大象传媒

GIRL AT WAR
by Doris Parr

Millions of children in Britain and Europe, including myself, were of school age when the Second World War broke out, in September 1939. Life for us was never to be the same and the memories will stay with us forever.

Jack, the eldest in the family, was already in the Royal Air Force, having volunteered before he was eighteen. Sheila was fifteen; I was twelve, Yvonne nine and a half, and our little brother David, only four.

It was a sunny Sunday morning as I remember, when war was declared, and Yvonne and I were skipping out on the pavement in front of the modern house which our parents were buying, paying a mortgage of about sixteen shillings a week. My mother came out to tell us the country was at war. We carried on skipping, and later on, my mother hung our gas masks, in their new cases, on the picket fence just in case.

That night, a lot of planes flew overhead, and my parents thought they were Germans, so we all lay on their bed, waiting to die. Of course they were our own RAF planes, as we later found out, and we eventually settled down to await events.

Classes at school grew larger, as evacuees, mainly from Edmonton, joined our numbers. Men teachers disappeared into the Armed Forces. Air raid shelters were erected on the school playing field. Subjects such as French and German were removed from our school timetable, and soon even cookery classes had to be changed to House-wifery, as food became too precious for girls to experiment with, and we did boring things, like cleaning the gas cookers, instead. Sometimes we took a garment to wash and iron; though soap and soap powders were not plentiful. There were no detergents in those days. I
was pleased when the Science Master was 鈥渃alled up鈥� as I hated this subject. We then did Art, which I liked very much.

During the Battle of Britain, we made many trips to the shelters when the sirens wailed, though in our part of Essex, mostly the planes just flew over on their way to bomb more important Industrial towns, and of course London, which was less than forty miles away. At first we had no lighting in the shelters, so sat happily singing in the dark, lesson books having been abandoned in empty classrooms, with glee. When it was realised that the war was to go on, lights were soon installed, then we had to continue our lessons as best we could, with our books on our laps.

At home, our food was known as 鈥渢he rations,鈥� and was the cause of much ingenuity, and also much worry, to my mother, and to housewives everywhere. Rationing didn鈥檛 greatly bother school children, though bananas vanished, and oranges, when available, were for the under fives (who had special green ration books), and expectant mothers. Sweets were rationed, but as we had never had too many before, we managed on what we were allowed. Our dear old granddad used to let us have most of his sweet ration, though he liked boiled sweets, especially pear drops. We shamelessly accepted his ration when he offered it, as if it were our right.

As we grew older, then clothes rationing became a problem. One had to think carefully before squandering away precious coupons on unnecessary clothes. In the winter we went to school, and later to work, on weekdays, bare legged. As I grew too old for socks, I saved my stockings for Saturdays and Sundays. I can still remember the icy shoes I put my feet into, first thing in the morning.

Some of the older girls used leg make-up, but we never did. It made their legs look warmer at least. We slept in unheated bedrooms and, as rubber became scarce, hot water bottles wore out, and could not be replaced. I believe my mother had a stone one, which belonged to our granny, but this was only used if one of us were ill. I can still remember the cold, more than anything else I can, from the war.

At fifteen, many of us were working a ten-hour day. It wouldn鈥檛 be allowed now, but it didn鈥檛 seem to harm us, and I can鈥檛 remember being over tired. We soon learned to recognise German planes. After dark, we watched, fascinated, as searchlights swept the skies, of Southern England. During the London Blitz, we could see the red glow in the sky, as London blazed. My father used to swear and shake his fists at the sky, whilst my mother worried about the people being bombed. We children found it quite exiting, although we didn鈥檛 say so. My mother was so nervous, she had their bed brought downstairs for the duration of the war, and our small brother slept in their room. My sisters and I slept upstairs, only coming down when things got noisy, at our father鈥檚 insistence.

