大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site by a volunteer on behalf of Doris Johnson, who fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

I was lucky. I had a quiet war. No air raids, food shortages, loss of family, home or possessions. But then, I was only three in 1939 when World War II started and probably too young to be totally aware of what was going on.

I was born in Whitchurch, Shropshire; a sleepy little town with no industry likely to attract the Luftwaffe's bombs. Dad worked on the railway, a reserved occupation, which meant he was excused military service. Things changed in 1942 when he was transferred to Crewe. Being a railway junction and having the Rolls Royce Factory (making Merlin Engines for Spitfires) and the L.M.S. Locomotive Works (making Churchill Tanks), Crewe was very vulnerable indeed. I remember Mum in tears when she had to leave the comparative safety of Whitchurch. Though the siren went quite often, strangely, neither factory was targeted.

You could not just go out and buy what you wanted. Food and clothing was restricted, "rationed" they called it. Mum had to give the shopkeeper a small buff-coloured book. He would cancel the coupons in the book before taking the money. Even furniture was rationed. It was made out of re-cycled wood, often old packing cases, and carried a special stamp called the "Utility" mark. If your home had been bombed out, you got extra furniture coupons.

The shop-keeper weighed out tea and sugar by the ounce, deftly parcelling it up into paper packets, blue paper always being used to bag up sugar. Mum opened the packets very carefully, straightening out the folds in the paper so as to extract every last leaf of tea or grain of sugar. Margarine and butter papers were also flattened out and well scraped so none of the precious contents got thrown away. I still do this today.

Posters urged people to "Dig for Victory". Parks and gardens lost their iron railings. Flowers were replaced by vegetables. Every bit of spare ground grew potatoes. Bananas and oranges disappeared until after VE Day. I well remember the taste of my first banana after the war.

We often had "Wilton Pie", a meatless dish, named after the Minister of Food. I never had margarine. Somehow butter was always available. Maybe Mum was giving her butter to me and my brother, though a "Black Market" thrived. Sugar and tins of salmon were hoarded. A bartering system existed. A lady would knock at our door. Eggs, butter and bars of hard, carbolic soap were exchanged for unused ration coupons or something Mum had spare. Toys were impossible to buy. My brother shunted the rock-hard bars of soap over the scullery floor, using the bars as make-believe trains. I was already ten years old when I got my first doll. Coal was also stricly rationed. (Dad brought lumps home from work in his bicycle bag.) Some rationing was still in place for a while after the war ended, including children's sweets and chocolate.

As I said, a quiet war, thank God!

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