大象传媒

When I first thought of putting the facts together for this journal, I must admit it was itsy-bitsy. So, on reflection, I think the best way to write about the war is to portray it through my own eyes, my family鈥檚, neighbours鈥� and friends鈥�. Although I vividly remember some of the incidents, I have had them defined to me by the adults who were around me at the time.

I was the youngest of my family (and very much an afterthought). So my siblings were considerably older, and I was surrounded by adults, who protected me from fear. At the tender age of three when war broke out, I really was unaware of the dangers that would lie ahead for my early school years, and it said a lot for the adults around me that they made many of the things that happened seem almost like a game. For instance, I never sensed the danger of creeping across the road to our dugout shelter and wondering why the females in the shelter would encourage us bairns to sing our hearts out. I was to discover in later years that this was often to drown out the noise of the bombs dropping.

Aberdeen had two disadvantages during the war. One was that most of the buildings were made of the famous Aberdeen granite and how these buildings gleamed on a clear moonlight starry night ! Consequently, when the sirens sounded, all had to vacate these gleaming offices because the buildings were an easy target for the German bombers. The second disadvantage was that, as happened in a lot of north-east coastal towns, the German planes would off-load any spare armaments on return from, say, Glasgow docks, before they headed out over the North Sea. I vividly remember looking up at the sky and being amazed at the searchlights streaking across the sky, never realising what their important function was. The Torry Battery was situated on a hill behind our house, and most of the warnings and searchlights came from this battery. Indeed they did open fire to no avail on several occasions.

FAMILY

My Father. As head of the family, my father was involved in what the powers-that-be called important and essential work for the war effort. He was a Gaffer/Plater in Hall Russell鈥檚 Shipyard and worked extremely hard in building the ships. He was also involved as an ARP Warden and I remember a peg in our hall with a helmet, gas mask, torch and rope (I never knew what the rope was for) hanging all together - and woe betide anyone who put a coat on that peg. I remember my father laying down the law about the blackout and saying that our family had to set an example on 鈥渓ights out鈥�. I remember him lecturing a friend who had deemed to light a cigarette in the street during a raid. My father claimed that even the glow from a cigarette could guide any bombers. I remember one incident in particular, whilst in our shelter : one of our neighbours was crying, and my father tried to cheer her up, only to find she was crying because her sons were still in their beds refusing to come to the shelter. My father disappeared for about ten minutes and reappeared with the two lads, one under each arm, complete with their bed blankets, and dumped them in the middle of the shelter. They never refused to be in the shelter again.

Germany had tried so hard to find the shipbuilding industry in Aberdeen, just like elsewhere, and on 12th July 1940, they switched from night raids to attempt to bomb Hall Russell鈥檚 Shipyard during the day. At 1.00 pm, they succeeded and many high explosives were dropped, one being a direct hit on the main boilerhouse, which meant that quite a number of workers were killed or maimed. I was told in later years that my father never quite recovered from the feeling of guilt at not being in the boiler- house at the time and so being saved. The yards wrote a very moving letter to the families of the men lost that day and some of the families still have that letter on record. Many a workmate of my father was lost that day 鈥� indeed, one of his best friends died in his arms on the way to the hospital. My father never saw victory, because he died in 1943. The family always thought the long hard work and sleepless nights took their toll.

My mother was a semi-invalid but I always remember her keeping things going at home, and there always seemed to be a pot simmering on the gas stove. She would often sit at the window and, if a soldier passed on the way to the Battery, she would invite him in to have a plate of soup. Often I remember her saying that someone might do the same for her boys. She very seldom showed fear or concern to me but she must, like all other mothers and wives, have been constantly worried. She would devise many recipes with the rations provided, and one in particular was eventually to be called 鈥淎untie Lizzie鈥檚 Pudding鈥�. She would roll two biscuits (Abernethy Rich Tea, if she had them in the larder), mix the crumbs with National Dried Milk and National Dried Egg, top the lot with whatever was available (Cinnamon) and bake it in the oven. It was a bit like crumble minus the fruit, and we all liked it.

My sister, who was married, took over the running of things when her husband went off to fight, and she was a constant source of knowing where to find food. She would save certain goodies for one of the boys coming home on leave, and I can still taste her three-tier sponge. In later years, she told me it was made with dried eggs and really was not as light as I remembered it. The top would be covered in a mixture of York bitter chocolate. (The lads would keep these bars back from their army rations). She would melt this down, mix it with National Dried Milk and - hey presto ! - a form of milk chocolate. This was also used for chocolate crispies and I thought they were wonderful. She very seldom talked about what she saw the day the Hall Russell Shipyard was bombed that July. She had gone down looking for our father and brother after the raid and saw some awful sights. She also suffered the loss of a best friend in June 1940, when her friend committed the cardinal sin of carrying her baby back into her house to get a shawl before the 鈥渁ll clear鈥� siren was sounded. Both my sister鈥檚 friend Molly and her baby were killed.

My sister鈥檚 husband would come and go, his leave permitting, but he was in Normandy during its liberation and a certificate was presented to him at the end of the war by the then King of Norway. The scroll is illustrated above. He never talked of the bad times in Europe, but would relate many a funny story about the period when he was involved in looking after German prisoners of war. He said that most of them were ordinary family men just wanting to locate families and hoping the war would soon end. He used to say that they were all thankful that the British Army had captured them, and not the Russians. Bill used to try to teach me German, which he picked up through associating with the prisoners.