When the evacuees arrived, mostly from Edmonton, and surrounding areas, my parents decided to take in a young mother with her tiny baby, John. Our father, who was by then in his fifties, rejoined the Army, but, because of his age, was attached and in charge of, our local Home Guard. He was sometimes away, so I suppose the evacuee mother was company for our mum. I think her name was Sylvia, but we were not allowed to call her that. Our dad loved the Army. He had served in it for about 28 years before the war, and when home, he kept a gun under the bed downstairs. It wasn鈥檛 a revolver, I think it may have been a sten gun. We were told not to tell anyone it was there. I wasn鈥檛 very interested in it, and I don鈥檛 suppose my sisters were either. One early morning we were awakened by the sound of machine gun fire. It was a Jerry plane, swooping low and machine-gunning the workers of a local factory, as they left their cycles in the shed. Dad was in a fury over this, and, wearing his tin hat, but still in his pyjamas, he stood in the street firing with his gun from under the bed, at this plane. My mother implored him to come indoors, and my younger sister Yvonne and I stood at the front door, giggling at this amazing sight. Poor dad must have hit the plane, it was so low. Many cycles were damaged, but as far as I can remember, no one was hurt. Dad hated the Germans, and we thought we did too at that time. Only years later did we realise that the majority of them were no different in their ways from us. We made up rude songs about Hitler though, and never changed our minds about him.

One January night in 1941, it was our turn for a bit of enemy action. I can still remember it vividly. We all sat in our front room as the air raid siren had gone, and we could hear gunfire. Yvonne and I had been on our way to bed, when we were called downstairs to join the family, including the young mother and her baby, who had been snatched from his cot upstairs. At about eight thirty, or soon after, a land mine was dropped in the garden of the detached house next door to ours. It was so sudden. One minute we sat, chatting I suppose, curtains drawn against the black-out, when there was a whoosh, lots of rumbling as the lights went out, and the air was filled with dust from upstairs ceilings. My father ushered us all outside, and I remember we all walked over our front door, which lay in the hall, it鈥檚 glass panel in splinters. Yvonne and me were bare footed, and in our pyjamas, as we went out into the snow. My mother carried David, and our evacuee had somehow lost her skirt. The women from the house adjoining ours, lay across the road, in the snow filled ditch. This set Yvonne and me off giggling, though I imagine we were a bit hysterical too. No one seemed hurt, and we were invited into a neighbour鈥檚 house just down the road. It was very cold, and we were glad to be by a fire again. The daughter of the neighbour had a boyfriend home on leave, and he and our dad returned to the house to search for our coats and shoes, and goodness knows what else. We eventually spent the night with my mother鈥檚 brother, his wife and our small cousin Shirley. Ten of us slept in one room, on couches, armchairs and in the case of the children, on the floor. The next day, our evacuee returned to London with her baby, and Yvonne and me became kinds of evacuees ourselves, as we walked on our own, carrying our few belongings in a suitcase, to the home of yet another Uncle and Aunt. We had to stay there a few weeks until the Local Council found us a new home. Our former home was too badly damaged to return to, as incendiary bombs had been dropped through the roof. It was quite lucky that none of us had been upstairs in bed, as chunks of ceiling and bits of glass, lay on our pillows and eiderdowns. My mother stood in tears as she watched the workmen sweep the rubble down her stairs, as the stair carpet was fairly new, and had not been easy to come by. A line of washing left out to dry, was riddled with shrapnel, including Yvonne鈥檚 skating dress, a blue wool knitted treasure, hand knitted by an Aunt. She was upset about this. I rescued my baby doll from under my bed, where she had lain since war started. She had a china head, but was not damaged, and came with me to my Uncle and Aunts. The big house next door had to be pulled down; it was so badly damaged. The elderly occupants and owners had had a lucky escape. The lady was cut by flying glass, and their dog went mad, and had to be put to sleep. They had been sitting by their fireside and the chimneybreast saved them. I don鈥檛 know what became of them, but they had grown up sons, so I suppose they took them in. Their chickens were all killed by the land mine. We had eggs from them now and then, I can remember. Our elder sister missed all the excitement, as she was then over sixteen, and lived-in at her job, as maid, with our Doctor and his housekeeper. She heard of the incident the next day I suppose. We were pleased when we could return to our parents in their very small council house, but we were very sorry we were unable to return to our former home. There we had a long garden and a playhouse built by our dad, also a swinging boat made from David鈥檚 old pram. The house was eventually repaired, and sold. So this was war. We were getting used to the different life. Twice a week Yvonne and I walked to the local cinema, coming home through the blacked out streets quite safely. There was no vandalism then, or muggings and we always felt safe, except from above. If the siren went whilst we were in the cinema, we stayed put, as nearly everybody else did.

