大象传媒

When I got Pneumonia in 1944, my mother had a job to find a doctor. She went to the nearest telephone box and rang all the doctors she could till she ran out of change. The telephonist realised how desperate the situation was and telephoned other doctors. The doctor who came to the house was, as recounted by my mother "foreign, probably Jewish and very nice".

I knew nothing of this; I just remember being laid on the living room table to be examined. Miss Parker arrived in the middle of this and I then remember being on my mother's lap in the back of a car being taken to hospital.

"Don't you know there's a war on?" asked the Nurse, "Thermometers are hard to come by." I sat on my bed in Epsom District Hospital and thought of course I know there's a war on, I don't know anything else. I had Bronchial Pneumonia and was in bed in an adult ward. This meant there were no toys to play with and everything was very strict. I had been placed on the potty - sitting on the bed - by a nurse and then a thermometer was placed in my mouth with instructions not to move. The inevitable happened the thermometer dropped into the potty and broke, resulting in the nurses's lecture.

Another time I was asked "Have you had your bowels open today?" My bowls? Pudding basins? I just did not know what the nurse was talking about. One thing I did enjoy was visits to the basement for sessions under a sun lamp wearing dark goggles.

My next stay in hospital again in 1944 was not so pleasant - I had to have my tonsils and adenoids removed. I remember sitting with other children in a waiting area and moving up the line of chairs as each child went into another room. My turn came and I was sat up on what I thought was an ironing board and this horrible smelly black mask was clamped over my face. When I came round I was again in an adult ward, no toys and worse still no mother visiting. I thought I had been abandoned again and I had a very sore throat. My mother was not allowed to visit for three days and was very annoyed when she found that the bowl of jelly she had left for me had not been given to me and other mothers had been allowed to see their children. I was more upset when she left after her first visit than if she had been able to visit each day.

I don't ever remember there not being enough food. My mother was a good cook but how she managed I don't know. I remember the ration books and later when older I would be sent round to the grocers in Manor Green Road where we were registered, with the books, money and instructions that the bacon, if there was any, was to be cut on number 7. We never went shopping only to collect the rations. "Shopping" meant going to get other items and possibly clothes. I was also sent to the electrical shop in Pound Lane, with 6d and the accumulator from our radio for it to be charged. It was quite heavy and my mother would say "Don't you dare drop it." I never did.

Once we were given a special docket to go to a clothing depot in the Mill by Bourne Hall in Ewell. Upstairs were rows of clothes and my mother chose an overcoat for me. It was all right, very basic and no frills, but it was a very scratchy material and made my neck sore.

Sometimes we went to Kingston-upon-Thames by bus for shopping and invariably I would feel sick, especially if it was hot weather. The bus would arrive by the Cattle Market and the conductor would say "Let the child off first she's not feeling well." I would be sick outside the Undertakers under the benevolent eye of the large stone Angel that stood in the Undertaker's window for many years.

Occasionally we went to Croydon shopping. My mother bought what was supposed to be Beef dripping, but when she put some in a pan on the stove it flared up and set light to the kitchen curtains. I ran into the garden shouting fire, but no one heard me or came to help. My mother put out the fire with a shovel of earth from the garden. Then she had to set about clearing up the mess. Goodness knows what was in the so called Beef dripping.

I sat in the early evening firelight and my mother gave me a Peach to eat, the first she'd seen for years. I'd never seen one. I tried eating it and went into the kitchen and complained that it was too hard to eat. "You鈥檙e trying to eat the stone" my mother said. Once I got the hang of it I quite enjoyed it even though it had a funny furry skin.

I remember the bottles of orange juice and tins of National Dried Milk and Egg powder. My mother used to give me a spoonful of Virol every day and also Cod Liver Oil. I loved this but my mother couldn't stand the smell and would turn her head away as she gave me a spoonful. We also had tins of condensed milk. I used to dip a finger in and lick it and hope my mother wouldn't notice the diminishing contents.

We received one or two food parcels via either the British Legion (of which my father was a founder member of the Epsom Branch), or the Red Cross, I don't know which. Among the contents were tinned peaches and a box of sugar in cubes. The fruit was kept for Christmas and the sugar used sparingly. This was kept dry in the sideboard and I used to go and look at it and run my finger over the smooth surface of the cubes. I didn't dare help myself but would be given a piece to eat sometimes. I was not a sweet eater nor was my mother, we both preferred savoury things. Consequently our ration books were often returned with unused sweet coupons in them. Did the shopkeeper have to cut out the unused coupons or cancel them at the end of a given period? I don't know. Anyway no black market for us my mother could not afford it.

Our milk was delivered by Bob the milkman with his horse drawn United Dairies milkfloat. The horse would automatically stop outside our front gate; Bob would fix a nosebag on the horse who would chomp away on his elevenses. Bob would bring in our milk, make sure my father and I were all right, check that I'd got dressed properly and do up the back buttons on my frock, put the kettle on and make a pot of tea for us all, my mother being at work. Then taking a pocket knife he would sit at our kitchen table and sharpen his pencils into the finest point I've ever seen and then proceed to make up his books, with very neat figures in the tiny printed squares. Having had his sandwiches and tea, he would wash up and be on his way. Any droppings from the horse would be collected by my mother for the roses.

