大象传媒

When the war began I was 12 years old. I was the third of 6 children (5 girls, 1 boy) so my mother had her hands full looking after us! My father was a miner, and, having been injured in World War I, he failed the medical second time round (though he was insistent that he should be called for service in an emergency, much to everyone's amusement; it's difficult to think how useful a man who was blind in one eye and deaf in one ear could be!) It is therefore fair to say that my family were spared from the pain of sending loved ones off to fight. We did, however, experience other aspects of the war first-hand, some that were frightening, and some inspiring.

Conisbrough, the South Yorkshire village where I have lived all my life, is situated between Doncaster and Rotherham, and about 15 miles from Sheffield. As is well documented, Sheffield was badly bombed during the war. We could often look out of the window and watch the planes overhead, heading for the city. Like many young people, one of the main things I remember from the war years is the deafening wail of the air raid sirens, signalling for everyone to go to the air raid shelters (at the bottom of the garden for us, like many others). The shelter was very dark, and very cold. I remember rushing to boil the kettle and filling flasks so we had hot water to take down with us. I also remember struggling to find blankets to wrap around Angela, my sister who was just a baby at the time. Once in the shelter, there was little to do except wait for the 'all-clear' signal to sound. Sometimes we had to wait for 8-10 hours.

On a light-hearted note, ot should be mentioned that the air raid sirens were sometimes used for other things! My friend's father was a policeman. At the weekend, my friend and I used to go dancing in Mexborough. By the time we left to come home, the buses had stopped for the night, so we had to walk. As we passed the police station, my friend's dad would often press the siren, so we would run home as quickly as possible!

Close to Conisbrough was a prisoner of war camp at Thrybergh, holding first Italians, and then Germans, many of whom remained in the area after the war had ended. During the war, they worked on the farms. Indeed, there was a sense of overall hard work during this time. People tended to grow their own vegetables, in order to have more than rationing would allow. Our school dinners were delicious however, and I really can't remember feeling under-fed during the war years. My mother, along with many women, followed the 'make do and mend' philosophy-she could sew well, so made a lot of clothes for the family. My sister Pam, who at the time was living at home and teaching locally, coloured her shoes with paint, to match whichever outfit she was wearing! More amusingly, she compensated for a lack of stockings by covering her legs with a mixture of Oxo cubes and water. This was fine until it rained! The smell also attracted animals, and it was very funny to see her being chased down the street by dogs!

I feel that I was slightly too young to appreciate the full extent of the hardships of war. However, instances such as when a German bomb landed in our school playground (no one was hurt, fortunately) make it clear what a dangerous time it was, as well as a time of community effort and cooperation, seemingly unmatched in today's society.

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