大象传媒

A short note on my war memories as seen through the eyes of a girl born in l937 and who lived in Norwich. The city was a target for quite a lot of bombing, probably because of the factories such as Lawrence and Scott and Bolton and Paul, which did produce parts of planes, tanks etc. I believe.

Of course the massacres, the deprivations and the awfulness did not have a huge impact on me until well after the war was over.

One of my earliest memories is the fun of helping to dig a huge hole in the garden for the Anderson shelter - I did not realise at the time that we would spend many hours during long nights in this musty 'den' as my parents called it whilst the assembly took place. The sirens sounded and we would be hurriedly woken up and carted/carried to the shelter. An ARP (Air Raid Precautions) Officer would call and my mother would have to assure him that everyone living in the house was in the shelter before he went on his way to the next dwelling. It was the task of this officer to ensure that no lights were visible from any house, and heavy 'blackout' curtains were pulled across the windows, and before opening the front door at night the hall light had to be put out. At the end of the war when the dreaded shelter was dismantled (and we did come to dread it, it was so cold in winter) I remember my mother produced a tin containing food she had saved in case we were entombed for several days - but it can't have been airtight because the packs of biscuits, the envelopes of dried soups and other iron rations had gone mouldy. Ugh! Morrison shelters were steel frames which you could sleep in if you were unable to get up quickly (sick or elderly) and were downstairs in houses. My aunt and cousins had this type and we were very jealous. For daytime raids there were large shelters in each street which people were expected to shelter in, and you were reprimanded if you were seen out and about after the siren had gone. Near by the shelter was the 'piggy' bin where vegetable peelings, stale bread etc. was to be put. I don't know how any self-respecting pig survived on that diet, because I can still remember the small as you quickly lifted the lid to throw in the household contribution.

Talking of rations, everyone had to be registered with a grocer, butcher etc. and it was easy to go to the shop to get the 'rations for four' - the only choices were red or white cheese and the goods like treacle and dried fruit which were bought with the allocated 'points' i.e. so many extra to spend on top of the basic rations. If you kept bees you were allowed an extra sugar ration and if you kept hens you had vouchers to trade for the feed. There were extra protein options - I can remember my mother getting up early to go and queue at the market for fish (you had to be nice to the stallholder) or we used to cycle out to Costessey to visit some vague member of our extended family called Mrs. Fairweather and she used to produce an end of lay hen or a rabbit arrived at the back door via some unknown man and money changed hands. After the end of the war, but rationing still with us, Sainsbury's was the grocer and butcher my mother used. It seems a far cry from to-day's huge supermarkets when I think of the uniformed delivery man who called with his leather satchel holding the money and who used to sometimes happen to have an extra packet of biscuits 'off points' but a bit extra money. And now, a full circle, Tesco and the likes of Iceland and Somerfield have a delivery service. And of course everyone travelled by bus, train or bicycle, petrol strictly for doctors and the like.

We were lucky, and I can honestly say I don't remember being hungry. My mum was an excellent cook and made a meal out of nothing, but even she was baffled by dried eggs and culinary efforts using them were a disaster. Of course children did get extra oranges (if you were lucky enough to be at the right place at the right time when a shop had a delivery) and I was very surprised when I was given my first banana after the war ended and boats carrying such luxuries began to arrive at the British ports. But we were luckier than those who lived in the large towns and cities. We used to send boxes of potatoes, apples and eggs to my Aunts who lived in London and who were desperate for such lowly items. All boxes had to have the contents declared very specifically on the outside, and I think they often did not reach their destination when the postman read of the contents and perhaps his mouth watered.

My father had had a severe illness when a boy and so was not fit for army service but he did join the fireservice and was in London for much of the war.
He never spoke of the grimness of his job and we were just so pleased to see him when he arrived home for a 'forty-eight', or a 'seventy-two'. Before he left for London he bought my brother and I a puppy and we called him Paddy - there was a book called 'Paddy, the next best thing' Perhaps we thought he would be the next best thing to having a Dad at home.

