大象传媒

I remember the 2nd World War, a war seen through the eyes of a child. I knew nothing of the preceding politics that created those awful six years. I just accepted that wars happened. After all, world war one had taken place when my parents were children.

I remember bing told that we would have to go away from home because the Germans would come and drop bombs on us. We wopuld have to live with someone else until it was safe to come home.

I remember standing with groups of labelled children, each clutching a paper carrier bag cntaining a bar of chocolate, a tin of condensed milk and a packet of biscuits, a bag of goodies issued to each child by the government. We were herded onto buses that would take us to the railway station. Children screamed for their Mothers. Mothers were left sobbing on the pavement, calling to their children that it wouldn't be for long. Children and, sadly, some adults, who were not going stood around and called out insults such as 'you're all cowards and 'have a white feather, it's what you deserve.
We went to Bournemouth. We were sent to local schools where the local kids called us names. Look out, they chanted here come the vaccies. They wet the bed and cry for their Mummies.
Us children from home clung together. We played, unsupervised, in the streets. We became mini vandals, shop lifting, making hoax calls to the Fire Brigade and rampaging round the streets, breaking into empty houses. We were punished with clips round the ear from the local cops and smacks from our hostesses. \No one considered that we needed understanding or counselling.
Eventually my parents brought my brother and me home, just in time to experience the worst the war could throw at us. But we had fun. School was part-time. Busy Mothers who had stepped into the men's shoes, working all hours God gave, had little time to discipline their children. We ran wild, played knock on ginger, scrumped apples and generally caused trouble. No really viscious vandalism or damage, just kid's stuff, but aggravating for adults all the same.
We queued for rationed sweets and one enterprising local shopkeeper made icecream from semolina and banana flavouring. Some of us had never seen icecream. Right it was all lumpy but who cared. It was cold and sweet and called icecream.
I remember ration books and clothing coupons. Anything you bought to eat or wear was paid for with money and coupons.
We lacked sleep, spending most of our nights in airaid shelters. We must have been permanently tired but as kids we didn't realise this. We were having fun. Life had taken a new turning - late nights, nights in shelters singing and playing and sometimes in the local Church hall where we were sent when uneploded bombs were found in our vicinity. The vicar made tea and handed round cigarettes to the adults and sweets to us kids. (when he could get any).
I remember watching a German plane flying over in daylight and shouting to my Mother that the plane was falling to bits. She rushed us into shelter. "It isn't falling to bits," she screamed. "It's dropping bombs."
Sometimes we slept under the stairs, us two children tucked at the back of the cupboard and Mum and Dad slept with their lega out in the hall. Staircases were said to be the safest place in the house during a raid.
For a while we went out of Southampton every night, into the New Forest. Double decker buses were laid on for this purpose. We could only get upstairs, where there was no lighting or heating. My brother and I huddled together in one seat and our parents in another. The buses were brought back at dawn whe the threat of raids had receded. My father would catch his tram to work and my Mother, who was delivering milk every day, would take us to the stables where we helped harness her horse to the milk cart. No petrol available for mil rounds. After this my brother and I would walk home, get our breakfast and go to school.
As with all wars, the end eventually came. Church bells rang out, streets lights blazed and people crowded into the streets to celebrate, Churches resounded with prayes of thanksgiving and children looked forward to street parties.
Soldiers returned. Lorry loads of smiling young men filled our streets and we all waved and cheered as they passed. A few weeks later the war in Japan finished and more lorry loads of soldiers came ashore, this time men with yellow faces, those returning from Japanese Prsoner of war camps.
Gradually sweets icecream and fruit appeared in the shops. Families were reunited as evacuated children returned and their Dads. Life slowly returned to normal. Another war to end all wars was over!

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