On Saturday evenings as we grew older, we went to the local dances. These became our treat of the week. On Friday nights we washed our hair, and during Saturday afternoon we curled it with our mother鈥檚 metal dinky curlers some of which I still have. We had very few clothes by today鈥檚 standards, so it was not very difficult to decide what to wear. The dresses had square padded shoulders, and slightly flared skirts. They were washed and worn many times. I can鈥檛 remember how many clothing coupons we each had per year, but I remember a coat took about 18 precious coupons. Dear old Granddad helped us out once more, by giving his coupons to us to argue over. One Saturday, when I was perhaps 17, an older girlfriend who had a brother living in Ilford, took me on the train to Ilford market, which she knew. We each bought a length of Harris Tweed, pre-war material of course, but we got it on what was known as the black market, as we did not give any coupons for it. We had our red clothing coupon books with us, and handed them to the stall owner, who pretended to cut coupons out then returned our books. We paid about 拢5 each for the tweed, which was a large sum in those days, and quickly departed to the home of my friend鈥檚 brother, for a cup of tea. I expected the hand of the Law on my shoulder for the rest of that day, and was glad when we got home that evening, having a guilty conscience about the whole procedure. My mother must have told my dad what we had done, for he told me severely that I was a traitor to my King and Country, making my guilt even worse. However I soon forgot my crime, and had the material made into what was then called a costume, which I wore for some years, but I never did anything like that again. In about 1943, the 8th American Army/Air Force arrived down our way. Jeeps and lorries, and young men in odd uniforms to us, were seen everywhere, especially at the cinema and dances. They had unusual names like Hank, Chuck, Lou, Wayne and so on. We chatted to them, but my friends of my age were not allowed to take them home. We were expected to have British boy friends, and I met my future husband just before the Yanks, as we called them, arrived. Some of the older girls made dates with them, and a few later married their boyfriend and went to America after the war. I knew a very pleasant Yank called Bryce. He came from South Carolina, and I danced with him while my friend Pam danced with his pal Joe. We were very young then for our ages and at 15 or 16 were like schoolgirls, very innocent and na茂ve, but wise enough to know that the generous U.S. soldiers were not for us. My mother and several older women from our road, worked in the evenings at the U.S. camp, in the canteen. They were called for in jeeps and lorries, by glamorous GIs, while us girls waved them off, rather enviously. No young girls were employed in the evenings at that particular camp. Most evenings, our mother brought home delicious doughnuts. They were quite different from those in our bakers鈥� shops - crisp and with a hole through. We waited up for our mother to come home, hoping for a doughnut to eat with our cocoa. We were not often disappointed. Just before Christmas, 1944, the Yanks proved their worth, when a nearby munitions factory was bombed and set on fire. The fire trapped many girls and older men, and there were a good many casualties. The Yanks turned up to assist the Fire Brigade, Police and Air Raid Wardens, in the rescue. All the same, some lost their lives in that raid. A middle-aged man who lived a few doors from us was one of the workers there. He was badly shocked, and never really recovered. He died shortly after the war ended.

Our elder sister Sheila, was by then, doing war work in another factory, and was nearly scalped one day when her hair got caught in a machine. Another poor girl yawned so widely one night; she dislocated her jaw and had to be taken to hospital with her mouth open! I was never old enough to be called up for war work, but I later did it by choice, but not in a factory.

Christmas was not a great time of jollification by 1944. The shops were rather bare by then, and had no decorations, balloons, tinsel or coloured baubles, though many people had those from before the war. Toys were rather scarce, and so was paper, which affected books and cards. Food was strictly rationed at this time, but my mother made an 鈥淎usterity鈥� Christmas Pudding, using carrots, a bit of our precious sugar ration, grey war flour, which was very nutritious, and a little bit of dried fruit and egg. I believe at that time we were very lucky to get one egg per fortnight. It can鈥檛 have been much fun for small children, including our small brother, who would have been nine by then. I don鈥檛 remember what he had, or what any of us had, if anything, but we didn鈥檛 starve. Compared to the peoples of Europe, we were very fortunate. We were lucky enough to have relatives in the United States. They sent several food parcels to us, which were more than welcome. They contained tins of lovely creamy white cooking fat, tins of fruit and even butter. Once they even sent a whole chicken in a tin! We were amazed at the chicken. From these parcels came our first tea bags, and Yvonne and I sat foolishly undoing each packet, to tip the tea into the caddy, having never seen such things before.

