大象传媒

This story is by Walter Fawcett, and has been added to the site with their permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions. The story was collected by Joyce Gibson, transcribed by Elizabeth Lamont and added to the site by Bruce Logan.
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Just a few reminiscences, in a sort of kaleidoscopic fashion, of a young fellow attending school during World War II.

First 鈥� memories drawn from inside the classroom: the eerie feeling of sitting all day in restricted light with all windowpanes covered with mesh gauze to prevent shatter. This helped concentration a little, but withered daydreams 鈥� we couldn鈥檛 see outside! The thrice weekly gas mask drill was serious but fun, when we eagerly delved into our little cardboard boxes which we assiduously strapped over our shoulders on our daily trek to school. When all the rubber masks were affixed with many grunts of frustration but also squeals of delight, the swollen class of fifty plus was a sea of pig-like faces straining for breath and misting up their visors.

Yes, classes were big in number due to the influx of 鈥渆vacuees鈥�. These were children removed some miles distant from their homes and families in Belfast city because of the danger of air attack, and billeted with caring families, for safety, in small towns and their surrounding farms. They were often regarded as city slickers; they were bolder, often sharper dressers than we Comber locals. Their assimilation into our more rural school lifestyle was rather gradual and often fraught with 鈥減hysical interpretation鈥�. Still, many lasting friendships were established and a particular one in my case was with an evacuee who demonstrated a remarkable artistic flair. Indeed he spent most of his school day beside me doing beautiful pen and pencil sketches of various RAF and Luftwaffe fighters and bombers. We kept in touch as he took this talent to later develop a most successful career as a graphic artist with the 大象传媒.

Rationing, with its trouble and fuss over books of coupons, was a great bane to everyone, and we young people were very aware of shortages of food and clothing and the efforts and procedures adults would try to take to get 鈥渆xtras鈥�. For us children a bigger disaster was needing coupons for sweets and chocolate. But we had a local saviour 鈥� a boy who ran an amazing 鈥渟cam鈥�. He became a sweet broker, so to speak, and with his wide clientele, if you were short and had the dough, Robert was your man!

Now for some memories outside the classroom. Floating barrage balloons encircling nearby Belfast: these were huge oval silver-coloured balloons with tail fins like aircraft, suspended on cables. They were an unusual, if sometimes, weirdly attractive sight, as they tugged on their cables and glinted in the sunshine. Their function was to entrap low-flying enemy aircraft.

I was such drama and excitement for us to go out in the deep darkness of night and see the same enemy aircraft being sought in the night skies. Hugh search lights, strategically placed, shot their torchlike beams or shafts of light high in the black sky. Surfing back and forth in wide, arcing sweeps, when a plane was spotted, the beams converged on it with pinpoint accuracy. Soon would come the boom of long-barrelled anti-aircraft guns in the vicinity.

But then to answer the din of the wailing air raid siren (oh 鈥� it seemed to last so long), and rush home to crouch with the family huddled under the stairs for safety. We spent the whole blitzes on Belfast in this position, shuddering with expectation as anti-aircraft shells rattled off neighbouring rooftops. Our small town was under the flight path of the German aircraft as they approached Belfast, and I can still recall clearly the distinctive diesel-like clatter of their engines as they crossed overhead.

Our town鈥檚 only air-raid siren is forever etched in my mind 鈥� it was situated only 25 yards from my bedroom at the rear of an ARP station! These were buildings commandeered to provide focal points for Air Raid Precaution personnel, their service, equipment, training, etc. Living very close to this local one, I was often asked to volunteer as a 鈥渃asualty鈥� for training the ARP wardens in search, rescue and recovery techniques. At that age it was marvellous to be an actor, to be bandaged up in splints etc., depending on your supposed injuries, and stretchered off. The cup of tea and eats afterwards, and a few pence for volunteering, were equally as good!

As young wartime people, we experienced or fraternised with two types of soldiery. First, the English 鈥� a few memories of them. Inviting some of them home for tea, helping to serve food and entertain many of them each Sunday evening at a local church and, not least, mixing with and talking to them in one of the famous NAAFI canteens. The town was saturated with army personnel. Khaki and camouflage were everywhere, the town square tightly packed with army hardware 鈥� lorries, tanks and cannon. It was impossible to find a seat in our small local cinema as it was crammed nightly with off-duty soldiers. Of course, we were impressed most by the British discipline, the marching and the training, which we spent hours in gangs imitating and playing. One of the more memorable highlights was the changing of the guard each evening in the town square at Army HQ with all the ceremony and protocol and bugles sounding. Many grownups also came to watch.

Secondly, the Americans. What a contrast to the English! The first draft of Yanks to our area were housed in shocking conditions in an old hastily-converted six-storey flour mill that had lain derelict for years. But this became a wonderland for us kids. We were given free access to the camp to mix with and befriend the GIs. We sat on their hard camp beds, played cards, sang with them and drank their Coca Cola 鈥� wonderful 鈥� and made personal friends. They liked us and were so generous in the gifts that they offered. It was so surprisingly come-easy, go-easy, and for many of us, our first experience of coloured people. How exciting it was to see them attempt to play this strange game of American Football on a rough field, in long grass and dock leaves knee-high! Alas 鈥� after three or four weeks of joy they pulled out and eventually headed for North Africa.

On arrival, their replacement batch or draft brought a complete change. Discipline was greatly tightened. The camp was made Out of Bounds to all. Seriousness prevailed. Little did we realise its cause 鈥� the impending defining moment of D-Day. However, overall the Yanks brought us a little glimpse of the American Dream. Our happy wartime experience and a later realisation of their sacrifices for our young freedom has left an enduring soft spot for them ever since.

Other of my war memories are now clamouring for expression, but no 鈥� the little glimpse of my war that I鈥檝e given here is, I am sure, more than enough for now.

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