huge trolley loads I see in supermarkets today.

Mum was delighted if the old lady next door, who kept chickens, gave her a couple of eggs, as only 1 fresh egg was issued on ration books for one adult per week. Dried egg was normally used for cooking purposes, so an extra couple of fresh eggs would provide a nutritious, free meal when money and food was short. I remember mum grumbling at me as I wouldn’t eat eggs for some reason (and still don’t today!), so it would be bread dipped in Oxo for my tea! Or maybe bread toasted with a toasting fork in front of the fire if it was lit, and then spread with the most horrible margarine. Sometimes, but very rarely, the children may have a banana as a treat for tea. Mum would have waited in a long queue for a considerable time for those. Apples we had fairly frequently, as lots of gardens grew apple trees and the owners regularly gave mum bags full of the fruit.

The years seemed to pass quite quickly. Mum kept talking about dad being home soon, which didn’t mean much really, as in those days there were very few men around. For 5 or 6 years I didn’t know what it was like to be brought up with a dad — it seemed more strange when he came home, there was never a close bond from either side sadly, the children and their dad’s were often distanced from each other for a long while.

As time went on us children noticed a lot of to-ing and fro-ing, laughter and general air of excitement among the adults who were talking about a victory party — a party?! I had never had one before! As a child I saw things on that day I had never seen in my young life, let alone tasted. Jugs of coloured drinks, bright jellies, sandwiches and mountains of cakes, which all households had contributed. Bunting and flags hung everywhere and as well as the party a big bonfire was made and in the evening when the fire was lit it brought everyone out of their homes. A few men, home from the war, were there too, who I was too shy of having never had dealings with any men. I recall a huge drum kit suddenly appeared, the young lads had a great time on that showing off to the girls.

There was music, laughter, dancing, sing-songs and no doubt a tipple or two! A time of celebration at the end of the long war in 1945 and everyone could now look forward to better times.

It was some time later dad returned home and when he did his arrival took a bit of getting used to, but it was only after he came home I remember Christmas. Whether our family didn’t celebrate Christmas before this I do not know — Probably not, due to lack of finances.

It was also after dad returned that we had a wireless in the home. As we had no electricity, wirelesses were run with accumulators and it was my sister and I who had the dubious joy of taking two of these to the garage to be topped up. Listening time was limited, presumably to save the accumulators from running down. The news was always put on and as a treat before bedtime we could listen to the Ovaltinies, which all children loved, as there wasn’t much for children in those days. As extra treats we could stay up to listen to Dick Barton Special Agent and his sidekick Snowy and later Paul Temple and his accomplice whose name has long gone!

Childhood in wartime and immediately after was entirely different to childhood today. I am not too envious of today’s children — but I would have gladly swapped my best lucky marble for a sheet or two of their soft toilet paper!

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