My sister made me a very young aunt, having lost a son in infancy and then produced a daughter who was born during all the raids. The family would often tell her in later years that she caused a lot of the raids. I know that, at her christening, a lone soldier passing the church was given the token 鈥渇ine piece鈥�, as was the custom, and he was extremely happy, as cakes were a precious commodity at that time in the 1940s. Probably the cake had taken quite a chunk out of the family鈥檚 ration.

My eldest brother was called up very quickly and ended up a sergeant. I remember his deep booming voice and was at times, a little timid of him. He was always sprucing himself and his uniform and I remember him polishing his boots with a toothbrush. I used to be fascinated with the brass thing he used to put over the material of his uniform when he was polishing his buttons. His men seemed to be very fond of him and he must have told them he had a very young sister, as some of them made me a lovely doll鈥檚 crib. It is still in our family, and my daughter and grand- daughter in turn have kept their dolls in it. My brother never quite forgave my mother for the time he sent home, via another member of his unit, a carton of mixed raisins and sultanas, which were not to be found during the war. He had used up all his army pay to purchase them and my mother spent the whole afternoon flushing the said fruit down the toilet, because she was worried he would get in trouble over this. Imagine his reaction when he had looked forward to a, yes, Dundee fruit cake, only to be told the fruit had been flushed down the toilet.

My younger brother was training in the shipyards office, not being fit enough to be called up because of a slight heart murmur. He was in the yards the day Hall Russell鈥檚 was bombed in 1940 and was only saved because someone threw him in the water. I think the fear and shock and being soaked through caused him to become ill with a lung infection and he died at the end of the war at the age of 23.

Last but not least, I was blissfully unaware of an awful lot of worry and tragedy around me, as were many children. I remember saying secret prayers after all the 鈥淕od blesses鈥�, asking God to send another raid so I could be in the shelter, and I remember my siren suit made by my mother out of an old coat. This would be donned over my pyjamas and kept me reasonably warm in the shelter. I remember my school, Victoria Road School, had been bombed on 29th September 1940, the year before I started there at the age of five. Although no children were there at the time, as it was at night, it was a stark reminder of just how vulnerable we all were. I remember being severely reprimanded in my first month at school for forgetting my gas mask. Indeed, had I been slightly older, I would have suffered the indignity of the belt. That same night, a tenement in Menzies Road - at the bottom of our road, Mansfield Road - got a direct hit, and I remember being taken down to see the ruins, as my family were trying to explain that a few children and people I knew would be absent from then on.

On 21st April 1943, the Germans launched what they call a terror attack on Aberdeen, when they indiscriminately scattered bombs and used machine guns and cannons, setting quite a part of the city alight. It was noted in later years that a German paper actually recorded as headlines 鈥淪o Griffen wir Aberdeen An鈥�.

You will think this was all a time of sadness and gloom but I remember happy times, as our house was always full of people either arriving on leave, when the red carpet would be rolled out to celebrate their safe return, or saying goodbyes as they returned to duty. One such night, I remember vividly the night bombs dropping very near our home, as some of the young people were getting ready to go out dancing. One of my sister鈥檚 friends was putting on her make-up at the mirror above the fireplace, when a bomb dropped, with no siren warning, in Menzies Road, next to our road. The mirror shot off the wall with the vibration and smashed to bits. My mother was crying, as it was a prized possession, but she did not cry the next day, when she learned that whole families had been wiped out. I remember now how the adults rallied quickly and decided to stay put and play cards with me. I think it was to make me feel safe, but possibly also to keep themselves from shaking with fear.

There was a lot of fun in the shelters and most people contributed something to make it more pleasant. Old pieces of carpet found their way there, and old comics and books for the children. Everyone donated a candle and there was always someone telling funny stories. There was one ARP Warden called Mary, and it was believed that, when she paid a visit, the 鈥渁ll clear鈥� would go. Whether this was true or not I do not know, but I really used to think that.

A close friend of the family was digging in his plot near the Trinity Cemetery.and his little boy was helping him, when a lone, stray German bomber heading out to the North Sea decided to spray the lone gardener and his son. His son was killed instantly and George was sprayed with bullets down an arm trying to save his son. The Aberdeen people were very angry about this incident.

I remember the dreaded telegram boy, who would appear with his red bicycle and pillbox-type hat to deliver bad news - telegrams like 鈥淲e regret to inform you鈥� or 鈥淢issing presumed dead鈥�. The kids in the street would rush home to inform any person at home that 鈥淢rs So-and-So鈥� had had a visit from the telegram boy. Immediately there would be an army of womenfolk descending on the bereaved house and they would take over the practical side of things, like taking the children away and generally being there. It was a togetherness that I would not appreciate till later in life, when I looked back on those hard days.

Aberdeen did not suffer the 鈥淏litz鈥� like London and Coventry, but it was noted that it was the most bombed city in Scotland and in one raid the Germans managed to kill 98 people. They apparently tried so hard to find the shipyards and did eventually succeed in a daytime raid, when they struck with a vengeance.

In spite of all this, there seemed to be a lot of laughter in our home and in later years I was told by my elders that these happenings made them all the more determined to keep life as normal as possible in the circumstances, and I am sure they did.

To finish on a happy note, I remember vividly the celebrations and the magnificent bonfires, especially in the Broad Hill, when it all ceased.

Arline Easson via Dundee Central Library

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