大象传媒

This story has been written onto the 大象传媒 People鈥檚 War site by CSV Storygatherer Janet on behalf of Mrs Jill Raper. The story has been added to the site with her permission. And Jill Raper fully understands the terms and conditions of the site.

ID No. (A6387645)

My life during the 2nd World War.

Being at the age of 6 years at the start of the war, I saw the effects through innocent eyes. I remember the announcement of the outbreak of war, broadcast over the radio and saw the grief and fear my relatives displayed.

Then came the departure of Uncles and Aunts, either for active service or to work in factories manufacturing munitions.

Next came the erection of an Anderson Shelter by my Grandfather, Mr George Harvey, and my Father, Mr Jack Sutton.

The back garden was dug up in the process so that the shelter could be sunk into the ground. Ration Books were issued for clothing, fuel and edibles, and identity cards (with no complaint from the public).

I still have the remains of these articles and my Identity Bracelet that I aways wore to School. We always had a gas mask slung across our shoulders when we went out. And it seemed that we were always practising to put them on in an emergency. Babies were encased in gas proof containers.

When we were at primary school and the air raid siren sounded, providing that we lived near, we had to run at top speed, home, to climb into our Anderson shelter or a public one which was built in the streets.

My Grandfather, Mr George Harvey, was an air raid warden who used to make notes of days and times of raids and, if necessary dig bodies from the demolished buildings.

I would hear the siren in the middle of the night, jump up, and put on my siren suit made by my mother, Mrs Amy Sutton. It was made from warm brown material, all in one with a close fitting hat secured by a buckle. Rush to alert the family, who extinguished lights and followed me to the shelter, albeit with some trepidation as to whether they would be encircled by search lights and noticed by enemy fighter aircraft.

I, however, with no fear but just the urge to get in the shelter and rest on my bed which was provided for me, raced down the court, took the hook from the door of the shelter, and climbed down the few steps, to get inside.

When everyone had arrived, the door was secured and we listened to the sound of bombs exploding all around, and debris falling on our shelter. Then came the all clear and we climbed out looking to see if our house was still standing.

My Grandmother Mrs Fanny Harvey, returned one night to find, what she thought was a treasure. It was in fact an unexploded incendiary bomb, which had fallen in the kitchen sink. We had to find an air raid warden to release us of it.

My school was demolished, my church also.

My family and myself left the city overnight, when the raids became frequent, and, on the back of farmers lorries went to outlying districts either to a farm kitchen, or to a house randomly picked where the inhabitants would give us either the use of a chair or the floor.

Latterly we went to Exeter to live with relatives and encountered their first Air Raid. We spent the first night in a Morrison Shelter, a metal construction in the living room.

Finally I went to Stoke Damerel High School which was evacuated, as the train pulled out. I hated being parted from my family and wrote a letter asking her to come and take me home as I was crying all the time.

When our ships were destroyed by enemy action, I remember the grief of family when the name was mentioned and people known to us were part of the crew.

So many people were killed at home. Teachers, friends and relatives.

But I also remember the community spirit which existed, everyone was willing to help each other. The local baker would take a dinner, which needed roasting but could not be done in the house with no gas or electricity, and put it in his huge oven to cook. Otherwise my mother had a tin concoction with a swing door, which she put on the coal fire at home. I remember the superb taste of these meals.

The spirit and outlook of everyone changes in a world war. The families at home worry and dread the telegraph boy, coming with new of injury or death, but they lived and made do with whatever they had. They shared their meals with those who had none and comforted those who were bereaved. Children were loved and cared for and were happy. I wonder what would happen now?

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