大象传媒

I was three plus, when war was declared. You would be forgiven for thinking, that it must have been a strange and exciting time as a child. Strange maybe. Exciting? No! It was very frightening and awful, awful, awful.
My mother was a dressmaker. During the war, she used to make coats from the wartime blankets and then dye them. Almost every woman and girl in the village wore one. Mum鈥檚 was dyed maroon, (how I hated that colour), and mine was navy blue for school. My sister, who was six years younger, had a green one. I also remember a lady who owned a suit, having it unpicked completely. It was then made up inside out.
Every lad in the village would have had trousers made by my mum, from the lower legs of his father鈥檚 trousers. The legs then being much fuller, they could be cut off below the knee and each leg made one side of the trousers. Mum would then finish them off with paper buttoned flies, (there were no zippers during the war).
Knitteds would also be unpicked and the yarn re-knitted. The sleeves of cardigans and jumpers would be taken out and changed over, thus placing the worn elbows in the front of the arms to prolong their life. Of course, there were lots of smaller 鈥榤ake-do's but I think that these are the major ones.
Life was very basic and crude. We lived nine miles from Southampton, which along with Portsmouth, was all but flattened. We could see the glow of Southampton burning in the sky.
We lived in a three bedroom semi鈥� at the outbreak of war, when two cousins, who were two and four years older than myself, came to live with us as evacuees. Much has been written about evacuees and there has been many programmes on behalf of those who had a terrible time, as many of them were not made welcome.
It was completely the opposite in our home. My cousins came first as the poor little girls were away from their mum. We also had another cousin who lived in Fareham who had won a scholarship to Gregg鈥檚 School in Southampton. It was deemed safer for her to travel from our home, rather than from Fareham to Southampton. She became sixteen and started work at Barclays Bank. Others will confirm, that it was only during the war that women began working in the banks, which of course was only due to the fact, that the men were away fighting.
As things quietened down, my cousins went home and two huge Irish men moved into our back bedroom. My mum used to cook for them, what was virtually a dinner, each morning for their breakfast. She was always a soft touch and would never refuse. The two men were helping to build an additional railway line behind the station, in order to transport ammunition and men down to Southampton Docks as quickly as possible.
A large house on 鈥楾he Downs鈥� became an hotel for children victims of the London Blitz. They were always short of helpers so mum used to help with the laundry. She always asked them to have hot water ready but often they didn鈥檛. This meant her lighting the solid fuel boiler and waiting for the water to heat up. Of course, she did not sit around, she carried on with other work. Then after all this, she would come home and do the same for us.
When the Doodle Bugs arrived, not only did my two older cousins return to us, but also their younger brother and sister. By this time my younger sister had been born, so you can see just how hard my mum had to work.
There were some stone hot water bottles I remember, but most of us used bricks. We brought them downstairs in the morning and put them in the bottom of the oven, where they stayed all day until we took them out and wrapped them in blankets at bed time. All so crude.
Then there was the food. It was awful. Just occasionally, we鈥檇 have some real eggs which mum boiled for us, and all she used to have was the top that was cut off ours. It broke my heart. Once, a ship got through with oranges on board and we queued for ages, inside and outside Marks and Spencer鈥檚 for one orange per ration book. We eat them for tea. I sat by my mum eating mine and crying because she didn鈥檛 have one.
鈥淚f I want to give my orange to a little boy who has just had his tonsils out, that鈥檚 my business.鈥� she said. 鈥淣ow sit and eat yours.鈥�
There was that awful marzipan at Christmas which was made of Soya and flour, flavoured with almonds. It would have been better not to pretend. Also, there was the terrible soap we used to use.
Far more appreciation should have been shown to people like my mum, looking after others almost around the clock. It was all so awful, that I try to avoid as far as possible all the celebrations of war.
One very distressing incident was of a teacher who lived in our Parish and taught art in a Southampton school. On hearing the siren, he led his pupils to the air raid shelter and saw them safely into it and then left to see what was happening. Why do men do that? A bomb landed on the shelter, burying his pupils and the poor man could do nothing. This was to haunt him for the rest of his life.
An uncle, my mother鈥檚 brother, had perished at Woolwich Arsenal before war was declared, in the futile effort to prepare as much ammunition as possible. Another uncle, my father鈥檚 brother, was 鈥榮ent to Coventry鈥� by his workmates and bosses. He worked on the blueprints for the fighter planes our boys were to fly. He was too conscientious and too particular for them. I suppose they wanted the work churned out more quickly, even at the risk of our boys鈥� lives.
At the end of the war, our homes and contents were completely worn out and broken due to over use. Of course, it was years before things could be replaced. I know this might sound a miserable story, but it was a truly awful time. Even when the fighting had ceased, life was still very, very hard for years. The make do and mend continued.

Joy Packham.
Thatcham, Berkshire.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.