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This story was submitted to the People's War site by Paul Trainer of Torbay Library Services on behalf of Elizabeth Bradley, (nee Bradbury) and has been added to the site with her permission. Mrs Bradley fully understands the site's Terms and Conditions.

The day that war broke out I was on holiday in the Isle of Wight with my parents. My father was called to return to duty as a Fireman in the Birmingham Fire Brigade.

My mother soon enlisted as a nurse at the first aid post in Grove Lane, Handsworth, Birmingham and I went to live with my maternal grandparents at Hampton-in Arden. My grandfather ‘Poppop’, was the gardener at Hampton Manor and we lived there in the housekeepers quarters. During my time there I enjoyed helping my Poppop to feed the hens, tidy the vast greenhouses and generally enjoy the beautiful area. Walking up the very steep steps to a shop that sold aprons, I spent my pocket money and Grandma’s coupons, on an apron for my mother’s birthday. The walk to and from the shop was through a wood and churchyard, so peaceful and pretty, only marred by two ‘chatty dogs’ — very noisy and frightening Pekinese dogs, whose garden back gate bordered the woodland pathway. One night I had barely gone to sleep when Grandma crept to my bedside, knelt down to sing — through her tears — ‘Now the day is over’. This was probably because a bomb had landed nearby and it was a bad night. I was glad to curl up and sleep again, quite untroubled by the adult’s problems. My Grandfather was in the home guard so I guess he was rather busy that night. After that, a boy, not much older than me, and his mother came to stay with us - evacuees from London. My parents came to see me and stayed overnight — a real treat. In the morning they had to leave early but not before they sent me to see what was on their bed. What a treat — two new jumpers, each with fairisle around the collar and cuffs.

Shortly before January 1942, I returned to live with my parents at Handsworth Fire Station where my sister Dorothy was born. Either later that year or early in 1943, we were on holiday, staying with my great aunt in Mallock Road, Chelston, Torquay, Devon. What a long time the train seemed to take from Birmingham to Torquay. Crowded corridors, filled with servicemen and their luggage. This could be a bonus. Sitting on a case or kitbag, was much more comfortable than the course, rough material of the train’s seats.

After a walk in Torquay with Mum and baby sister in the pram, Mum suddenly pushed me over the pram and leaned over me. This was at the beginning of Innerbrook Road, where a wall protected us while a plane dive-bombed the area. He was going towards Torre Station. Again, as far as I was concerned, it was just a problem for the adults. I was so lucky to have folk around me that coped so well and didn’t show their fear.

Soon I became a Brownie with the Boulton Road, Handsworth Pack, run by a wonderful lady. Maudie Glanville was our Brownowl and taught us how to be self reliant and useful. I remember how to carry a message secretly and swiftly (using scouts pace and arriving without puffing) and repeating it accurately. “Always be alert and helpful but without giving directions to a stranger, carry pennies for a ‘phone call and know how to use the ‘phone box; use clean newspaper for bandages, not dirty rags. If you put on a tourniquet, put the time on it and if you find someone with one on, check the time and release it after twenty minutes. I dreamt about rows of folk with their arms in bandages — all being looked after by me. After all — I thought — I was in uniform so I must do my bit. Brownowl was in a ‘secret’ reserved occupation I think, but after our pack meetings, would always make sure each brownie got home safely. Because of the blackout, she carried a little torch for awkward spots. She then had two bus journeys to get to her home in Harbourne.

I remember that lots of ladies would knit whilst on the bus and instead of others being annoyed, they would make room for these knitters. Many pairs of socks were made for ‘our boys’ like this.
Bath time was great fun. We were restricted to 5” of water, which gave the problem an interesting result. The cleanest child washed hand and feet in the hand basin then had a very little water in the bath. This was a bonus! After the obligatory ‘wash’ we pulled ourself to the end of the bath, bent our knees then pushed away to the top. What a wonderful game that was. If you had the second bath, hot water was added for you. All very nice but this made the water too deep to ‘whoosh’ in. Third bath, topped up again, by then the maximum 5”, was the one for the luxury ‘soak’. Sometimes this water was ladled out to be used for scrubbing the doorstep or washing the top of the drain. “Waste not, want not”

One lunchtime (school closed from 12 — 2p.m) I called to my Mum to see the plane dropping a bomb near the Police Station. She said, “Come away from the windows”. I think that I may have the direction wrong but the railway line was not far behind there and rows of houses were bombed near the park. Again, no panic from Mum and off I went to school for the afternoon session.

One afternoon, returning to school, crossing at the Belicia Beacon, I was knocked down by a car. A lovely policeman picked me up and carried me to Doctor Arthur’s for a check up. He collected my Mother who would not accept that I was o.k., in spite of me crawling under the table. This was to prove that my legs were not broken. I had to go to hospital for a tetanus injection. That was the great part! Mum and I were taken there in the black police car. We sat in the back and the handcuffs were there, hanging above the back, side window. How exciting was that!