I once sent my Aunt and two cousins in the U.S. a letter telling them a few things about our everyday life, to interest them. I can鈥檛 remember what I wrote, but I must have let out a few secrets as the letter was returned by the censor, with a stern warning not to write about such secrets again. I may have mentioned the barbed wire that was positioned around our coastline, in case of an invasion. I had no idea this was a secret, I thought the whole world knew about it. To me it was just a nuisance, as it prevented anyone from going to the beaches. Our last trip to the seaside had been in August 1939. We didn鈥檛 go again until 1947, when all the wire had been removed I think.

My work took up most of my life from September 1941, when I volunteered to start work as a Nursery Nurse in a children鈥檚 War-Time Day Nursery. We were open from 7a.m. until 7 p.m. except on Sundays, to benefit women war workers, and took babies from one month old, up to children of five years. We were very busy and besides two other nurses, and myself we had a part time cook, a part time cleaner and a gardener. All of us were ruled over by matron, a real trained nurse, who had previously been the Assistant Matron of the famous Barts Hospital in London, but now, in her mid-forties was to care for children who were mainly well. She had a dog that she adored, and they lived in at the Nursery, in the attic rooms. We thought this quite brave of her, as our Nursery was an old house and she must have felt lonely at times. The dog was a terrier named Punch. Life was a mixture of hard work, comedy, hardships, no luxuries, comings and goings, and we learned a lot about small children as we worked. I was there for nearly three years, then later moved on to a modern Nursery with the same hours. We washed nappies and overalls, made up bottles for babies, sieved vegetables, scrubbed the tiny furniture, sang rhymes, emptied potties, and at other times, let the children run a bit wild, as we gossiped in the play room about our affairs. Worst of all, every morning, we had to 鈥渄o the children鈥檚 heads鈥�. This meant going through the heads of each child as she or he arrived, looking for lice or nits. We often found them too, and had to deal with them, under matron鈥檚 watchful eye. Our own fingernails had to be kept very short, which we hated, as we had just discovered nail varnish, and liked to use it at weekends. Pam, who was a year younger than me, and I lived in a world of our own, and we taught the eldest children the latest popular songs (unknown to Matron) and how to do the actions.

I once put a two-year-old in his pram in the hall to wait for one of its parents to collect him, and placed a half-full bottle of cough medicine his mother had sent in for him, in the pram basket, by the pram handles. They were late in coming, so I went to keep him amused, and to my horror, found him draining the cough mixture. He had reached down to the bottle, opened it, and drank the lot. I fled down the garden to tell Matron, who was pottering about among the vegetables and weeds. She was very kind about it, told me not to tell his mother, as she might worry, and said, 鈥淒on鈥檛 worry he will just sleep soundly tonight.鈥� I worried, just the same, and was relieved when he arrived safe and sound the next morning. After that incident, any medicines had to be kept in Matrons office, and handed to whoever called for the child, a much better idea. Every time the air raid siren went, we had to get all the children down to the basement shelter. Quite an achievement as often there were only three or four members of staff to carry out this feat. If the siren went at mealtimes, then their plates had also to be taken down, and it was a lucky child I would think, who received the same plate it had started with, by the time we were settled in the shelter. The children were marvellous; they accepted all this, as the normal way of life. Poor little things, I wonder how they ever survived the war, and us. Once we had an epidemic of scabies, but as we all caught it, staff and children alike, the nursery did not have to close down, but newcomers were not accepted until we were all clear. I never told my family about this, or about the nits. My mother would have had a fit, as I don鈥檛 think she had come across either. She must have wondered why I washed my hair every night with Durbac soap and Dettol though. Soon after the scabies, Pam and I became very ill with yellow jaundice. We both thought we were dying, we felt and looked terrible. I lay at home for about three weeks, gaunt and yellow and looking like an ancient woman. I lost nearly two stone in weight, and recovered just before Pam. I called to visit her, and found her lying in the indoor Morrison shelter at her home, looking just the same. We both eventually returned to the nursery, where Matron took us over and soon had us feeling better. She was marvellous with illness, but not interested in us so much when we were well. We had to do her laundry, as one of our weekly jobs, and would giggle as we mangled her outsized knickers and flannel nightdresses. One morning, Pam put Matron鈥檚 overall through the wooden rollers of the old fashioned mangle, but first forgot to flatten the buttons. As she turned the handle, the buttons flew off like machine gun bullets. We were helpless with laughter as Matron came to see what the merriment was about. When the overall was dry, Pam had to sew new buttons on, and we were not allowed to do the laundry together again. Matron was good to us in many ways, though I don鈥檛 think we realised it at the time. She would lend us some of her jewellery to wear at the Saturday night dances, though we so afraid of losing it, or damaging it, we didn鈥檛 often wear it. She must have been lonely in that big old house at night, with only her dog for company. One night the nursery was burgled. Thieves got into the cellar, and stole most of our food rations, including some gifts from the U.S. Army, stationed nearby. I don鈥檛 think anything else was taken, for at that time, food was very precious. Matron hadn鈥檛 heard a thing, and the cook discovered the burglary, the next morning. It caused a bit of excitement when the Police came, but the culprits were never found.

