大象传媒

During the war I was a nurse training to be a State Registered Fever Nurse in the isolation hospital at Chester-le-Street.
I lived with my parents in a village called Fatfield. When the air raid warning buzzers sounded we could see the flames over the coast in Hartlepool and Sunderland. The buses had to stop running and return to the nearest depot until after the 'all clear' had sounded. On one of these occasions, my father took me to the local bus stop, but, as no bus came, I started to walk the three miles to the hospital, where I had to check in at 10 pm, prompt. I had with me only a small throat torch and a gas mask, and the only companions I had on my journey to hospital were the mice, rabbits, and the pheasants scuttling in the woods. The German 'planes were flying overhead and were hunted by the searchlights. The moon was bright - no stars. We walked the streets and roads unmolested in those days.

We had no air raid shelters in Fatfield, but there was a sandpit in the village and bags were filled which were placed outside the windows of the houses. Parents put their children against the wall with the sandbags during a raid, as it was deemed to be the safest part of the house. There was an air raid shelter at the hosital, however, as well as sandbags at the windows. It was necessary to have some form of blackout at the windows, and my mother simply lined her curtains with blackout material.

As food rationing was in place, some people kept a pig and/or hens to supplement their diet.

I gained my State Registered Fever Certificate in 1941, and, when Fever Hospitals closed, I went into General Nursing, and completed 40 years hospital nursing. I nursed the troops and victims of that horrible war. One soldier was unconscious for two weeks and was kept in a steam room to relieve his chest infection, probably the result of army conditions. It was my task to empty his urine bottle at regular intervals, and we were both shocked when he woke suddenl and asked, in strong language, what I thought I was doing!

My family and I were keen on opera and, as a result of war time conditions, were able to see top class performances which, in normal circumstances, we could not have seen. Because many large halls in London were bombed, the performing companies looked for halls around the country in which to put on their shows, rather than disband. The City Hall in Newcastle was one of these. However, my shift at the hospital made it inconvenient to attend in the normal way, but determined to take advantage of the opportunity, I decided to miss a meal and creep out through the hospital window, screened by the sandbags, and take the bus to Newcastle where I met my family. We could not afford the entry price, but were allowed to sit on the steps behind the stage free of charge. We would never have been able to afford to travel to London and buy an entrance ticket as in normal times.

As a miner, my father was exempt from National Service, but he did serve in the ARP. I had a brother in the navy who was in the Pacific war arena, and another brother in the army in Greece. We did not hear from this brother for about three months and learned later that he had been in danger and was sheltered by a Greek citizen until danger had passed.

I also had an uncle who was at Dunkirk and was a prisoner of war for four years. After capture, he and his comrades were marched into Poland to a prisoner of war camp. Later, as the Russians drew nearer, the prisoners were marched back across Europe. The prisoners made shoes from the canvas wrapped around food parcels, and the soles were made from wood from local trees. Shoes were important on the journey across Europe! If feet got sore and the prisoner fell behind, he was shot and left by the wayside. My uncle was fortunate. A Polish citizen, who was lucky to have two pairs of shoes, gave his best pair to my uncle who said this kind act may have saved his life.

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