´óÏó´«Ã½

Being born in 1938 and with the war breaking out in 1939 friends throughout the years jokingly blamed ME for the war! After a short stay in Kilham, living and working on a farm, my mother brought us back to Southcoates Lane in Hull. Her reasons for doing so was, she said, because I was such a pest as a 2 year old and even worse at 3 years of age! She also said that the farm work was far too hard and having to look after me and my older brother was too much like hard work.
On returning to Hull my Mam worked at Robinson’s Tin Works on munitions, whilst my brother, who was 5 years older than me supervised my start at Southcoates Lane School. My Granddad lived next door to us and was away all the time in the R.A.F.
Apart from our gas masks, which we had to carry at all times, we were blissfully unaware of the dreadful times we were living in. Then the reality of war came home to us when we began to be bombed in our own town and in our own homes. When the sirens sounded Mam would very quietly take us into the shelter in the back garden. She never panicked, just said that we would sleep in the shelter that night. The only sign of any fear was perhaps a change of speed as we made our way to the shelter!
The night the bombs were really close our Granddad stood at the door of the shelter, shouting abuse at the planes overhead. A bomb hit Southcoates Lane Bridge and totally drowned out any noise Granddad was making. It landed less than 50 yards away and blew him off his feet and into the shelter. All we could do was pick him up and brush him down, not daring to let him see us laughing at him. Man wet herself laughing!
The full horror of that nights bombing hit home when daylight broke. The house right in line with ours had been hit and totally demolished. Fortunately the family who lived there were not in it at the time. Others were not so lucky and there were many deaths and injuries that night.
As a school child the serious damage and many deaths were not uppermost in my mind. The very funny sight of Granddad being blown into the shelter was still the event which remained in my mind thank goodness. The next day seemed to be normal and many other nights were pretty bad, but none came close to that particular night. The docks were the main target of the bombers. However, life went on and the years passed by.
We made our own toys and entertainment. We had cocoa and sugar, liquorice and peanut butter. We also dinted in our saucepan lids making our own cinder toffee.
Bits of shrapnel were traded for sweet coupons and ciggy cards. At Robinson’s there was a pile of black stuff (goodness knows what it was!) which we would sift through to find large glass (GLAMMOGS) marbles at least an inch across. They would exchange easily for six regular sized marbles. We ended up black as the ace of spades to get Galmmogs. The necessary bath afterwards was always a bit painful, complete with scrubbing brush and carbolic soap.
On day everything changed. Mam came running in shouting, ‘ITS OVER’. Everyone was laughing and singing and out in the street. A bonfire was lit and we burned everything in sight. My brother had his birthday on the 7th May. He was 12 years old in 1945 and was allowed to stay up late for the celebration party and actually have his first drink of beer. I was able to stay up too and we all thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
Everyone ‘mucked in’ during the war. People were like that. Our parents would tell us to ask neighbours if they wanted anything doing and we would be pleased to help them. Not expecting any reward as everyone was poor and had very little, but what they did have was shared out. We did not have many material things and it took very little to make us happy.
The real ‘end’ to the war came when our Dad came home safe and sound. However, our thoughts did go out to the many other children who did not see their father again. They died heroes. God Bless them all.

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