大象传媒

1944. Hitler thought of something else and doodle bugs and flying bombs were dropped on London. In June that year were the D-day landings in Normandy. The allies had been promising that for a long time and it was another turning point in the war and not long after that Paris was liberated. There was severe fighting in Belgium at Arnham in the winter of 1944.

In the meantime, Harold was moved to Barton Hall, near Preston. I left the Promenade Hospital and joined him. We took rooms at Fulwood and I got a nursing job at Sharoe Green Hospital.

Later we moved to Didcot in Berkshire (now Oxford) and I collected money for the Red Cross. Rationing of food was still tight and I know what it was like to be a housewife in wartime. I remember that we were allowed one egg a week between us, the small joints of meat were terrible and nobody knew what they were. While in Didcot, I made friends with my next door neighbour and still keep in touch at Christmas.

Peace was declared in May 1945, I can remember the news headlnies "end of war in Europe" and a picture of Churchill, stern looking and tight lipped, standing over Hitler while he signed the peace treaty.

England went mad, the church bells rang out which had been silent for six years, and there were celebrations and street parties everywhere and bonfires lit. That first night in Didcot everyone congregated in the streets, calling to strangers: "It's over!"

We were still at war with Japan and that came to an end in August 1945 when the Americans dropped an atom bomb on Hiroshima.

A house in Southport belonging to my parents became vacant and we looked forward to the time when we could move in, which wasn't until November 1945. What a joy it was when we were given the keys and we walked in through the front door.

Writing this has made me sad when I think of the war years and all the suffering it caused. My family, parents, sister and I were never in any real danger, we just had to put up with the hardships and difficulties. Harold and I each had a cousin involved ... Harold's was killed in Germany in a Lancaster bomber and mine was wounded in Italy. My friend's brother was shot down over Germany and taken into hospital where he would have been a prisoner, one of our bombers bombed the hospital and he was killed.

Such were the war years 1939 - 1945 in my lifetime and I am writing these stories for my son and grandson who are interested and ask me questions about the war.

In one of my recent visits to London, while walking down Whitehall, I stopped at Monty's statue there and paid a silent tribute to that great man who led us through the battle of El Alamein, while my daughter and granddaughter walked on without a second glance.

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