大象传媒

My name is Sheila Scott (though I had another name when I was married). I am a grandmother. Three of my grandchildren are aged 14 and 15 and are studying 20th century history 鈥� in particular WW2 鈥� for S.A.T.S and GCSE, so I am very popular with them at present.
Why? Because I was born on April 1st 1939 and grew up and started school whilst there was ` A War On! `
Of course, I don鈥檛 recall every moment of those 6 years 0 but I do have a lot of clear `mind pictures`which, when put into words, bring back my childhood and my personal experience of the war in glorious technicolour !
Coincidentally, I have a grandson born in May 1999. He has just had his 6th birthday. How different his first 6 years of life have been when compared to mine.
All over the world there are families like mine, so I want to put my war story on this website, so today鈥檚 young people can compare their day 鈥� to 鈥� day lives with mine of 60 years ago.
My dad, Joe Scott, was a career soldier, from a military family 鈥� 5 boys, all in the Army. His father was a soldier too 鈥� he died in WW one. When WW2 began, dad had been in the Army 鈥� Duke of Wellington鈥檚 Reg`t 鈥� for more than 8 years and was a Sergeant Major, so he was posted to Aldershot as recruiting sergeant, and eventually went to France in the summer of 1940. So for me and all the other children in our street, and across the country, a daddy had become a strange man who magically appeared, now and then, when I was asleep and then a few days later he was gone again, though he always left me something. Once it was a 6 inch high soldier doll made of celluloid. Another time it was a bracelet, made of 7 silver coins with the head of Queen Wilhelmina on them. For my 5th birthday he brought home a dolls cot 鈥� though it was so big it was later used as a cradle for my newborn son, and then my daughter, my niece and my nephew, As I grew older, and could recognise him as my dad; his homecomings were more interesting and exciting.
However, I remained a little bit wary of this big, loud, strong male figure who mysteriously came in and went out of our little world of women. I disliked picking me up if he was in dress uniform 鈥� the peaked cap frightened me, probably because I could not see his eyes. One night I was sitting on the floor as his feet as he polished his brass buttons, blancoed his webbing and 鈥渂ulled鈥� his boots and I asked 鈥淲here are you going?鈥� I still don鈥檛 understand his reply which was 鈥淚鈥檓 going home 鈥�!
That was in May 1944 and he was getting ready for the Normandy landings. By then he was in the Pioneer Corps. They were always at the sharp end. Dad landed in Sword beach on D-Day and moved up through France and Belgium in the following months.
One school lunchtime our teacher said, 鈥淏efore we go for dinner boys and girls, we will say a prayer for Sheila鈥檚 daddy, who is very poorly in the military hospital in Leeds 鈥淭he others stared at me and I began to cry when suddenly the door opened and there was daddy in a bright blue hospital suit with red collar and cuffs. Prayer answered express service!
He told me much later that a grenade had exploded, only a few feet in front of him. For the rest of his life he had a triangular piece of shrapnel embedded in his forehead. Dozens of other pieces had been taken out of his head, face, neck, shoulders and chest. He must have had a charmed life.
When he recovered he was parachuted back into Holland in time for Operation Market Garden. He was part of the team building the pontoon bridge at Oosterbeck. Later that year every woman in our street was wearing a headscarf made from pale blue parachute silk.
Memories of Mary, my mum, are obviously more numerous and vivid. The first clear picture of her is when she was hanging blackout blinds on all our windows, then our weekly trip to the radio store to collect the recharged batteries for our radio. We lived near the train station, and had to cross the road that went from the station to the barracks in town, to get to the store. This meant dodging columns of marching men and also convoys of tanks. Once as we came out of the radio store, we hurried across the road in front of a tank and mum tripped on the kerb, dropped her bag 鈥� the batteries smashed on the pavement and we were without radio for a week. That was a dismal time. But when dad was home on leave, mum was very different. Smiling a lot and humming popular songs. Most of the time she was quiet, though she made me. feel safe and sound. There was a tiny paraffin lamp in my room. On air raid nights in winter when we could not sleep for the drone of aircraft overhead, she would light the lamp and sit on my bed and read to me. On warm summer nights we all sat out in the backyards in the dark, listening to our bombers going out and coming back. Young as I was I got to know from the sound, which was which. I can still tell a Lancaster when I hear one!
