大象传媒

A Village in Wartime

I was nineteen years old and living with my parents in a small village near Dunfermline in Fife when war broke out in 1939. The following year I obtained a position as a shorthand typist to a senior Royal Navy officer at HM Dockyard Rosyth, and this was to be my contribution to the war effort until the spring of 1945. My boss, an engineer, had been recalled from retirement for further naval duty so that as many as possible of the younger serving officers could be released to serve at sea. I myself did not wear naval uniform and was classed as a civilian with a wartime military occupation. The Forth Rail Bridge, always a prime target for German bombers, lay just a mile or two down river from the Dockyard. Being heavily fortified however, I can only recall one incident when enemy aircraft managed to get close enough to the bridge to release any bombs.

Travelling the few miles from home to work took about two hours. I would catch the bus into Dunfermline at 6.45am and then walk to the other side of town from where I would catch another bus to Rosyth. However, on dark winter mornings the journey often took twice as long as the driver struggled on icy or snow-bound country roads without any lights to guide him. Passengers and pedestrians were allowed to carry small torches as they made their way about in the darkness but other than that, no lights of any sort were permitted for fear of attracting unwelcome enemy attention. Nobody seemed afraid to be out and about on the dark streets and I cannot remember any incidents of violence or accidents except for the occasional collision between people as they beetled about, heads down and shoulders hunched against the cold. We were also supposed to carry gas masks at all times. Some people did but many, especially young women like myself, soon abandoned them as being much too cumbersome and a nuisance to carry.

I had to provide and carry my own food to work and my mother had the job of making up my packed lunch every day. This was no easy task as nearly all foodstuffs were rationed. From January 1940 onwards, everyone was required to register with a local shop or supplier from where they would be able to buy rationed food. In August 1942 the weekly allowance per person comprised 2oz butter, 2oz cheese, 2oz margarine, 2oz cooking fat, 2oz tea or coffee, 4oz jam, 4oz bacon, 12oz meat, 1 egg and 2pints of milk. This would be supplemented by whatever people were able to grow for themselves. Most people in our village had at least a small patch of garden and many of them, out of necessity, became expert gardeners. The food ration seems very little by today鈥檚 standards but I never remember feeling particularly hungry. Neither did food rationing seem to do any of us any harm; on the contrary, most people remained remarkably fit and healthy on such a meagre allowance. However, we always took great care that out ration books did not get lost or stolen, for without our precious rations we believed that we would surely starve!

Often as I crossed town an the way back home from work, I would find that a queue had unexpectedly formed outside some shop or another. This was a sure sign that something was being sold 鈥渙ff ration鈥� and people simply joined the queue in expectation. They never knew what they were queuing for until it was their turn to be served; it might happen to be two eggs, a little butter or a couple of oranges. Anything was a bonus. With rationing so severe, it was inevitable that a black market for food sprang up. Racketeers were everywhere, although if caught they would be prosecuted and heavily punished.

The purchase of new clothing was also rationed and coupons were issued for this purpose. Clothing coupons could also be bought from people who did not wish to use them, and this was helpful if one had a special occasion in the offing. By buying other people鈥檚 unwanted coupons, I was fortunate to be extremely well attired for my own wedding in September 1942. One elderly woman in our village had absolutely no interest in clothes but sold off all her coupons in order to finance her nightly visits to the local pub! I was never aware of anyone getting into trouble for trading clothing coupons in this way so I assume it was legal. New clothing aside, a rough sort of utility yarn was usually available in the shops. Most women knitted sweaters, cardigans, gloves and socks for the family and those who couldn鈥檛 already knit very quickly learned how to do so.

At home, all windows had to be blacked out from dusk until dawn so that not even the slightest chink of light was visible from the outside. Those who could afford them had special heavy-duty curtains made for the purpose. However, most people in our village could not. Instead, wooden frames were made to fit into the inside of every window, with thick dark brown paper nailed to them. My father made our 鈥渂lack-outs鈥� by this method and it was also his job to position them by the appointed time every evening. Unfortunately he was not very technically minded and our frames never quite fitted properly. They frequently fell down, usually just after he had got himself comfortable in his armchair by the fire. Adolph Hitler was then called lots of other names, all of them far too rude to mention here!

Like most people, we had an Anderson Shelter dug into the garden. It had a corrugated iron roof and walls and although we tried to make it as comfortable as possible, it was a dark, dismal and unpleasant-smelling place. In contrast to those who lived in the larger towns and cities, we only had to spend on average one night a week in the shelter. Ours was shared by seven adults and a young teenaged boy. At one stage, one of the women was heavily pregnant and the boy鈥檚 mother always worried that this woman would give birth to her baby in the shelter. This would have proved quite an education for the boy as well as a huge embarrassment for the young mother-to-be! Fortunately for all concerned, the situation never arose.

We were very lucky in our village. We all remained safe and sound except for one occasion in the winter of 1940 when a bomb fell near the Post Office and an old man was killed. For some reason he had decided to leave his shelter that night and return to his house, from where it was presumed he had been showing a light. This was the only time the village came under enemy fire during the entire war.

Of course it was not all doom and gloom during the war years. There was a very strong community spirit and our little village was an extremely lively place. We had a fine village hall that hosted social activities such as whist drives and dances. I was particularly keen on badminton and played there three evenings a week. Tournaments were held with other clubs in the district and our village had an excellent reputation for turning out good teams. Despite food rationing, we always managed to provide tea and biscuits for every match.

My mother and father served as Air Raid Wardens and took their turn in manning the telephone in the village library to receive any incoming Air Raid Precaution messages. This library had been a gift to the village from the Andrew Carnegie Trust early in the 20th century. Andrew Carnegie himself was Dunfermline鈥檚 most famous son. Having arrived in the United States of America as a young penniless immigrant, he quickly amassed an enormous fortune from the steel and railroad industries. In 1900 at the age of sixty-five, he sold his businesses for the sum of $480 million and devoted the remainder of his life to philanthropic activities, his hometown of Dunfermline and the surrounding villages becoming major beneficiaries.

Carnegie鈥檚 lifelong interest was in the provision of free public libraries as a means of self-education for all. Consequently, our village library housed a large collection of fiction and reference books and all the main national and local newspapers. There were comfortable and cosy reading rooms heated by enormous coal fires. The Billiards Room was popular with the men and the Ladies Sitting Room, equipped with a treadle sewing machine, was much used by the women. First Aid courses were held in the library too, with one of the local GP鈥檚 providing the lectures. Best of all, the library contained public baths supplied with copious amounts of hot water. A bath could be taken for just a few pennies, a huge benefit since not too many homes in the village had bathrooms in those days.

The village church bells, silent since 1939, rang out long and joyfully to mark the end of hostilities in 1945. However, it took quite some time to get back to any semblance of normal living after the war years. Food rationing continued until 1946 and most other items generally remained in short supply for a good while after that. It鈥檚 all such a long time ago now, but in many ways it seems like only yesterday.

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