大象传媒

Sirens wailed their doleful tune. The sky was alight with searchlights scanning the purple darkness for enemy aircraft. Suddenly all hell was let loose as the anti-aircraft guns sprang into action and punctuated the silence with deafening bangs as the shells exploded like enormous fireworks, adding to the striped back cloth of the sky and lighting up the heavens. Weaving between these lights and the silver barrage balloons, sometimes visible and at other times just a constant engine drone, were the enemy aircraft. These monsters of destruction unloaded their bombs on the unsuspecting civilians below. In between the cacophony of sound all around, one could hear the now familiar whine of these bombs as they hurtled earth-wise followed by a shuddering thud and blinding light. What poor souls were hit by that one, flashed through everyone's mind as we sat huddled in the stationary dark railway carriage on the outskirts of London on our way to Norwich in 1942.

My parents had a strong sense of family unity. Both came from Norfolk, but because of the depression in the twenties moved to Fareham on the coast not far from Portsmouth and Southampton. Both towns were prime targets for enemy air raids being important naval bases. My parents had always been unhappy about this separation from their loved ones. Now the feeling was even stronger, especially as we had experienced very heavy raids and some places had been totally destroyed with a very large loss of life. What would happen if we were all killed and hadn't seen our loved ones in Norfolk? It was unthinkable! Somehow we had to get up to see them for Christmas. It may be the last one we would have altogether. The war wasn't going well for us. The Germans seemed to have the upper hand in every sphere. The decision was made. We hurriedly packed and took what little rations we had to help with the Christmas meals. We knew that we were taking a risk going through London, which had received a tremendous battering from the Luftwaffe, but any other route would have put hours on our journey Here we were caught up in an air raid not far from London, wondering if we had made the wrong choice and we were going to die after all?

As we sat silently in the stationary carriage each with our own thoughts, surrounded by cigarette smoke and the moving red glow of the cigarette ends making patterns in the darkness, a nervous voice quietly whispered to his partner "I do hope we get home. I haven't seen my parents for over a year". The ice was broken and people began to whisper in the darkness to each other, and one's mind was taken off the horror going on outside. People felt very sorry for the person who hadn't been home, and began to ask questions. It seems that he had been in the North Africa campaign and had been wounded, taken to a hospital where it was a matter of life or death, and from there sent back to England to a convalescent home. However en route the ship he was on was torpedoed and he was in a life raft for two days before being rescued. His old wounds became infected and he had to have further operations before finally, after many months recuperating, he was given time to spend with his family before being posted to another theatre of war.

The soldier was very eloquent and elaborated his story. He had a captivated audience, and was very full of his own importance. Constantly he was telling us of how handsome he was, and how all the nurses fell in love with him. We all listened so intently that we didn't notice that the train had started and we were on our way.

A very small blue light came on which gave everyone a sickly look but not strong enough to notice any details of our fellow passengers. Occasionally someone would go out into the corridor, which was jam packed with passengers having to stand all the way, to either stretch their legs or go to the loo. On one of these occasions the soldiers were singing, and the people in our carriage took up the songs. They were all the popular hits of the day, such as `There'll be blue birds over the white cliffs of Dover', `A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square', `Roll out the barrel' and many more. It must have sounded very strange as the train came into the station for the porters and the waiting passengers to hear the singing emanating from the coaches. The singing was infectious and swept through the train raising the people's spirits and bonding people together in a great tide of patriotism against the enemy.

Late that night the train pulled into Norwich station to the strains of `Land of hope and glory', the patriotic song of our country. As soon as the train came to a halt as it hit the bumpers and we rocked on our legs to keep our balance, luggage was heaved down from the racks above, doors were flung open and a mass of humanity poured out, hurrying along the platform to be greeted by relatives, friends and loved ones and quickly disappearing. We never did see our carriage companions, in particular our handsome Rudolph Valentino war hero, they were just dark shadows, but amongst them arose a spirit of camaraderie, a bonding of the English nation that we would not be beaten at any cost.

As we approached the barrier a small dapper figure in a smart Harris tweed overcoat and trilby emerged from the shadows. Raising his hat, as he always did on meeting any lady, he greeted us with "This is a fine time to arrive. Do you know I missed my last drink at the Club thinking that you would be on time". It was none other than my dear, dear Bumpa. We flung our arms around him. He beckoned a porter, and linking arms we made for the entrance and a waiting taxi.

We bundled into the taxi, and clutching all our goodies around us made our way slowly with dipped air-raid precaution striped headlights across the city. Auntie Wyn who was awaiting our arrival had given up the ghost and gone to bed. Sleepy eyed and tousled she opened the unlit front door to let us in. Feeling our way and gathering our numerous packages, we dragged ourselves into the living room. A few moments after the lights were put on, and we had become accustomed to the bright lights, the room filled with excited and animated conversation. Occasions like this require a cup of tea, which was soon produced, and everyone relaxed. We had to tell of our adventures which had etched themselves so much on our memory. They have been repeated many times over the years.

In the early hours of the morning we eventually retired to bed, happily knowing that we were in the bosom of our family, and looking forward to the Christmas celebrations.


