大象传媒

Working for my father Mr. Gazeley, a farmer in Westoning during wartime. Post-war marriage to an Italian ex-POW.

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Jenny Ford on behalf of Mrs. Edna Torselli and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

鈥淢y name is Signora Edna Torselli (n茅e) Gazeley and I am now approaching 80 years of age.

War was declared in 1939, this was my final year at school. As a teenager listening to the radio the news felt exciting. Not so for my father who had lost a brother in the First World War aged 24 and nor for the young people who must enlist to serve abroad and maybe to never return. The events following 1939 shaped the whole of my life with surprises and intrigue.

In that year of 1939 we walked or cycled to school with our gas masks around our shoulders never knowing our fate hoping the sirens would not sound. Luckily the masks were not needed. There was a type of table in our garden which was treated to change colour if mustard gas was in the atmosphere. So, anyone smelling pear drops, beware, get inside! This equipment was necessary, as my father was an air-raid warden and must remain vigilant. He needed to patrol the village through the night knocking upon doors if any chinks of light would be showing through the black out curtains which everyone must buy. A special thick stick-on netting was also advised to prevent window glass splintering against bomb blasts which we covered our windows with.

So I will return to school days which began at 9 o鈥檆lock with a religious assembly. Late arrivals must be prepared for the cane. Soon everybody became punctual unless there was a true reason for their laziness, it was used! Most of our lessons seemed more practical then, although spelling, writing and quick addition were a must for good marks. Girls would do intricate knitting, needle-work and embroidery for shows, etc. Anyone living a fair distance from school could stay for a hot lunch, cooked by a lady using a big black range with ovens, a very good menu was offered. Two of us girls would help with the preparation. Piping hot horlicks was served at 11 o鈥檆lock playtime - this I drank while eating cheese sandwiches and if there was any left I would have two cups.

Soon ration books were issued. Coupons and dockets, coupons for fats, sweets and meat were very little. I think about two ounces per week of each per person. All textiles needed dockets, sometimes a large family would spare some for money, obviously this was illegal.

Soon evacuees were arriving from mainly the London area. They came in groups, all ages, some with their mothers, but mostly alone. Their education was usually separate, being at different levels of learning. Some teachers came as well which was a great asset. Special officers would visit all the houses, checking the number of rooms and then they would allocate the quota. One could not refuse whatever.

Often this was a difficult situation acting as a foster mother, for food, washing and their general needs. Some had never slept in a bed before and were not very hygenic. Yet, everyone did their best - seeing the terrible state in London.

We were so aware of the German bombers passing over with that awful drone and then when the new weapon was launched 鈥� which was christened the doodle bug it became more frightening hearing the engine stop, wondering where it would fall 鈥� near or far. When incendiaries were dropping about four miles away we decided it would be safer in our shelter which we shared with our neighbours.

We had a youth club in our village, a small band, sometimes I would accompany them on the piano and they would dance, but really not much amusements happened otherwise.

I dyed grey Army blankets brilliant colours and pegged them onto hessian corn sacks, cut into small pieces with a good design. They then were lined and made into rugs. I was very proud of mine as we had an open fire and the complemented the inlaid linoleum which most people used in those days. Very few houses had flush toilets. White cottons were boiled in an electric copper and colours washed by hand. Refrigerators were a bit of a luxury, most families used a safe to keep off flies, etc. and heated their milk to keep it good.

Soon I would be leaving school. I decided to train in the Post Office. In those days there were only pensions and telegrams and billet pay were dealt with, not fancy goods, we were much too busy with the forces work and mental calculations.

