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War Years Remembered
Part 3

Odds and Ends

War time Christmases. I have very little recollection of them, so they were obviously not a big enough occasion to register! Radio and the King’s broadcast were a must. Two? three fires in the house, one in the Dining room which doubled as the Living room, and one in the Drawing room which otherwise was very little used, and I suspect one in the Kitchen. These would have made a dent in the coal ration! No central heating of course, in fact I cannot remember any of my friend’s houses being equipped with central heating. The School classrooms were heated! ---Vaguely! by enormous old radiators fed from an equally old coal fired boiler, which frequently failed to supply more than luke warm water to the radiators. Back to Christmas--- Chicken? Maybe? And on Boxing day a visit to an Aunt in a nearby village, Auntie Mary, Uncle Phil’s wife. I seem to remember wondering how she managed to get hold of a few ‘luxuries’ that we never usually saw--- she always seemed to have more food and a greater variety of food than we did! Making Christmas decorations from crepe paper, and Carol services are definite memories.

Winter; oh yes clear memories of winter! Cold hands and feet, chilblains, ice on the inside of the bedroom windows, and the sound of Aunt Jane clearing the grate and laying the fire. Skating, definitely the highlight of the winter was skating on the frozen floodwater in the meadows, on the Brick pond, or if it was particularly cold on the lake in Burleigh Park. We were told that Burleigh Lake had to stand the weight of a horse and cart before the public was allowed onto it! We believed it at the time, now I wonder what happened to the horse and cart if the ice was not strong enough! I have memories of several winters cold enough for skating to be possible, however not now or in the past 40 -50 years. Not a wartime memory, but the winter of 1947. Six foot snow drifts up the road, shortage of coal, cold cold cold but exciting for us, even for a 'grown up' 15 year old! Even the frequent power cuts were exciting for a while.

How did we get anywhere? Before my bicycle we walked, went by bus or by train for our summer holidays in Yorkshire. To skate on Burleigh Park Lake must have been a 3-mile walk, and we clearly thought nothing of it. Post bicycle and one for my Brother we cycled everywhere. In summer we cycled out miles for frugal picnics at Primrose wood, the 'Roman camp', or the 'Shooting Range' where grew the best blackberries. The Shooting Range' had been an army firing range in the first world war, and the area kept the name; at least for the locals. After the war, at the first opportunity to visit the seaside, we cycled 60 miles to Hunstanton for the day and 60 miles back in the same day. I still recall looking back down an empty road to see my Brother close behind, we had 3 speed gears! And my poor Aunt struggling along on her ancient bike complete with basket on the front and a box at the back (for her shopping). We cycled everywhere: To swim in local rivers, to visit relatives etc., but not to go to the Pantomime in Peterborough. This journey was by bus, ancient single-deckers that seemed luxury to us.

Fresh peas! There is nothing like the sweetness of a hand full of fresh peas from the pod just picked. At the start of the war not only did Dad dig a large hole, but he also dug a fair sized vegetable garden, which was a source of fruit and vegetables all the year round. Ouch, those cold hands picking brussels off the plant. Mmm, the taste of those red (eating) gooseberries, and loganberries. I did not much like raspberries, but you can bet I had to eat them if they appeared on the table.

Many families had vegetable gardens (they used to be lawns!), or allotments. On a Summer Sunday (Saturday was a working day) they were worked from dawn to dusk, and dusk was very late. Wartime brought 'double daylight saving time' when the clocks went forward 2 hours. This was to give more 'daylight' in the evening for gardening (digging for victory) and other activities of war value such as getting in the precious harvest. I still have a vivid memory of looking out of my bedroom window, long after I should have been asleep in bed. The sun was still bright and my Mother and Aunt were both out in the garden. I was seen peeping out, and much to my surprise was not told off. The time must have been around 10.00 p.m.

Letters two memories of letters. The first being my Father's letters. With his artistic skills, and love of the English language, Dad's letters painted pictures, and despite the censors blue pencil (all Forces Mail was censored) were inevitably very interesting. One I remember was from Port Said in Egypt, where Dad had some responsibility for unloading the precious cargoes of war materials. He described and sketched the equipment used, including free running beds of rollers, which allowed easy movement of bulky/heavy cargo.

The other letter, which was caught in my memory, was from my Mother in hospital in Sevenoaks I believe. Guys Hospital (or some of it) moved out of London to avoid the blitz and the V- Weapons. My Mother described the view from her bed, and how she frequently saw V1's the 'Doodlebugs' going past over South London and the ensuing explosions.

The memory from Port Said reminds me of another. My first and only watch, until I joined the Royal Air Force in 1951, came from Port Said. Dad brought it back with him as a birthday present for me. It still works, or did the last time I wound it up.

