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This story is submitted to the People’s War site by a member of Market Harborough Branch, Royal British Legion on behalf of George Seward and has been added to the site with his permission. Mr Seward fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.

Those Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer ‘45
By George Seward

Having been born a couple of years too late for membership of the armed forces, I have no dramatic tale to tell of wartime experiences. I know I should be grateful that I was spared the horrendous privations suffered by so many, but sometimes I feel almost guilty that I was a mere schoolboy at the time. After all, it was just an accident of birth. My memories, therefore, as an anxious, though not unhappy, teenager in a north London suburb during the summer of 1945, are not particularly exciting.

As a bespectacled, pale-faced youth, I was not much sought-after by the females of the species and, as a consequence, I lacked confidence. Denis, my school friend and streetwise, man-about-town, felt there was an urgent need for something to be done about my shortcomings. He decided to groom me in preparation for my launch on the local social scene. A change of image was the priority, but the only thing he could really do anything about was my hair, which was parted on the right and stuck up untidily at the back. In future, Denis ruled, the untidy mop was to be parted in the middle and waves were to be introduced on either side. In order to achieve these hirsute undulations, I was instructed by Denis to ‘borrow’ two of my Mum’s large hair grips, which resembled miniature man traps, and apply them to either side of the new parting. The tide duly came in and, according to Denis, I was transformed by the surging waves. I was ready for my debut at the St Andrew’s Church Youth Club.

Extreme shyness, coupled with the unaccustomed and somewhat bizarre hairstyle, resulted in my first visit being quite awful and I was all for returning to my less demanding, pre-transformation way of living. Denis, being made of considerably sterner stuff than me, would allow no such cowardly retreat on my part. So the next week I was dragged along to the club for further torture, little dreaming that a miracle was about to happen!

Please allow me to introduce, dear Reader, the delectable June. A year or so older than me, she had left school and was working in an office. She was very good looking, had a super figure and a mass of wavy, auburn hair. I couldn’t believe my luck! She was a good dancer and partnered me when I joined the youth club classes to be initiated into the intricacies of the waltz, quickstep and foxtrot. I learned quickly and we became a great dancing partnership as we glided across the floor to music from gramophone records.

June and I became regulars at the twice-weekly hops in St Stephen’s Church Hall where the music was live. These sessions cost one shilling and sixpence (7½p) and, as I did not have that sort of money, my salaried young lady would subsidise me. The band was normally a trio with saxophone, piano and drums and three tunes were played for each dance. The usual form of introduction by the MC went, “Take your partners for a quickstep”, or some other dance, and there were variations, such as ‘Lady’s Invitation’ or ‘Gentleman’s Excuse-me’, when a chap could tap you on the shoulder and take over your partner. Apart from dancing, there was not a lot to do in the evenings and at weekends, apart from walking. Going to a pub was not even remotely considered, but we were reasonably content with our lifestyle. I was studying for my School Certificate (which June had already achieved) and, during the fine summer days leading up to the exams, we went to a popular local open space called Hilly Fields. Here we reclined on the grass and I was coached by June in various, mainly scholastic, subjects. Having a regular girl friend did wonders for my confidence, so, as well as determined attempts to swot up for my exams, I did initiate certain extra-mural activities. Not that there was anything like the freedom ‘enjoyed’ by today’s young people. We ‘petted’, as it was quaintly called, which by current standards was not very adventurous. Frustrations were overcome by respect for each other and the accepted code of behaviour, by which the majority of young people abided in those far off, innocent days.

Nevertheless, it was a memorable and very enjoyable summer, and in my case, not just because it brought the end of the war. Incidentally, perhaps unsurprisingly, I didn’t achieve the School Certificate!

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