大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Gary Tucker of the 鈥楢ction Desk 鈥� Sheffield鈥� Team on behalf of Rita Warris, and has been added to the site with the author鈥檚 permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

I was nine when the war started, an only child of Annie and Jack whom I adored. At the time we lived in Alexander Rd., Heeley and our cellar was the main air-raid shelter in the yard of four houses, which we shared with fabulous neighbours.
We got on like family; the residents of all four houses could get through to our cellar from their own houses. We had bunks to sleep on and siren suits to keep warm. They were made out of old coats, as everything was very scarce and we had to make do and mend.

The first year of the war, we had a bomb below us and in Denmark Rd., just above us we had a land mine. Well that year, my mum had let us put the Christmas tree up a little earlier than usual, and all I could say was, 鈥淢y Christmas tree will have gone,鈥� as we had all the windows blown out. Dad risked going up to fetch it down to the cellar, and it made all the people very happy and bright, and not one toy was broken on the tree, luckily. My mother kept saying that having the tree up early would bring us bad luck with the bombs.

Eventually, the children went on home service, where they would visit people鈥檚 homes and in the front room or a spare bedroom, would study for an hour or so. It鈥檚 no wonder that we were not educated like young people are today.
I was a very good swimmer and would have swum in galas, but all that stopped with the war. We were definitely at the worst age to go through a war, nine to fourteen years of age, from nineteen thirty nine to nineteen forty five.

But the reason for writing this short story is my father, who not long after all this was called up to serve in the army at the ripe old age of thirty six. He was posted for six weeks to Skegness, then sent abroad and we didn鈥檛 see him for four years. He was sent to Burma. My mother received one pound fifteen shillings a week for herself and a child.

We could not afford to indulge in the 鈥渂lack market鈥� even if we wanted, or had the chance to. My mother and I became very close. We were more like sisters and went everywhere together. Thank goodness my mum was so capable. We used to go potato picking at Dronfield Hilltop Preswitches farm. We had some friends there with whom we used to stay to save on the bus fare. This was before the area was built up and we had to walk from Dronfield to Hilltop.

I remember the day my father went into the army like it was yesterday. We had been to my aunt Mary鈥檚 for tea and they had gone out afterwards. I stayed in with my cousin Ivy, another only child who I loved to spend time with. I stayed over that night but in the morning all I could think about was getting back home to Alexander road, to see my dad, but sadly, by the time I got there, he had already gone. My mum and I just hugged one another and cried. I shall never forget that morning. I could write a book on the five years that my dad was away for but this is just a short story.
Thankyou, yours sincerely Rita Megson x.

Pr-BR

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