In our small town, living near to us, was a man who was known as the 鈥渃onchie,鈥� being a conscientious objector to war. The local children called him names, and we treated him terribly. My dad said he should be shot, and at that time, I suppose we all agreed. It is only now, long after those days, that I realise he must have been a strong and brave person to stand by his beliefs, and live through the war in one small town, jeered at and shunned by many. He must have had a family I suppose; I never bothered to find out.

So, life in wartime Britain carried on. The flying bombs appeared, and were nicknamed 鈥渄oodlebugs.鈥� They caused a certain amount of worry, though I don鈥檛 think we had any drop near us. We watched the newsreels at the local cinema, and knew how lucky we were to be this side of the Channel, though we didn鈥檛 know until the war was over, about the concentration camps and persecution of the Jews, not in detail at least.

Then one night we had a tragedy in our midst. Something happened which I will never forget. It seemed worse to me, and to the other staff at the nursery, than any other happening. One of our children, who had been with us about two years, loved by us all especially Pam, Ida and me (a slightly older nurse who had joined us), died suddenly at home. She had been at the nursery the day before, and seemed her usual lively self. We had casually said goodbye to her when her mother came to collect her. It seems she was taken very ill during the night, and I think she died on the way to hospital. When the news reached us the next morning, we were all shattered and unbelieving. Dear little Audrey, she was a lovely personality and we missed her very much. This was my first encounter with death, and I have never quite forgotten it. Her grave is in an Essex cemetery, quite near to those of my parents, grandparents and an Uncle. For a few days we forgot about the war, at the tragedy of Audrey鈥檚 death.

My family had been very lucky. As we had lost no one through the war. Our Uncle Les had been one of the lucky ones rescued on the beach at Dunkirk. Jack, my elder brother, had been all over the place, including Norway, at the same time as the Germans. Brian, our cousin, had been shot down over the Channel, picked up by Germans, and spent some time in prison camp, but eventually arrived home safely. Apart from our near miss by the land mine early in the war, and the loss or our home that our parents were buying, we were very fortunate. When V.E. Day came in May 1945, 1 had left home too early to hear the news, and arrived at the nursery to find a notice on the door. I travelled home on the bus with an old farmer who said in broad Essex 鈥淕it yew home gal, yew don鈥檛 wanna werk terday.鈥� The wonderful enterprising women of our street organised a party, in celebration, and I played the piano, which had been carried out from someone鈥檚 front room. I can鈥檛 imagine where they got any spare food from, but nobody wanted to eat much anyway. Later that day I spotted a tall English Guardsman walking up the street, home on his first leave since being called up six weeks before. It was my boyfriend, whom I married sixteen months later. I left my seat at the piano to run to meet him. That night all the lights came on again, and in August we had V.J. Day, somewhat marred by the thought of the terrible Atom Bomb, which had hastened the end of the world at war. We now had to get used to a world at Peace, which was not going to easy, especially for those who had grown up through the war years.

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