Birmingham at night was quite spooky, always foggy and dark. Lights for the central reservations near Snow hill Station, were blue and covered with a shield. Hot Potatoes or Chestnuts were sold near there from a metal oven on wheels. What a treat they were! On one occasion, travelling down New Street on the bus, it was very foggy (Smog). As we turned into Corporation Street, the bus conductor got off the bus to use his torch so that the driver could see where the curb was.

My maternal grandparents travelled from Quinton where they had a garden, bringing home- grown vegetables. They stayed with us for Sunday lunch then made the long bus journey home. Only seven miles by car, but about two hours by bus. At home, they were masters of the recycling game. At night a newspaper parcel was made of tealeaves used during the day, potato peelings and any other food that was not fit for the pig bin or compost heap. This parcel was made damp, then placed on top of the dying embers of the fire. This kept the fire alight safely overnight. In the morning, the parcel was broken and gave a lovely smell of cooked potatoes or tea. Add a little coal and a little slack (powdery bits of coal), and then in no time there was a lovely fire for breakfast-time. My grandfather worked for Mr Parks, growing vegetables and flowers for the shops. He would go off, very early, on his bicycle and see to the greenhouses before returning for breakfast. After his lunchtime break, he had ‘forty winks’, a cup of tea and a pipe of baccy, before his return for the afternoons work. On one occasion with a ‘pin curl’ that I had put into his hair, with a Kirby grip. Mr Parks’ daughter also worked in the garden and was quite amused with my effort. Poor Poppop, he was unaware that it was there. He worked so hard, often returning to the garden in the evening for the final greenhouse check or watering. He was about 63 years of age then so he was definitely pulling his weight for the war effort.

My paternal Grandfather was a skilled Cabinet- maker but as far as I was concerned, he was working in some factory, making trains. In reality, I think that it was a ‘cover’ for making tanks or such like. His youngest son was killed in a tragic accident at the end of the war, by a mine in Norfolk. He had been in the army doing ‘his bit’; so it was a horrid waste after all that. My aunt was nursing the airmen in Ely Hospital and her sister working in munitions in Birmingham.
Handsworth, Birmingham.
When my second sister Rosemary was due, we had V.E.day. Dorothy and I sat on the wall outside the Corporation Yard and watched the bonfire, lit in the road by Union Row. The yard was next to the fire station, where they put up the escape ladder and charged one shilling a time to climb to the top. I was not allowed to do this — much to my disgust. I was nearly nine years old after all.

It was lovely to live in the fire station. I was the first baby born there on 5th November 1936. I knew all the best places to hide and we had lots of fun playing there. At the back of one block of six flat, was the back of the Elite Cinema. We could lean against the back door and hear the music from the films. I remember, so well, listening, night after night, to “Oh, how we danced on the night we were Wed.” The cart- horses were kept in the Corporation yard, looked after by Mr Tom. He would let us go into the stables and see these giants. What lovely faces they had. They transported so much around the towns and were good to see, environmentally friendly too. Theirs carts were kept outside the stables, behind the wall that I had sat on on V.E.day. This was right by the road and close to Soho Road — the main street. Nowadays, this would not be possible or safe. What a shame.

My father was called away to help with the fires in London and Manchester but was quite often busy in Birmingham. He would have his knee length boots beside his bed with the trouser legs in them, ready for a quick exit when the “bells went down”. He would be out of the door like lightening, down the stairs (The pole was left to go rough so could not be used), down the yard and away, bells ringing. Sometimes we wouldn’t see him for days. The men exercised such a lot and the heavy canvas hoses had to be rolled out, washed and hung on the tower to dry. The men often had teams so that they could see if it was possible to roll up the hoses any faster. One summer when it was quiet, we children put on swimsuits so that we could play in the yard. The firemen would occasionally spray us with water from their hoses, what fun. Sometimes we would sit on top of the air raid shelters and try to make butter with milk and salt in a jam jar.

Such happy sunny memories! Barrage balloons, like flying elephants, in Handsworth Park, walks along the pathway lined with beautiful flowerbeds and grass, complete with “Keep off the grass” signs. ‘Bomb sites’ to play on! Probably unknown to our parents. Often we would gather bunches of flowers from gardens, long abandoned because the house had ‘gone’.

I am very grateful to all the adults, in the forces, home guard, factories, hospitals and schools. There are so many that I would like to thank for my safe journey during the wartime.

To my children and grandchildren I say - Be grateful for all the good things, look for the good in everyone, forgive even if you can’t forget. Be alert, be careful but have fun. Do as you would be done by and live each day to the full.

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