大象传媒

>WARTIME MEMORIES
>By Lilian Ducie
>
>I was fortunate not to suffer any personal loss during World War 2, so my
>memories of it are of inconvenience and privation rather than sorrow.
>
>It is an admission that in retrospect, I am ashamed of. So many people were
>risking their lives in appalling circumstances and I was grumbling at the
>unavailability of my favourite cosmetic. My burgeoning womanhood was my
>only excuse.
>
>The introduction of clothing coupons effected me, as these were introduced
>when I was just about earning a decent salary and becoming very clothes
>conscious. The restrictions they put on my wardrobe were considerable.
>
>I was not, I regret to say, one of those sensible girls whom on receipt of
>their coupons promptly allocated the correct number to whatever they needed
>most. They had you might say, got their priorities right. In contrast I was
>an erratic and rash spender. My search for some pretty addition to my
>wardrobe was my undoing. The choice was very limited but to my clothes
>starved self, anything new was a novelty.
>
>My mother deplored this attitude of mine, and would greet my latest
>purchase with eyes raised to heaven. "How many coupons have you left?" she
>would ask. "Some" I replied. "Not enough for that winter coat you need" she
>said reproachfully. She was right of course, there wasn聮t, and added
>ominously when you聮ve shivered through the winter wearing your summer coat
>you might have more sense next time. I was to recall her words many times
>as the winter that year was a severe one.
>
>One thing that I hated to spend my coupons on was stockings; they depleted
>my stock considerably. About this time some enterprising chemist concocted
>a flesh-tinted liquid leg make up. When I first bought it the colour was a
>very deep tan, much too vivid, so I emptied the whole bottle into a stone
>preserving jar and filled it up with water. The result was a nice natural
>looking tan when applied, and it lasted much longer. However, I think the
>chemist became aware of what was going on and began to water it down - it
>was then only just coloured enough to go on neat.
>
>An excellent little manual was published with the event of coupons. It was
>called 聭Make-do-and-mend聮. As a result of this my mother became a very good
&驳迟;聭尘补办别-诲辞-补苍诲-尘别苍诲别谤!聮
>
>With regard to food however, she was not quits so successful. Her pastry
>suffered from lack of fat and perhaps a too heavy hand. It became common
>practise in those days to mix dried egg with margarine and some milk to
>make it go further. Mother however, was over zealous in this respect and
>added too much liquid. Thus, as a consequence it was very runny. My brother
>used to say (out of her hearing), 聭I don聮t know why she doesn聮t put this
>revolting mess into a jug, it pours better than it spreads.聮
>
>We were all avid news listeners in those days. After the late night
>bulletin one night, which was always the last news to be broadcast for the
>day, my mother asked me to switch off the radio. As I walked to the set I
>heard in amazement a voice saying. 聭This is Germany calling.聮 It was of
>course Lord Haw Haw as he became known. We listened repelled yet fascinated
>and heard him to the end.
>
>We didn聮t hear him again for some time as the 大象传媒 had successfully jammed
>his broadcast. However, some night later he was again on the air. He had a
>pleasant voice, quiet and rather cultured. This time what he had to say was
>lethal and all of it delivered at dictation speed. On this particular night
>he made a shattering announcement which destroyed my peace of mind
>completely. He said that the Luftwaffe were going to make a daylight raid
>on the aircraft plant where I worked.
>
>I set off for work the next day with some trepidation. Of course I hoped to
>go home that night and tell my mother than no such raid had taken place and
>convince her of what we all know, that he was a traitor, an enemy of
>Britain and her Allies (at this time his identity was unknown). Regretfully
>I did no such thing. Before lunch we heard the wail of the air raid siren,
>and everyone downed tools myself nothing heavier than a pen, and were
>dispatched with haste to shelters.
>
>As it happened the bombs missed their targets. One fell barely a quarter of
>a mile away - this was mercifully a dud. It made deep crater in the road
>and blew out all the windows in the houses and shops nearby. I wonder how
>many slave workers in the munitions plant paid for this act of sabotage
>with their lives. Another one, again off course, demolished an infant
>school, fortunately in this case the school was empty. I do think that luck
>plays a not inconsequential part in these operation.
>
>About this time one person in each household had to be a member of the
>Civil Defence. When my brothers joined the forces this task fell to me. My
>father was a volunteer ambulance driver by day, and was considered too old
>for nocturnal activities of this kind. Thus I became acquainted with a
>stirrup pump for the first time. We had to practise fire drill several time
>a week, and after each session my poor arms ached intolerably - I was not
>exactly robust being seven and a half stone. Added to this was my
>embarrassment at being the only girl amongst so many men.
>
>When it was my turn to be on night duty I had to be ready to go out into
>the night on patrol. This I did feeling very heroic. A lonesome walk in the
>small hours with German bomber planes flying above made me feel very
>vulnerable. I didn聮t, I may add, have to put any fires out, but the bits of
>flying brick and masonry (which must have travelled some considerable
>distance as no bombs fell in my vicinity), hurt my face. It seemed as if
>someone was throwing hard sharp pebbles at me. Once home again, I would rub
>Vaseline over my face, looking carefully for possible scars.
>
>When I wasn聮t on duty my tin hat was borrowed by my mother and there she
>would sit under the stairs whenever there was a raid. She had great faith
>in it. I really think that she regarded it as a talisman against injury and
>worse. It seemed funny to me at the time, but now I am ashamed to think
>that I thought it so.
>
>Later on we had our own shelter built. It was a cold damp place but it was
>considered safe. As soon as the siren went my mother would shake me awake -
>the raids often occurred at night. "Hurry up and go to the shelter," she
>would say. I was loath to leave my bed and lingered. Again she would come,
>a note of hysteria in her voice. I dressed but I would not go to the
>shelter until I had made myself presentable (I should add that other
>neighbours shared it with us). She would depart saying in ominous tones as
>she went, "you are the only person in the house now and a lot of good it
>will do you looking nice when your head is severed from your body and
>you聮re lying in the heap of rubble!" With her gory forebodings ringing in
>my ears I too would make my way to the shelter.
>
>I was married during the war and what a wedding that was, unconventional to
>say the least. The day before we were due to 聭tie the knot聮 a telegram was
>delivered to my husband to be. It stated that he was to return to ship at
>once. His reaction to this was as everything was planned he would go ahead
>with it. This we did, his mother casting a blight over the whole
>proceedings by wailing on about the disgrace of flaunting orders and the
>dire consequences. I expected to leave church as 聭Mrs聮 only to have a
>welcoming committee in the form of armed guards ready to handcuff my
>husband and whisk him off to goodness knows where.
>
>The ceremony was duly performed and I was relieved to reach the hotel where
>we had the best meal that the chef could produce, taxing his ingenuity to
>the utmost. There wasn聮t much to feast on in those days. My husband聮s
>brother read the telegram of congratulations. There was another one at the
>bottom of the pack, this one more official addressed to my husband, and
>spelled out the dire consequences of not returning to his ship. We read it
>together and both knew that we had to part. At three o聮clock he was on the
>train to London. That was my wedding day. Memorable it certainly was. All
>my friends married to serviceman had at least managed a mini-honeymoon, but
>not I. It could have only happened to me.
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