大象传媒

The Shelter

One lovely, sunny morning when I was two or three years old Mum washed and groomed me and told me that we were going somewhere important. I was thrilled because the only other important place we ever went to was church on a Sunday. We went to town, the Botanical gardens and Endcliffe park, of course, which were all enjoyable - but not important. I remember this day most vividly.
We walked up Wadbrough Road, up the gennel to Dover Road, up Wigful Road and on to Botanical Road where the old, weather-worn stones of the high wall that surrounds Botanical gardens shone golden brown in the bright sunlight. Birds sang in the trees- everything was beautiful- but I suppose the sight of a barrage balloon tethered in Red Lane must have reminded Mum that there was still a war on. However, the grim reminder to Mum was a source of wonder to me. I looked at the shape of it:
"Is it a bomb, Mum?"
"No, love, it's a barrage balloon- to stop German bombers."
"Oh."
So it looked like a bomb but it was a balloon- and just how it was going to stop the bombers was beyond my comprehension. We crossed the road and went to some place that must have been run by the W.R.V.S. or similar. Once inside I noticed that everyone was so polite. When we were all seated a lady addressed the audience, which was all femail with just one small exception, and gave a short speech explaining what would happen in the event of an air raid. This lady really had everything under control. When the sirens sounded we were to go immediately to the shelter where there were beds (bunks with warm but itchy blankets), food and water - everything, in fact, for your wartime convenience, until the 'all clear' siren sounded. And to prove how good they were, she then asked everyone to join her in a meal. Another polite lady was working her way round with pencil and pad quietly asking everyone:
"Hot meal or cold snack?"
I noticed all the ladies were opting for the:
"Cold snack, please."
The lady with the pencil came to Mum before me:
"Hot meal or cold snack?"
"Cold snack, please."
Then the lady came to me, bent forward a little and smiled:
"Now young sir, would you like a hot meal or a cold snack?"
Without a seconds hesitation I replied:
"A hot meal,please."
Everyone tittered- politely, of course. I don't think Mum was altogether pleased, but she had to smile.
"Can you eat a hot meal? You've just had one at home!"
The meal was very good: boiled potatoes, peas and meat with gravy, and I ate every bit of it, which seemed to please the ladies in charge. Later, as we filed out church-like, the lady who had given the speech had a brief word with everybody, and when it was our turn she smiled broadly:
"Thank you so much for coming, Mrs.Baker."
"That's O.K. - I'm sorry about the meal - he'd eaten a good one at home just over an hour ago!"
"Please don't mention it. You see we were all delighted when we heard him ask for the hot meal, and he enjoyed every bit of it, didn't you? We had to prove that we could do these things, and were beginning to think that no-one would try the hot meal until Donald came to the rescue. After all, anyone can make a cold snack. Thanks again to you both."
It must have been around 1941, in a world so different to that of today that it could be another planet. I recall Mum had a smart fawn coat that was very soft to the touch, about that time. Maybe she wore it that day.

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