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By the time Mr Chamberlain had finished his broadcast on 3rd September 1939,
mother was crying a little. With father, and those of her family at home that day, she
had been standing listening to the wireless-set in the living room. The news was not a
surprise; it was inevitable after the days and weeks of tension leading up to the
declaration. At home a few preparations had been made. Like, most of the black-out
for the windows was ready, and some tinned food had been set aside for emergencies.

The tears were not from shock but more probably from the thoughts of yet another
awful war in her lifetime - and for what it might hold for her family. It was quite a large
family and some of her children were of service age. It was only the year before that
she had packed suitcases with clothes, and tied labels on her two youngest, and stood
with them, waiting for a coach from school to take them off to evacuation. But Neville
Chamberlain came back from Munich with his piece of paper, in time to abort that
exercise.

Evacuation was not likely to happen again, as the family meantime had moved from
near the centre of London to the suburbs; but there were many other things to be
apprehensive of. Air-raids surely would be much more devastating than the Zeppelin
attacks she had known the last time round. Although shelter arrangements must be
better now, than the basement beneath a block of flats she used to walk her children to
back then. And food: the expectation of rationing meant a fairer system than before,
with its hunting around and queuing for hours at shops, which might open, if supplies
arrived.

Once the war was underway she became used to rationing as, bit by bit items of food
and other things gradually went on to the buff and blue books or coupons. She was
good at making ends meet and unrationed fish helped a great deal, subject to the
preliminary queuing of course, (remembering to take her own wrapping paper). She
saw that the family ate well, though her biggest problem was juggling mealtimes; they
had to be prepared so as to coincide with the varying duty rotas of a husband in the
Rescue Service, and a son in the Metropolitan Police. With her two youngest home
from school at midday, and a daughter who added an evening sitting.

Something to be coped with, although not anticipated, was the accommodating of
displaced relatives. First to come, in the summer of 1940, was a son and his wife who
had to close their home on the S E coast when the area became ‘Restricted’, following
the Dunkirk evacuation. The roomy family house comfortably accommodated the five
adults and two children normally there, but two additional people made the whole
thing a lot more cosy! It also meant two more ration books for mother to manage.

This son and his wife had not long gone, having found a permanent home, before the
autumn raids that year on London’s dockland brought the Billeting Officer to the door.
He had a mother and two small children to find lodgings for, and it appeared that in the
long road of houses, this was the only one where he could find anyone ‘in’ that day!

Fortunately for all concerned this problem lasted for a very short time. While catching
her breath from that episode mother heard from her son and daughter-in-law that they
had been bombed out of house and jobs in the Coventry blitz, that November. They
were in urgent need of a roof. So, more juggling of rooms, furniture, ration books,
shopping, mealtimes, (not to mention personalities) in what was becoming a way of
life, in wartime.

And on it went; nights in the Anderson shelter, nights under the Morrison table shelter.
The air raids became less intense and fewer, until someone thought up the Doodlebugs
and rockets. The food rations became smaller and ingenuity in putting meals on the
table greater. Chickens kept at the bottom of the garden, for eggs and flesh. Fruit and
vegetables to be preserved; along with jam making. Clothing, sparse and on coupons,
was yet another challenge; for maintaining a fine standard of appearance was always a
very high priority for mother. No holidays, but there were books to read, the cinema to
enjoy and, of course, the wireless. No medals.

No decorations for her kind of warwork perhaps, though at least she could go along
with her middle son to his investiture of a bravery award, by the king at Buckinham
Palace - which is where the picture above catches her.

But she had her family. Which included a grandchild or two to help-out with. Plus a
couple of her children’s weddings to attend. Still at home, in the early days, were three
daughters, who could help on occasion. Or add to her work as the case may be.
Daughter X worked full-time in central London, so there was nervous tension as her
return home during the Blitz was awaited. Daughter Y ,was in the main, available to
help at home and Daughter Z had schooling to finish before she too went to work; the
war was over before she was old enough to be directed under the labour laws, but she
did her stint at fire watching.

In those days before virtual universal telephone ownership, mother was the letterwriter
for the tribe, and its communication centre. Best of all was when its members came
home, in various numbers and combinations, for a meal or celebration, or a
get-together.

In a long life, maybe those years, in both World Wars, were her finest.

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