´óÏó´«Ã½

I was nine years old when the war started, and I remember the day vividly. The siren sounded at 11 o’clock on Sunday 3rd September; little did I realise at the time the significance of this alarm and the worries it would cause over the ensuing years.

Food was rationed shortly after war started and everybody was issued with a ration book. Our weekly allowance was: 1oz lard, 2oz butter, 4oz margarine, 1½oz cheese, 1½oz bacon, ½lb sugar and the occasional egg. Meat was also limited and we had one meat meal a week. Fruit gradually stopped coming from abroad so we had no citrus fruit or bananas.

Everybody was issued with a gas mask. The children carried theirs in a cardboard box over their shoulder. We also had to wear identity discs. People who could afford it had bracelets, but because my family were poor we were provided with a free disc on string, which we hung round our neck.

If the siren sounded whilst we were at school we were shepherded into the air raid shelters. These were claustrophobic, poorly lit tunnels, which smelt musty and damp. If the pips went it meant that the enemy aircraft were overhead and there was not enough time to go to the shelter, so we had to take cover under our desks instead.

My most vivid memory of the war was during the night of 5th August, 1941; we were all in bed and before the siren or pips went a bomb fell on the local church, about 50 yards from my house. The church was completely demolished by the bomb. It was a moonlit night and the church was a white building in its own grounds, which probably made it more visible from the air. I remember standing on the landing with my family being absolutely petrified. The house shook from the explosion, slates came off the roof and windows were shattered but we were all uninjured. A friend of mine, however, lost her father who was fire-watching in the crypt of the church that night; the local men, who were in the Home-Guard took it in turns to be on duty there and my father was on the rota, but off-duty that night.

In the winter the streets were pitch-black because there were no streets lights on. All windows had to be blacked out to prevent the streets being visible from the sky and wardens would go round the streets and warn people if they saw a chink of light.

I passed my 11-plus in 1941 and had to walk over a bleak race-hill to get to my new school. There was a tunnel under the actual racecourse and there were no lights in there. School finished at 4.30pm and in the winter it was dark before I arrived home so I carried a little torch with a number 8 battery — we were allowed to use this provided we kept the light low! I also went to church over the race-hill and this was a great help for me because I felt protected through my faith.

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