Everyone must help in the war effort so I must leave that job either to work in a munitions factory, the forces or the land army. I was lucky in a roundabout way, it was the land, as my father was a farmer and needed me. We had a mixed farm, many animals, cows and horses. My job was tending the calves and feeding the cows which were over the hills in pasture. Every cow was named and knew their position in the milking shed. I enjoyed my life of fresh air and freedom. Horses and carts were driven for most jobs, getting mangolds into the pits for winter food, hay in ricks and sheaves of corn. I was quite an expert building ricks after tuition from my father. Corn would harden in the fields in shocks which were all set up by hand, women did this. To keep the sheaves standing for some weeks needed knowledge over time and season. The straw must be also mildew free for bedding. We were constantly hoping for hot sun to ripen and harden the ears, then it would ready to take into the rickyard and set down for thatching. The threshing machine would come when in the area. Following this would be six land girls as many hands were welcome. Wages were paid to the War Agricultural Committee. Every grade of that corn was used as no chemicals were sprayed over. Generally thistles and large weeds were chopped out with hoes. Our crops were good as they were grown in rotation. The second grade was ground and rolled for chickens and stock.

We preferred the horses for cultivating the smaller seeds as they were clever walking between the rows. We did own two tractors but I was not keen on diesel fumes. About 1942 a fighter plane crashed near our house, no one survived. The wreckage was scattered our land and that brings back sad memories.

More help was essential so father approached the Commander of the P.O.W. Camp and four Germans were sent, rather difficult to communicate with them for work but we managed somehow. Feelings were a bit strained, but a hot lunch worked wonders. During the summer we were picking peas near a high railway embankment and for the sheer fun of it we had waved to these train drivers for weeks. One day we heard the steam train approaching and our usual waves went out 鈥� suddenly the train with a big puff of steam 鈥� stopped. We were amazed. Out stepped two men with two shopping bags clambering down the steep bank towards us. 鈥極h, that will teach you鈥� they said, 鈥榟ow about some peas for our weekend lunch?鈥� So we proceeded filling their bags. The passengers were leaning out from the windows and probably thinking we鈥檝e lost our driver, what now?

Italians were landing on our shores from camps in Africa and India. My father thought it a sensible idea if he requested two P.O.W.s to live-in as we needed someone early mornings and late evenings for harvest time. One foggy day two faces looked out from an Army lorry 鈥� at last they had arrived 鈥� quite unexpectedly. Luckily one spoke excellent English. They both lived in with us - sharing meals and all facilities. After a time Dario left to work for another farmer tending the cattle, that farmer was very short of workers, we saw him often still.

Villagers did not have much knowledge of the Italian race but they were soon accepted. There were a number of Italian P.O.W.s maintaining the railways adjacent to our land. Some would walk in our village, recognisable by the patches displayed on their tunics, so, no chance of an escape there!

I was warned by the Army Officer in charge there must be no fraternisation, this was ridiculous 鈥� living with Dario and Artemio in the same household! When outdoors I must appear aloof. How could I not be friends as my uncles employed at least five P.O.W.s. Anyway I was known by the Military Police and very sure they tried to pick me up 鈥� at that time one would be put in a cell and asked questions later!

Even so, my parents were very fond of Artemio but I must act disinterested or they would never leave us alone. He was good company to my father, taking over all major jobs with the tractors. Our evenings were spent in winter playing draughts and studying further. We must not forget the secret meetings 鈥� both going in opposite directions evading the M.P.s., eventually seeing each other 鈥� discussing our future 鈥� if any, together. Artemio lived with my family for about one and a half years and then came the date for his repatriation to Italy in 1946. As it loomed nearer I was heart broken. There seemed little chance he could ever return. Naturally, after spending six years a prisoner he longed to see Italy and his family again.

The situation suddenly changed 鈥� one could apply for a work permit if a farmer made a request. Briefly, my father did. In 1947 Artemio alighted from the train and our dreams came true, for now 58 years since. In 1948 we were married but not without problems. The ceremony was arranged but we were unaware permission had not been granted by the Home Office. The Minister waited by the telephone just hoping for a miracle. An answer of 鈥榊es鈥� sent us all in a rush to prepare just half an hour before the specified time of the service. The remainder of our story is known. I keep very romantic, exciting and intriguing memories.鈥�

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