大象传媒

My Memories and Involvement in WW2
by
Monica Evans (nee Timmins)

Blackout

The gloomy days of war were made even darker by the 鈥渂lackout鈥�. It is impossible for today鈥檚 generation to imagine how very dark our villages and towns were during the Second World War. No street lights, no brightly lit shop windows, not even strong torchlight, and the few remaining cars on our streets had their headlights covered with only a downward slanting slit of light being allowed for guidance, while all house windows were tightly covered with heavy curtains and shutters. A chink of light showing, brought an Air raid Warden quickly to the culprit鈥檚 door. Offenders could be heavily fined, but usually a shouted order, 鈥淧ut out that light !鈥� sufficed to remedy matters.
A pinpoint of light could be seen by enemy bombers and helped them to locate towns and villages. This stygian darkness did however, have its compensations. In winter the sky, on clear cold nights, was velvety black, star spangled with a clarity not seen today with so much street lighting reflecting into the heavens and diluting its natural brilliance. On the night of the Coventry blitz in November 1940, a great orange arc of glowing light could be seen hanging over the city, even though our village was some six miles away.
It was an awesome sight set against the blackness of the night with vibrations from the exploding bombs being felt even at that distance.
An amusing incident occurred in our family due to the blackout. At that time we lived in the village of Wolston which has a brook running through the centre of the village and several small bridges are situated at regular intervals along its length for pedestrians to cross the stream. My youngest brother, who was in the Royal Artillery was home on a rare spell of leave. He and my father decided to pay a visit to the local Red Lion public house to celebrate. It was a dark, raw winter鈥檚 evening. Before they left the pub, the landlord handed my uniformed brother a precious half bottle of whiskey, which in wartime was very scarce and a highly prized commodity. Nothing was too good for the local lads in uniform who were home on leave.
On leaving the hostelry, they stepped out into thick fog and absolute darkness with not a gleam of light anywhere to be seen. At that time, we shared a large house at the end of the village with a London evacuee family. It was situated near the local Post Office and bakery close to where the brook finally disappeared into the church fields.
My father suggested that they follow the course of the brook feeling their way and counting the bridges as they came to them. When they reached the last one they could then cross and follow the tall brick wall which surrounded our house and hopefully, locate the gate thus arriving home safely. They were probably in a somewhat inebriated state as they crawled gingerly along with hands out-stretched, feeling their way 鈥� one bridge, two bridges and at last, the third and final one was reached.
They ran their hands along the wall of the bridge and suddenly with a loud splash they found themselves sitting waist deep in freezing water. They had followed the outside of the bridge, instead of the centre! They sat there for some moments in a state of shock and then became helpless with laughter. Through all this, my father had held the precious bottle of whisky safely aloft in one hand.
A very cold, wet, and hilarious pair eventually found their way home, much to my mother鈥檚 dismay and amusement. The precious whisky was immediately brought into use to warm them up! On another occasion, my father walked straight into a neighbour鈥檚 house by mistake on a particularly dark evening 鈥� much to their surprise.

2

Going to church across fields lit only by the moon and a myriad of stars was an unforgettably beautiful experience. However, these bright moonlit nights which
illuminated the countryside with startling clarity, were dreaded by many big cities for these 鈥淏ombers鈥� Moons鈥� made the location of towns and other targets so much easier for enemy aircraft.
How we all came to dread the 鈥榲room, vroom,vroom鈥� sound of the German planes; they had quite a different sound from British aircraft and could easily be distinguished in the stillness of the night.
One of my greatest joys as a child was carol singing with a couple of friends.
We wrapped up warmly, donned our 鈥榩ixie鈥� hoods 鈥� at that time in fashion and ideal for keeping heads and ears warm. Round the neighbouring houses we trudged clutching a small torch containing a somewhat weak 鈥淣o 8鈥� battery. These torches had, at all times,
to be held downwards, so as not to shine up into the sky; and with this dim illumination we did our rounds, singing the familiar carols in childish voices that became progressively weaker as the evening wore on. Negotiating long dark garden paths was by no means easy and I鈥檓 afraid that many a flowerbed was trampled on.
After we had finished singing, we knocked on the door and thrust a tin marked S.S.A.F. at the householder. These initials stood for Soldiers, Sailors and Airman鈥檚 Fund and all our collection went to this charity, which helped local members of the forces and their families when they were in need. After the war ended, I was given a special award for having collected a substantial amount for this fund. Sometimes the lady of the house gave us sweets or a precious bar of chocolate, which was very welcome indeed in those days of sweet rationing. In many ways children were much safer then when they were
out and about, than they are today, for we could play in the streets or go carol singing unaccompanied by an adult, without any worries on our parents鈥� part 鈥� how different it is in today鈥檚 uncertain and perilous society!

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