大象传媒

MY WAR REMENISCENCES FROM DEWSBURY 1939-45

I was 6 years old when the War started. I was with my mother, visiting her parents and I can remember my Grandmother running out into the garden to tell us the news , following Chaimberlain's speech.
The War didn't impinge much on the family to begin with: my parents even took me on a week's stay at an aunt's in North London in September, without any problems. However things were moving. The elder son from next door, a peacetime Territorial, was called up immediately into the West Yorks Regt and shipped off to France. He got badly shot up in the legs at Dunkirk and spent the rest of the War in Prisoner of War camps in Germany. Until recently I had a small box of four Chesterfield cigarettes, which the Red Cross sent him and he gave to me on his return.
The next to go was our milk man, called up in the Navy. He got blown up on HMS Hood. They gave him a home funeral at our Parish church. I can remember being in the choir, looking at the coffin and wondering what was really inside.
We soon got our gas masks, all packed in a cardboard box with a string shoulder loop, to be carried at all times. The Council built a large air raid shelter in my school yard, the Church School. I cannot remember having to use it for a raid, but we practised a lot. Looking back with hindsight at its design, I am very pleased it wasn't put to the test.
We had our own Anderson shelter, which we shared with next door. I can remember trying to help to put it up. We couldn't dig it deep enough as the trench filled with water, so it stood up a little too proud. Unfortunately we had to spend a few damp uncomfortable nights sitting inside. Dewsbury, where we lived, wasn't really strategic, apart from being the source of the cloth for most of the Forces' uniforms and a cross Pennine rail junction. We did get some bombs on the Town, but they were most likely jettisoned on the way to or back from Manchester or Liverpool. The wailing warning siren used to terrify me at that age.
To protect us from the bombers, we had an Anti Aircraft unit in a brand new Army camp on Caulms Wood, overlooking the Town and 陆 a mile from home. I don't know how many guns there were in total, but they had one gun which made a hell of a crack. Talk about jumping out of your skin. The shells used to provide lots of shrapnel, which we traded off at school.
At this time we started knitting squares at school from any old wool, with poker like needles. These were then sewn together to provide blankets for soldiers鈥擥od help them.
The War really hit us when my Father joined the RAF. We had a tearful parting as we saw him off to the Depot at Padgate, my mother weeping all the way back from the railway station. We had a repeat performance next day as Padgate was overwhelmed and they sent my Father home for the night. From Padgate he went to Blackpool, where he did his basic training on the promenade and lived in a boarding house. He was put in the Stores since with his poor eye sight he would have been lethal to his own side in a more active role. Funnily enough however later in the War he tried for a Commission and was offered one in the Commandos. Somebody had a sense of humour! He moved all over the Country and I can remember him breaking his arm in the door of an armoured car. I didn't see him very much except for a few days leave and he didn't really have much influence on my life for the next five years. I was mad keen on aeroplanes though and had small models of the Gladiator and the Fairey Battle. I also wore shirts and shoes, which were very similar to those issued by RAF Stores.
With the driver gone we put our Singer car up on blocks for the duration. We wouldn't have been given petrol for it anyway.
My Uncle Sydney was now called up into the York and Lancs Regt. I still have his cap badge. I can remember learning how to operate the bolt and pretend to shoot with his rifle. He was packed off to India and Burma and didn't come home until the end of the War. He never spoke of his experiences apart from saying he was terrified on many occasions. He suffered terribly in later years from recurrent malaria and jungle related skin diseases. On a more human note , his sweetheart waited for him through all the War and married him on his return.
A lot more men from our road were now being called up: two in the Navy, two in the Army, one in the Marines and not forgetting a lady who went in the WRNS. We seemed to be left with the old men and schoolboys. Looking back I can see that at school we were taught by First War veterans or the unfit. I even had one master who taught my father.
I had to grow up very quickly, with the men away. My mother couldn't even wire a plug. I even had to run a mile or so to fetch a plumber to a burst pipe, late at night in the pitch dark and it meant skirting the graveyard. Stirring stuff for a small boy. There was of course no street lighting because of blackout. This caused one incident for me as people used to paint white stripes round lamp posts and poles to make them more visible in the dark. I walked into one of these newly painted poles and I was wearing my brand new gaberdine raincoat. I got used to the stripes eventually!
Immediately after Dunkirk, the returning troops were scattered all over the Country and a whole lot came to our local Army camp for billeting on the local population. It was my job to go to the Camp to collect our two soldiers and take them home. They were scruffy and very tired. They only stayed three days, but I can remember them leaving us a Dundee cake as hard as a rock.
Food didn't seem to be a problem in the early stages of rationing. My mother had been trained as a butcher as a girl and used to help out at the local butcher's shop, since all the young men had gone into the forces. We didn't seem too badly off for meat, even though it always seemed to be sausage. The things I can remember though are raspberries. Our garden got overgrown and the raspberry canes went rampant. We ate so much raspberry jam and preserves that to this day I avoid eating them if I can.
In the early 40's things got too much for my mother, keeping the house going and fending for us both. Looking back I don't believe we had much income with my Father away, although I do believe he was supported by his old firm. We packed up and went to stay with my maternal grandparents in a fairly remote backwater near Rotherham. My Grandfather, although retired, had gone back to farming as once again the young men had gone and we never did get any Land Girls. I can remember seeing the barrage balloons ringing Sheffield and during one Sheffield raid we had a string of incendiary bombs drop in a field adjacent to the house. We let them burn out. Food improved with chickens, ducks, pigs and ,since my Grandfather had a shotgun, plenty of rabbits and the odd partridge or pheasant if they strayed too far. No raspberries, but loads of apples and plums.
While there, my aunt reached 18 years old and was promptly called up into the railways: LNER to be precise. She trained as a signal women at York and then was put in charge of a signal box at Bolton on Dearne on the S & K line. I used to help her learn her bell codes. Initially she was terrified at the responsibility and even more terrified of manning a fairly remote box at night. When school allowed I used to cycle there and back with her and I have spent many hours with her in the box. She was so slight that she had to swing on the signal levers. Incidentally, I think my bicycle came courtesy of the RAF.
The idyll lasted about a year and we were back in Dewsbury as I needed to attend a local school to sit my scholarship. This is one of the few things that my Father arranged.
My last memory of the war itself was at this school. I was chosen to carry the school wreath at the funeral of an old boy killed in action while flying in the RAF. I can remember a huge cortege climbing up the hill from the Town centre to our local church. You can't help wondering if it was a PR exercise.
The War ended with VE and VJ night bonfires in the school yard. A bit of an anti climax for me: my father wasn't there.
My father came home eventually with his Demob kit; the grey suit with the white chalk stripe and the tweed sports coat and flannels. I believe there was some choice but all the men in the road seemed to be dressed the same.
It was strange to have him back. My Father and I missed a lot by him being away in my formative years. We were fairly close throughout his life, but something was missing. I suppose the same could be said in many households as the men came home.

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