Ante American feelings. Despite the fact that the USA was our saviour, the resentment felt by many British people, particularly Servicemen filtered through into my emotions. I guess envy had more to do with it, chewing gum, sweets, food, and nylons etc. In a small country town, girls who 'frequented' with the Americans were not considered 'quite nice'. Not that this concerned me at my age, no my feelings were much more directed at American aircraft, which, of course could not possibly be as good as ours! As the skies filled with more and more B17's, Liberators, Mustangs, Thunderbolts, and P38 Lightnings, my scorn became more vociferous. I really did have a problem with the DC3/C47/Dakota however, because we had nothing in the same class, so I grudgingly conceded that they were very good aircraft. I remember feeling a mixture of horror and pride when I learned that an American Company was building the sacred Rolls Royce Merlin engine. Packard! Packard, they made ugly monstrous American cars didn't they?

The Dakota means parachute troops to me. Much of the training for Arnhem and other airborne troop operations took place over the flat lands to the South West of Stamford, and a memorial to the Parachute regiment stands in the area at Normans Cross just beside the A1. Tales from the training drops were legion, with everything from the comedy of the trees and not a few house roofs for miles around encumbered with parachutes and troops that had descended into them on night drops. But also to the tragedy of candling parachutes and dead or seriously injured red Berets. At this time the skies filled with towed gliders, Hengist, Horsa, and Hamilcar, obediently or otherwise following their towing Stirlings and Dakotas. Folding bicycles, and miniature lightweight motorbikes, the dangerous Sten gun! Do not bang the butt on the ground, or you are likely to get a bullet in the armpit!

The War corespondents broadcast from the fronts. The description of a damaged Dakota apparently deliberately diving onto ante aircraft guns at Arnhem. The mental image created by this broadcast seemingly confirmed by newsreel of the event.

The elation of D-Day and the suspense of waiting to be sure (whatever the early news bulletins said) that our troops were not to be thrown back into the sea. Memories of Dunkirk were still fresh! I have no memory of the Dieppe raid, may be because it was such a fiasco it was not significantly reported on.

Jumping back years - Malta, the defence of Malta, the news of the one nearly sinking ship getting through. Spitfires (of course) being flown off an aircraft carrier to provide some defences. Grudging respect for Rommel. The Desert Fox. Interesting that I remember no foul nicknames for Rommel, the name Desert Fox told all.

Fizzy pop, the only fizzy lemonade type drink I remember being able to get at Mrs ----, oh Mrs ----- shop in Broad Street. She made it herself, and the bottles had a glass ball stopper seal. When pressurised (fizzed) the ball was forced up its compartment against the seal. The bottle was opened by hammering the blunt end of a pencil or pen into the top to push the ball down and break the seal with a 'pop'. I feel sure she did not have a fridge, but the pop always seemed to be cold. Mrs Allen -- I think?

VE Day - very few memories. We obviously knew well in advance the likely day, and dragged out some old bunting and a string of flags. I remember clambering along the wall in front of our house to hang the flags with the help of my brother. I remember sitting on the wall on 'The Day' thinking that I should feel different, but I didn't, and nothing seemed to be happening in the road. Later a Street party of sorts did 'materialise' down the road, but it seemed to consist of tipsy adults. I suspect we went into Town to watch a parade, but I really cannot be sure. The Church bells rang, --- that I do remember. The best bit was hanging the flags and bunting, after that, not alot except a feeling of anticlimax! This should have been a great day - but!

VJ Day was different. Some petrol must have become available after VE Day, as Dad had put the Hillman back on the road, and taken my Brother and I away on holiday to some little seaside resort somewhere? On the West Coast I think? Our lodgings were in a house some way from the resort centre and beach. The radio at the house was not working, as one of the batteries was flat, so we did not hear any news bulletins. Driving to the beach one morning we noticed flags and banners being put up, so Dad went and bought a newspaper, and we discovered it was VJ Day. We went to a bonfire party in town that night and I still remember wondering where the few fireworks had come from, and where some children had got sparklers.

Here on the 15th May 1995 I pause, the flash backs are repeating themselves so there may not be much more of any interest.

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A few additional memories have surfaced; these are really only more detail of previous recollections.

