大象传媒

My mother is Emily Williams. Her memories of the war began on 1st September 1939 when my father, Ronald Williams, heard on the 6 pm news on the wireless that all reservists were to report to Aldershot immediately. The following day a confirmation letter, enclosing a train warrant and a 5/- (25p) money order arrived. He left for Aldershot telling my mother he should get some leave before going to France. I was Anne Williams and six months old when he went and a year old before he came home again.

Mum had no money coming in for those first few weeks and had to borrow off her sister and friends. Fortunately an uncle contacted her regarding a legacy in which my father and his brother benefited. The sum was 拢8, not a fortune, but very much needed then. Her allowance, when it eventually arrived after about 6 weeks, was 12/6d (75p) a week.

During this time neighbours were good friends and strangers helped strangers as food became scarce. One special memory she has is of word going round the town that a certain bakers had cream cakes that day. Everyone rushed to form a queue which stretched round the block to buy whatever was on offer.

Having so little money, she had gone to work at a house in the nearby countryside taking me with her. In February 1940, the weather was so severe that the lady of the house told Mum to go home early as the roads were becoming impassable. As Mum had no coal in the house and Dad was due home on leave, the lady of the house gave her some from her own supply which she carried home in the pram with me! When my father eventually arrived in the early hours, he had his own tale to tell.

He had left Calais for Dover, then on to Euston, where the only train he could get was to Wigan, about 5 miles away. By the time he got to Wigan, the roads were completely snowbound. With no public transport, he set off walking although the snow was by then 6 ft high in some places. All this with rifle and kit-bag. Eventually, with still a little way to go, he leaned against a wall to rest, too exhausted to go further. A passing policeman asked him how far he had to go. On being told it was only about a mile, the policeman carried his gear and helped him the rest of the way.

Dad was one of the first to go to France with the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) and one of the last to come out of Dunkirk on the very last destroyer. Back home, Mum had almost given up hope when she had a telegram telling her he was safe. She still had to wait several days before he came home as they were all so weak after the ordeal on the Dunkirk beaches.

They had all been issued with brand new uniforms but Dad had only been home for a short time when he started to itch. At first they thought it was the newness of the wool but as he stripped, Mum discovered that he was covered in big red blotches. Despite being a new uniform, lice had laid eggs in the seams and the warmth of his body had hatched them out. The house reeked of paraffin for a long time afterwards but they managed to laugh to think he'd gone all through Dunkirk without catching anything.

My sister Christine was born in November 1942 but in December 1943 there was a whooping cough epidemic to which both Christina and I succumbed. I recovered quickly but Christina became very ill. Dad was able to obtain compassionate leave but while he was there, it was obvious that Christina was fighting for her life. Dad tried frantically to find the doctor but spotting the district nurse, persuaded her to see Christina. Her treatment involved putting Christina alternately in hot and cold baths in an attempt to revive her. Christina died of bronchial pneumonia four days before Christmas 1943 aged only 13 months.

Dad had to go back straight after the funeral and it was a terrible for Mum. She just wanted to cut out her past life completely and gave away all their clothes. The house had too many memories and she gave it up to go and work as a housekeeper in Blackpool, leaving me behind with friends temporarily. After only a few weeks, she missed me too much and took me to Blackpool with her and we spent the rest of the war in Blackpool.

As a reservist, Dad had been one of the first to be called up but was one of the first to be demobbed. He joined us in Blackpool but they'd both been through so much that it was hard settling down together again. As they were married for 61 years before Dad died in 1999, they must have eventually managed it! My mother is still alive and well at 94.

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