We were too close to the Pennines to be a target for German bombers, but they passed over us on their way to Huddersfield, Bradford, Leeds and of course, Sheffield.
We had to Dig for Victory 鈥� meaning flowers in front gardens were OUT and vegetables and soft fruit were IN. One night in late summer, after several days of kitchens full of jars, bottles, boiling pans and various items being turned into jam, chutney, jelly and sauce, we were all sitting out in the yards with jugs and cups passing to and fro over the fences and gradually the conversation got louder and there was a lot of giggling and falling about. The surplus beetroots, potatoes and rhubarb had been used to make wine and all our mums were very 鈥渕erry鈥�. I don鈥檛 recall if they were grumpy next day, but I can now understand that, every now and then they would need to let go and be a bit wild. My mum, in particular had a terrible year in 1944. Her mother had lived with us since 1941 and in March 1944 she died of cancer 鈥� just 3 months before dad landed on Sword Beach, was wounded 鈥� then sent back for the battle of Arnhem, just as I was moving up from nursery school to `proper` school. But mum was always positive. She never lost her temper, never shouted at me, was always there with a hug and kiss when I was hurt or upset. She was very patient with me when I had to learn how to put on my gas mask. I hated that thing ! Other people looked very sinister to me, when they had their masks on and I was afraid of suffocating inside it. Mum worked miracles with the rations too. I always got a good meal when I came in from school or playing out. She also spent hours unravelling knitted adult garments with worn bits or holes in elbows. Then she knitted up the good bits into cardigans for me. She was always calm when the air raid sirens went off too. The noise terrified me, so she hugged me tight and whispered in my ear until it stopped. I can now understand why she gave way to tears when she opened a letter dad sent from Germany. Inside a postcard and a 6th birthday card for me, plus a beautiful card he had got on his way through Belgium for their 7th wedding anniversary.
I also can still see the surprise and delight on her face when we got a food parcel from America.
All I recall of its contents is tins of Spam 鈥� jars of peanut butter, a pair of nylons for mum, and my first ever chocolate bar !
Then there was school ! It was something I endured ! I was bored by it. Probably because mum had taught me to read, write, knit, sew, draw, paint, sing and dance, before I ever got to school. I did like being in the choir and the concerts we did. I did not like lining up every morning for a spoonful of Cod Liver Oil, a spoonful of orange juice 鈥� but the Ovaltine tablets were alright.
There were other things to like too. Concerts, birthday parties. Once we went by train on a day trip to the seaside, and every Christmas we had the tree, smothered in baubles and with real red candles, which were only lit for 15 minutes on Christmas Eve. Presents were usually an apple, a new penny, a colouring book and crayons, plus a new set of clothes for my favourite doll.
But my favourite treat was the cinema. My lifelong love affair with the big screen began 64 years ago with Snow White, Fantasia and Dumbo 鈥� the flying elephant.
Then there were two unforgettable events. The first was a night when I thought everyone had gone mad ! The local bakery had a wind-up gramophone on a window sill playing dance music, the milkman, with his horse and cart was dishing out pies and mushy peas to all who brought a bowl and in the field next to our street there was a huge bonfire burning with a `guy` on top labelled HITLER. Someone had some fireworks. I had just got my bowl filled with pie and peas when a spent rocket landed in it and scared me witless
Second event was a night when, after dark, and past my bedtime, mum told me to get my shoes and coat on. We were going OUT!!
What a surprise when we got outside. Fairyland. Lamps lit all along every street. Every room in every house had a light on and the windows had red, blue, purple curtains 鈥擭O BLACKOUT!
We walked up and down those streets for ages. It was wonderful.
Many years later I discovered that dad had been commissioned after the battle of Arnhem and by V.E. Day he was in Dusseldorf. When the war ended he was given his first posting as an officer. Berlin 鈥� for 3 years. He would probably have been made responsible for the clearing out of one or other concentration camps.
Mum refused to go live in Germany and dad could not face more years away from his family. So he resigned and came home in 1946. 鈥淢y War 鈥� was over and I had to learn to live in a very different world. One without blackout, sirens and Lancasters, but with chocolate, bananas and a dad who was at home every day 鈥� and a new baby sister.

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