大象传媒

This story has been entered by Rachel Steed on behalf of Marjorie Jones. Marjorie has given her consent.

It was my main wish during my teenage years... if only the war would come to an end... and the horror of war will always remain in my memory. It was all such a waste of life, costing millions of pounds, causing young families to be left fatherless, hardships for the wives and six years of a young man and woman's life disappearing forever.

What did war do for me? Well, I met my husband while he was serving in the Army and we were together for fifty five years of extremely happy married life. We were blessed with a son and daughter, five grandchildren and now we have thirteen great grandchildren. Sadly my husband died in 2000, but, if it hadn't been for the war it is unlikely that we would have met as my home was in the town of Birkenhead and my husband lived in the village of Braunton in Devon.

When war was declared the town of Birkenhead was quickly evacuated of children, schools were closed and the town was a ghost town. Air Raid shelters appeared at the corner of the streets, the closed schools were taken over by ARP stations, and ambulances and trucks occupied the playgrounds where children once played. It was at one of these ARP stations that I learnt as a young girl of 16 to deal with incendiary bombs. My duties included all-night sessions and it would get rather scary during the night when the German bombers were coming over, and the drone of these planes was soon recognised from the British planes.

My father arranged for the cellar in the house where we lived to be strengthened, and for weeks on end we made this our refuge, our constant home. The sirens would sound without fail every night around the same time, seven o'clock, and the bombing would continue until next morning. The air-raid warning was given the nick name of "moaning minnie" and it was with some relief when we heard the "all clear". The British tanks could be heard pounding the streets with their "ack ack" guns and the house would shake as a bomb dropped near by. So often our roof would be damaged with the incendiary bombs, the chimney probably damaged and the soot would pour down into the cellar together with slates and plaster and all the windows in the house would be damaged. We often had a crowd of our neighbours sheltering in the cellar with us waiting until the "All Clear" sounded and for them to investigate the damage done to their homes.

Next day after a severe raid the people would emerge from their shelters, bleary-eyed, dazed and walking like zombies, not believing what they could see - street after street completely demolished and huge craters where houses had stood the night before. We would receive news of whole families having been killed, and many casualties after bombs having been dropped on local cinemas. Six of my friends were killed one evening in a very severe raid, and also my Aunt and Uncle and their three children during the same raid, and it was unfortunate that they happened to be sheltering in their Anderson Shelter which received a direct hit, but their home only sustained broken windows.

Cinemas and dances continued in the town, but if the siren sounded the people continued at their own risk, but in any case places of entertainment usually closed at 9.30p.m.

When the duties with the ARP were considered too dangerous for girls of our age, boys were enlisted to take over and I then joined the WVS and I felt very proud of my green uniform. The hours of duty were from 8pm to 8am next morning, feeding hundreds of service men passing through the town. We also provided overnight accomodation for about 50 service men at 2/6d (12 and a half pence)per night, including breakfast. I would hurry home, have a bath and breakfast and back in the office where I worked, for 9am. It was fateful to stop working as my eyes would close and in seconds I would have been asleep, but, I was only one of many in similiar situations, the civilian population pulled their weight and were involved in voluntary work of all descriptions.

Underground railway stations were open all night and hundreds of people made their homes on the platforms for months on end. In some cases, people had no homes to go to having lost the same in the bombing. Living near to the city of Liverpool, it was no unusual sight to see service men embarking for overseas service, while hundreds of tanks were being unloaded from America and transferred to ships sailing to the Far East. This work was carried out by British troops and very strenuous work it was. The tanks were driven into the hold of the ship and tightly packed together, the fumes from the exhausts of the tanks in such a confined space were suffocating and caused distress to the soldiers.

Then one day my 'call up' papers arrived, so many of my friends had also received their papers and we met to confer notes. Some were enrolled in the Land Army, WRNS, WAAF and ammunitions. Unfortunately, quite a few of my friends disappeared from my life completely and we haven't met since the war years.

I was drafted to Mill Hill in London for training in the WRNS, I met girls there from all walks of life and found it an interesting experience. We learnt to support each other through the bombing. It was the time of the 'doodle bug' and instead of listening for the "whoosh" of the bombs we had become familiar with, these bombs were silent and exploded when touching a building. All the girls were ordered to the air raid shelters when the sirens had sounded and we would be in different modes of dress; dressing gowns, night dresses, pyjamas, and it was very uncomfortable sitting in the shelter for lengthy periods with dripping hair, as it didn't matter how indisposed you were when the siren sounded, if you didn't respond to the order to take refuge in the shelters trouble would be brewing. Real thick pea-soupers were experienced during my time in London. They would last for up to five days without let up. Everything came to a stand still, the girls were not allowed out, there was no transport, but, best of all......no air raids.

During the years of the war, you may well ask were there no happy times? Well, of course we had many happy moments as young people. The girls would gather together and pool our resources exchanging dresses, shoes and painting each others legs with a pencil seam down the back to look like stockings. If we were fortunate enough to acquire a white nylon parachute we would make underwear for each other. We were always ready to help each other out. We would gather together and plan a party, the more impromptu the better it would be. We would find a pianist, surrender our valuable food coupons. prepare the best buffet possible and enjoy a jolly good sing along. We knew all the words of the songs; "Roll out the barrel", "Don't sit under the appletree", "When the lights go on again", "We'll meet again", "A nightingale sang in Berkley Square" and dozens of others. For a couple of hours we would forget the war and its horrors and enjoy ourselves.

It was a time of great celebration when at last peace was declared; the people were overjoyed. Millions of men and women and children had been killed during the years. We only have to look at the Cenotaph on Remembrance Sunday to see the survivors proudly marching in memory of their fallen comrades. Our younger generation must be made aware of the horrors and hardships of war AND WE MUST NOT LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN...

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