Family Celebrations
We took many days to recuperate from our ordeal travelling up to Norwich. With the family surrounding us with their love and concern for us we were able to relax and enjoy the excitement and anticipation of the Christmas Day festivities. My three girl cousins were living in a very spacious old farmhouse which they were renting on the outskirts of Helsdon, and sent out invitations for all the family to come to them for a Christmas dinner celebration in the evening! It seemed strange to us having an evening meal, but on learning that their current boyfriends, all of whom were American Airforce men were going to be there we understood, or we thought we did. These were foreigners to us and they naturally would have odd habits!
Dull freezing fog enveloped the city as the afternoon wore on. My father thought it would be very risky going out in the dark, but he was severely sat upon by my Auntie Wyn, a very forceful lady, who exclaimed that she knew the city like the back of her hand and even if the fog got denser she had a sixth sense and would get us to the farmhouse although she had never been there before.

Wrapped up to the ears with thick overcoats, hats, scarves and gloves, clutching Christmas presents and the Christmas cake, duly beautifully iced, placed in a large old sweet tin and given to me to carry, we sallied forth. No sooner had we got outside than we discovered that the ground was covered in frozen ice making all the paths and roads like a skating rink. We faced another difficulty, that of having no street lights, and the eerie shadows cast by the dimmed torches in the foggy atmosphere made us ghost-like figures. Auntie Wyn suggested that we did the family laugh that she and my mother did when they were youngsters, in order to warn people we were coming and they wouldn't be scared when we loomed up out of the fog. One started with one laugh, then two laughs, three, four and so on in an accumulative way until you couldn't help yourself, and you just broke into uncontrolled laughter. My cousin Barbara and myself joined in but my father disowned us and trudged disconsolately behind. The noise we made was enough to waken the dead. What on earth made my aunt think that it would warn people that we were coming? I think they would have run a mile as soon as they heard the row, thinking that a crowd of lunatics had been let loose.

Laughing, slipping, sliding, yelling, screaming, but definitely in high spirits, we arrived at the farmhouse. It was shrouded in darkness as we stumbled our way across the yard to rap loudly on the door. There were shrieks from inside for someone to turn off the light so they could open the door. It was a very serious offence for any strong light to be shown as this might help the enemy aircraft to pinpoint targets, and a bomb might fall on you. We all stumbled into the kitchen and were met by the beautiful warmth and cooking smells that assailed our nostrils. As soon as the door was closed and the lights turned on we were dazzled and stood squinting at our surrounds as we waited for our eyes to be accustomed to the light. A loud chorus of voices wished us a Merry Christmas.

Into view came many of the family, but I only had eyes for my grandfather, Bumpa to me, and I pushed my way across the room to his side. He put his comforting arm around my shoulder and gave me a big hug. I now knew that everything would be all right and we would have the best Christmas day ever. We were introduced to the Americans who were all very friendly and loud. They were all dressed in aprons and had colourful paper hats on their heads, and we were told that they were cooking the meal. As I looked around I couldn't believe my eyes. There was so much food everywhere. On the large farm kitchen table were two turkeys being basted in butter, in fact in two pounds of butter. Mother was horrified as we were only allowed two ounces of butter per person as our ration for the week. It was a great struggle to eke it out, especially as my father took sandwiches for lunch each day.

The Americans had brought along a gramophone and Glen Miller's music filled the air. In no time at all everyone was busily engaged in preparing the table for the meal. There was no shortage, the American Base Shop provided everything in order to keep up the morale of their servicemen abroad, and the goods on the table glittering in the candlelight proved this point. The drinks flowed freely and soon the adults were all very expansive in their gestures and speech. My father was very concerned, because he knew that Mother only required a small amount of alcohol and she was merry. That meant that she would become very loquacious and demonstrative and an embarrassment to all concerned.

Having eaten as we hadn't done for years, and Bumpa giving the toast of "Here's a health to all those that I love, and a health to all those that love me, and a health to all those that love those that I love and all those that love those that love me", we hurriedly cleared the table, rolled back the carpet in the large dining room and dancing began.

As the evening wore on with drinks and eats flowing easily, Mother decided to take to the floor and go back to her youth, and do her dances which she did as a member of the `Optimists Concert Party' in the First World War. Father was very embarrassed but I was delighted. I always loved it when my mother did any of her theatricals at home. She was a brilliant dancer being so petite and light on her feet. We all clapped in time and sang along with the tunes. She received a tremendous ovation from everyone present, even my father. Not to be outdone Auntie Wyn took to the floor and did her Cicely Courtneidge act, which had everyone rolling around with laughter until the tears rolled down their cheeks. All eyes turned on Bumpa, who was persuaded by the grandchildren to sing a song. His repertoire went back to the early part of the century. With very little persuasion, holding his beer mug in his hand he gave a very lively rendition of `Little Brown Jug', encouraging us all to join in. The noise was tremendous. It was a good job that the farmhouse was detached and in the country.

All good things come to an end. Past midnight we emerged into the dark frosty air. Laughing and chattering loudly making our way back to Auntie Wyn's house. Saying goodbye to the family members as they peeled off in different directions. Last of all Bumpa, Russell and Jesse (his son and daughter in law) said their fond farewells. Giving Bumpa a very special big hug and telling him to take care of himself, we continued our slow slippery walk home. As Mother tucked me up in the warm bed with a hot waterbottle at my feet, I remember saying that "This has been the bestest Christmas that we have ever had".

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