I can remember well my first day at school and the Infants Reception classroom was the only one with a fire and other classes were allowed in for a warm during the day, particularly during milk break. I remember it was not nice milk to drink often and the straws got soggy and impossible to drink with, because we didn't like the unpleasant taste. But leaving it was not an option and the bottle stayed with you until you did drink it. Of course stationery and books were scarce and we practiced little economies like having to draw extra lines top and bottom on the pages and rubbing out pencil pictures so that we could draw another one.

My best friend, and one with whom I am still in constant touch, was Janet. She and her brother came to stay with two maiden aunts opposite in our road and I was told I had to be her friend and always go back and forth to school with her, and the words like 'orphan' were never explained to me and after the war I was told that both her parents had died during the war, but I only learned a few years ago that they were both blown to bits without trace at their pub in Northgate Street, Great Yarmouth, hence their coming to live with Aunties and a very grumpy granddad indeed at short notice. I think in these days parents and teachers are much more 'upfront' and children treated as though they can accept unhappy and sad things. As children, with all the horrors going on around us we treated things much as a game - who could find the biggest piece of shrapnel after a raid, or best of all a piece of Perspex from an aeroplane window which could be made into something to swap, or who could persuade an uncle or aunt to give them a spare pen or pencil. And of course Christmas stockings were a series of secondhand presents from other older cousins (wrapped in last year's paper of course) plus maybe a new puzzle or annual, it all depended if your name had been on the waiting list at the toy shop for long enough before the great day. But we still managed, my brother and I to have a great time, him being six years older than me with big, important friends led me into all sorts of pranks. And we were often shut in the cupboard under the stairs to cool down as my mother called it (bless her memory, it was her way of controlling us, I suppose, without my father to turn to) but this stopped when we sneaked (well, my brother sneaked) a candle into the cupboard, which was quite large and we must have been in there often because I remember the cushions and blankets in it - another shelter in emergency if we were bombed? - and lit something else for extra light (can't remember what) and filled the place with smoke and caused real mayhem. Such treatment of children unheard of to-day, but I never held a grudge against my mum nor did it do me any harm I don't think. Perhaps others should judge this by the kinks in my character1

Apart from secondhand goodies at Christmas we had mostly secondhand clothes, no problem with that, some of my nicest clothes in these days are from Charity shops. There was a coupon allowance, again, more for children.
But where to find macs and shoes and gymslips was another story and again word would go round that Pryces or Greens had some macs in and all the mums would dash off to go and queue for said article. I can remember going with my mum to Greens, (which used to on the walk and now British Home Stores I think) for a gymslip and we were told they had all been sold and looking sadly at all the empty shelves and near empty racks, I had so badly wanted (and needed that gymslip) and now the shop is bursting at the seams with all sorts of delectable goodies to be bought for the asking.

My Dad came home unscathed from his spell in London, I lost no close uncles or aunts and gradually everything came off ration. Coal was another item hard to come by and I can remember one snowy day when we had no coal and little wood left my brother and I took the sledge, me riding on it, and went to the local depot in Queens Road, now long since gone, and Col asked if he could buy a bag of coal. I must have looked suitably wraith-like because after what seemed at the time a huge wait, the coalman loaded a half-sack on to the sledge. And away we went. Grateful? Apparently I grumbled all the way back home, admittedly it was quite a long way, that I couldn't ride on the sledge, but my mother cried when we presented her with the sack of coal.

The days of war for a very ordinary girl, part of a very ordinary family, whose later life could have been so different had the country been invaded, had my father been involved in a serious accident midst those terrible London fires, or had the school or our house been bombed. So many suffered so much and it is good that folk are taking the time to write down their memories and make the phrase 'what did you do in the war, Daddy' come alive.

Rita Flatt 28.3.04

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