The vegetable garden provided us with many of our vegetables through the year, but of course without freezers (or even a fridge) keeping vegetables and fruit was a problem. The favourite old Kilner jars were much used for bottling fruits, gooseberries, blackberries, and peaches (from Auntie Mary's garden if we were lucky). We tried to grow Strawberries with conspicuous lack of success, but raspberries and loganberries did well. The pear tree in the garden only seemed to produce fruit every other year, but pears bottled well, as did rhubarb. The plum tree failed to produce any noticeable fruit year after year. Apples of some varieties stored well (keepers we called them) provided they were not bruised, and were kept in trays in the 'Bee Hut' where was stored all the Beekeeping gear. Salad vegetables disappeared during the winter. Though I have some faint memory of a winter lettuce variety. Carrots and potatoes could be stored in sand clamps. This resulted in another use for the diggings from the air raid shelter, which was mainly sand. Carrots and potatoes were laid in layers of straw (or maybe hay from the paddock) with sand below and above the layers. The first new potatoes were eagerly awaited each year, though used sparingly as those little potatoes would soon grow to be much bigger and more filling.

Train travel was a dirty business, soot and grime from the steam engines coated any surface in the Stations or on the trains. Within minutes hands were grimy, and someone had big soot marks on their clothes! The most vivid memory of train travel was the platforms, or more precisely, those old slot machines on the platforms. These still displayed their intended content, chocolate, cigarette etc, and we always pulled every handle --just in case-- though the contents had long gone. I wonder how many thousands of times those handles were pulled to no avail. We never put any money in, 1d, 3d, and 6d (very big) bars of chocolate. One penny, three pennies, and six pennies otherwise known as 'a penny' (pronounced upenny) thruppence, and a tanner. 1/- (one shilling) for a packet of 20 Players Medium -- the 'mathematical' cigarette -- It's the tobbaco that counts !

Those lovely names of old money.
12d = 1/- (one shilling) or a 'bob'.
6d piece known as a 'tanner'.
2/- (two shillings) a florin or two bob.
2/6 (two shillings and six pence) two and six, or half a crown.
20 shillings in the pound, therefore 10 bob = half a pound, often referred to as half a nicker.
Seventeen and six (17/6) = seventeen shillings and six pence.
Fifteen bob = 15/- = Fifteen shillings.
21 shillings = £1-1-0 = A 'guinea'.

Upmarket Ladies Dress shops priced in guineas, when they had anything to sell!

Farthings = 1/4 of a penny occasionally to be found as little silver coins, but more usually the cupronickel coin known as the 'Jenny Wren' for the symbol of the Wren on the back.

Half pennies = 1/2 of a penny known as a happeny piece, or happence. So 1 1/2 pennies was 'threeappence' all one word!

Thruppenny bits were three penny coins, frequently in silver, but later multisided cupronickel.

Five shillings = 5/-. Five bob of course, but occasionally called a Crown or a Dollar, so 2/6 (a half crown) sometimes half a dollar. This from a pre-war exchange rate of 4 dollars = £1-0-0.

The wording, pronunciation, and non-decimal nature of the currency caused chaos with foreigners, particularly the Americans. What on earth was eighteen and thrupence three farthings? Eighteen Shillings three pence and 3/4 of a penny. Or one and a tanner? One shilling and six pence, often called eighteen punce.

Returning to uses of the Bee Hut. It became a junk store, with Beekeeping gear squeezed more and more into the reducing space available. From under a bench peeped some lumps of coal--- coal? Some large pieces of coal were put away early in the war as emergency reserves. I do not recall them being used during the war and cannot remember when they were brought out. We burned as much wood as we could lay hands on in the fires. A limited source of supply was offcuts from the 'works' E. Bowman and Sons Builders. These came home in regular if small quantities in Aunt Jane's cycle basket and box. We collected wood from the countryside on our cycle rides, but could not bring much at a time. Coke seemed easier to get than coal, and gave a super glowing heat, but required a good fire to get it going. Coke was a by-product of the gas industry, and Town gas as it was called was produced by heating (part burning) coal in great furnaces. At high temperature the coal gave off gas, the gas we see as a flame on a coal fire. The part burned coal was coke.

The subject of coke has brought back another memory. The steel works at nearby Corby produced it's own gas and coke to fuel the steel furnaces. I remember visiting the Steel works and seeing a coke furnace being emptied. The furnace must have been as high as a three-storey house with vertical compartments containing the coal/coke. A vast door swung open revealing walls of red-hot coke; this was pushed out by a ram and looked like the red-hot side of a house falling into great troughs of water. This visit must have been post war, but the steel works was an important war resource, and an obvious target for German bombers. In an attempt to disguise the works, strange large barrels appeared at about 50 to 100 yard intervals on many roads around Corby. These were Smoke generators and were activated when an air raid threat was imminent by who knows who in cars or on bikes rushing round the relevant roads! The intention of course to lay a smoke screen over the steel works. I dread to think what the local population thought of their homes filled with smoke, and have no idea how often the smoke screen was activated.

A final memory at this time must be Hats. A quick look at old photographs will confirm that almost everyone wore a hat. Ladies in a variety of headgear, and gents in caps or trilbeys.

Richard Hunter Lewis.

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