We had a radio with names on the dial such as Hilversum, Luxemburg, Normandy, Paris & Athlone and listened to the popular shows of the time - Worker Playtime - I.T.M.A. (It's That Man Again with Tommy Handley) - Those Were the Days - Grand Hotel - Listen to the Band - Sandy McPherson at the B.B.C. Theatre Organ - Vera Lynn, the Forces Sweetheart in Sincerely Yours - Children鈥檚 Hour with Uncle Mac - Toy Town with Larry the Lamb, Dennis the Dachshund and Mr Growser - the Radio Doctor - and of course Lord Haw Haw. One night he said that Longhursts Timber Yard was on fire after an air raid. It wasn't but phone lines were jammed with people phoning to see if relatives were safe. (I heard the grown ups talking about it - amazing what you hear when playing under the dining table!)

Of course we always listened to the news, preceded by the chimes of Big Ben, read by Alvar Liddel, John Snagg or Stuart Hibberd. Then we would hear " 庐 庐 庐 - " the V for Victory sign taken from Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. On Saturday nights we listened to "We now present Valentine Dyal as the man in black in "An Appointment with Fear." When I was a bit older I was only allowed to stay up later than normal bedtime if I brushed my mother's hair and we would sit listening to the radio in the firelight. (Regarding T.V. - my stepfather bought our first set in 1951, black and white 9" screen, so we were seasoned viewers by the time of the Coronation in 1953. The announcers were Macdonald Hobley, Sylvia Peters, and Muffin the Mule with Annette Mills.)

I was not allowed to play in the street, always the back garden, presumably so I could be quickly put in the Anderson shelter if an air raid started. My mother kept our house and garden immaculate and would not allow other children to play in our garden saying "Just because other women鈥檚' husbands are away at the war, doesn't mean they can't keep up their gardens." She was very annoyed when the Council workmen came round and removed the railings in our front hedge for the war effort.

As a consequence I played on my own but on one or two occasions I was allowed to play next door with Mary Hutchinson who was six years older than me. There was a small group of us playing on top of Mary's Anderson Shelter when a lone plane appeared in the sky. Everyone quickly scrambled off the shelter but me being the youngest by several years, fell down the slope and grazed my knees. "That's the last time I'm letting you go and play next door" my mother said as she cleaned me up.

But things could happen even when I was on my own. It was a lovely sunny day and my mother was out at work. I was bored and was leaning on the fence between us and our next door neighbour, and walking my feet behind me up the slope of our Anderson shelter when I walked up too far and overbalanced over the fence, scraping my knees on the wood, and fell headlong into a large clump of daisies. Mrs Hutchinson came rushing out to see what the noise was about and took me in and sat me on her wooden draining board and cleaned me up using carbolic soap which stung and smelt awful. Later when my mother came home she cleaned me up again to get rid of the smell of the carbolic soap.

Toys - well there were not many. I did have books - loved books, still do - but wartime paper was poor quality and my mother did not have much time to help me with reading and my father didn't have much patience. The day when I found I could read most of a book on my own was like a light dawning.

I had a dolls house of sorts. It was a small cardboard room - three sides and a floor. Printed on it was a window, curtains, door and armchair, picture rail and picture. I also had a little model farm with a few sheep and cattle and a well. I could put a little water in and draw it up with a tiny bucket. My Aunt Margaret first taught me to knit and my mother helped me afterwards. But mostly I had my head in a book. I used to have Enid Blyton's Sunny Stories magazine. My favourite book was The Tale of Mrs Tiggywinkle by Beatrix Potter.

My mother did not get on with her inlaws who lived at the far end of our road.
My father's mother would visit when my mother was at work. She would bring him a bottle of stout and cook an egg for him, both of which upset him later. When my mother came home she would know someone had visited. I only once remember my grandmother visiting, don't recall her being in the house. But at the front gate when she was going I told her about treading on a beetle and got soundly told off. It's the only time I remember speaking to her.

I remember my Uncle Dick (Richard Donhue) visiting my father and once he gave me 6d and a bar of chocolate with mint cream in it. I ate it all at once and promptly felt sick but wasn't.

My cousin John Donhue, Uncle Dick's son who is 14 years older than me told me that he used to visit my mother and go shopping for her. He also obtained the wood and helped make window frames for the blackout.

John's sister Jean was May Queen at Pound Lane School in 1939. Because of the war the school didn't give her the usual present of a gold necklace, so my mother bought her one. When I started school there I saw her name in the school hall on the board that listed the May Queens.

My mother's brother my Uncle Eddie (Flynn) came to visit on his way from home leave, I think to go abroad. We have a photograph of him in Army uniform wearing shorts. I know that he was slightly wounded at the battle of Monte Cassino.

Another brother Uncle George (Flynn) also in the Army, visited on his way from home leave. We had lunch and later we went with him on the train from Epsom to Waterloo station. The station was absolutely full of people in uniform. Everyone seemed to be saying goodbye.

We did not travel much during the war, but I can remember being on a train with my mother, presumably coming back from London. The train stopped and there were fields stretching away on one side, so I think it was East Ewell where there are still playing fields today. A lone plane appeared heading for the train and most people ducked down. I didn't I wanted to look out of the window, but a hand pushed me firmly under the seat.

I also remember being in a London taxi and seeing the barrage balloons up in the sky. These were large silver grey balloons shaped rather like a whale tethered by wire to the ground.

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