大象传媒

On Sunday, 3rd September 1939, I remember, my parents, two older sisters and myself sitting round the radio set waiting for the then Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain to announce that Britain was at war with Germany. I was nearly 5 years of ago so was told to keep quiet. My parents were worried that my sisters who were 15 and 13 years older than I would have to join the services.

I must have been issued with a gas mask prior to starting school, as I refused to put it on, as I felt I was being suffocated. I still do not like my nose and face being covered to this day. However, when I started school I had to take this mask in its metal container with me every day. We regularly had "gas mask pratise" at school where we had to wear our masks for a length of time so of course I had to wear mine.
We also had to practise getting to the air raid shelters quickly should an air raid occur during school hours. This involved walking in crocodile formation from school, across Bury Old Road and to the shelters which were situated in Heaton Park itself. The rest of this park (the largest municipal park inn Europe) was used by the RAF billetted in dozens of huts. I remember there was always water dripping from the shelter roof and we sat there and sand "Ten Green Bottles" and "One Man Went to Mow" to pass the time before the imaginary "All Clear" went and we trooped back to school.

At first, I went home for lunch and on one occasion, someone tweaked my pixie hood off my head. On turning round there were two RAF lads who it transpired were billetted on a family close to my own home. One of them asked if my teacher was a Miss Chadwick, who, apparently lived near him in Bolton. I remember Miss Chadwick (my first teacher) sitting in front of the fireguard in the classroom reading to us. She left to get married and we bought her a dressing table set -my first experience of "leaving presents".

Shortly after this, school dinners were provided by Lancashire Education Committee. These were provided primarily to ensure that children whose mothers were working in munition factories or other essential war jobs, had one hot meal a day, although all children were entitled to them. I remember the thick, brown, gooey gravy and horrible, large white beans, which I have never eaten since then. We did enjoy liberal helpings of custard though.

As paper was in short supply, we used slates for drawing pictures on. Often it was very cold in the classroom in winter if the coke delivery was late and we wore thick scratchy, cardigans and jumpers. The girls wore long woollen stockings in black or a horrible brown colour kept up by suspenders attached to liberty bodices which we also wore to keep warm. As most schools, toilets were outside in the yard, it was a quick dash there and back in wintertime.

I remember my mother making me a "siren suit" out of an old tweed coat and trimmed with brown velvet. These were copied off one worn by Winston Churchill similar to a present day babygro. As soon as the air raid warning sounded at night, I was quickly dressed in this suit, wrapped in a blanket and carried by father into the air raid shelter in the back garden. If the "all clear" sounded shortly afterwards we returned to the house and bed. Being young and imaginative, I refused to sleep in my own bedroom as I thought Germans were hiding under the bed. I was then allowed to sleep with mum and dad used my bed. If we had to stay in the shelter all night, we did have a kettle and spirit lamp down there. My elder sisters refused to leave their warm beds for the shelter, saying they would take a chance on a bomb dropping on the house. I remember, one night seeing the sky a brilliant orange colour when being taken to the shelter. This turned out to be the Manchester Blitz at Christmas in 1944 I think?

My sisters worked on teleprinters at the main Spring Gardens Post Office in Manchester, taking the place of men in the services. Every day they worked a different shift each over 7 days, so my mother had a real headache trying to provide meals with the meagre ration allowance. I remember we always had a pot of home made vegetable soup on the stove in winter, which helped blunt the appetite.

Often my sisters would being a serviceman home to supper after meeting them at a local dance on a Saturday. One of them, a Londoner, brought his girlfriend to tea one Sunday when she visited him otherwise they would have had to stroll round bomb-strewn Manchester to wait for the London train. Afterwards,my parents received a grateful letter from the lad's parents in London. My parents were thankful they had no sons involved in active service so they were always ready to help out.

Although Heaton Park housed hundreds of young RAF lads, there were times when so many were sent there that the Recruiting Officer had a job to find a bed for them. One day my father was in the Newsagents opposite the Park, when this Officer came in and said he had a problem finding room for the next contingent. As one of my sisters had been sent to work at the main Oxford Post Office, my father offered my bed, as I could then sleep with my elder sister. This was gratefully accepted and we had this large fellow, Roy, with a Flying Office Kite moustache, billetted on us for a few days. I remember it was my turn for the one-a-week boiled egg for breakfast next day. On entering the living room, I saw this large man, eating an egg. Whereupon being a tactless 5 year old, I said, "That's my Egg" whereupon my sister who was behind me yanked me back upstairs, giving me a lecture on how we had to be kind to these RAF men who might be killed in the next few days or so.

I think my mother received, 4d a night for bed and 6d if they had a bath. As troop movements were kept secret, we were never informed when these airmen would be leaving Heaton Park and they just did not return to stay in the house one night so you knew they had been sent on a mission somewhere.

Both my sisters married RAF men and we had two wedding receptions at home. All the neighbours helped out with food from their meagre rations. When they collected their weekly rations, they would bring my mother, 1 oz of sugar, the same of margarine and if available, a few raisins or sultanas etc. These mounted up and my mother was able to make 2 wedding cakes with them.

One sister had a white wedding on Saturday, 3rd July 1943. My younger sister's fiance was a Pilot so her wedding had to be arranged at short notice, and the Bishop of Manchester even gave permission for a Sunday wedding if necessary. On the Saturday, the Telegraph boy paid several visits to the house during the course of the wedding reception. One telegram said my brother-in-law would be home that week, then the next said his leave was cancelled, then the next he was coming home, then he was being sent abroad. My younger sister, spent some considerable in her bridesmaid dress, in tears. Eventually he confirmed he was due some leave on the Monday for a few days. The wedding took place on Tuesday afternoon, 6th July. This was a more informal do, with the bride wearing a short dress and I was again bridesmaid but with a short dress, my mother had made me. I was only allowed the afternoon off school and had to rush home after lunch to get ready for the 2 o'clock wedding. Again we had a reception at home and apparently, we had everything but fresh cream which was unobtainable those days.

The newly-weds went down south for a couple of days and then my brother-in-law went to Canada where he learnt to fly and then to America where he was trained in Spitfires and eventually spent the rest of the war in Australia.

Fortunately, we never had an air raid during the day so singing in the shelters was all we did.

I remember having a VE Day party at school with sandwiches and jam tarts - no luxury food then.

My brothers-in-law eventually returned home from India and Australia, my sisters had homes of their own and I became an Auntie at 12 to two nieces.

Living in a family of grown-ups I think, like most young children, I earwigged a lot and absorbed a lot of atmosphere and views of wartime which I have retained more so than other young children of the time. As my father had served in WW1 at 17 years of age, he did not have to serve again, but was an influence on wartime opinions at home.

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