大象传媒

The Thornton鈥檚 War Part 4 鈥� Conclusion.

A Fortunate spell

With the German surrender to Britain and its allies on May 8th 1945, and the Japanese on August 14th, also the celebration parties , the latter on September 2nd 1945, my father was soon demobilised.

Before long - Dad was fortunate to win a number of public house lotteries (Raffles). His prizes, a piglet. A duck. Also ten pullets, (baby chickens).

During and soon after the war, most roads had a dustbin situated midway where foodstuff 鈥� leftover meals, vegetable scrapings, stale bread etc were deposited and collected twice weekly, the contents used as pig (food) swill.

I assume our pig was registered, as it was illegal to own unregistered livestock. It were a boar and lived in our orchard garden (as did the chickens) until it became adult and were killed and butchered The neighbourhood butcher and some people in our area feasted on pork and un-smoked bacon for a while thereafter.

Four of the pullets lived and supplied us with eggs and future Xmas dinners. My sister and I both became fond of Donald, the name we gave the duck, which I treated much as a pet and spoke to as I fed him previous to and after school.

For a few weeks Donald was kept in the garden and housed in a large basket until my uncle killed it one morning whilst we children were attending school, My mother were presented with the carcass for a meal.

My sister and I were aghast when we returned home from school to find the cage empty. We refused the meat at our evening meal, and crying, pushing it to the edge of our plates, even though our father told us in no uncertain terms to eat it.

Dad had duck snacks at work for at least a week following this incident.

Heroes - not todays non-entities.

Shortly after my father was demobilised from the army in 1946, I accompanied him in a visit to a friend he had met during the North Africa campaign in Italy. This friend, named Michel, lived in a newly built (following the Blitz) prefabricated house at New Cross, in South East London. Albeit it had been some time since they last met, but I assume this visit had been prearranged, and when Michel opened the front door, my father and Michael fell upon one another.

I had never experienced such a do by adult males, apart from irons.(iron hoofs - cockney slang for poufs. Now called Gays) We entered the house and after introduction to the family, relatives and children, we dined with them.

After the meal, we children sat quietly reading comics etc, and a discussion among the adults took place on their missing pals; some lost in the blitz, others, whilst serving in the Merchant Navy and British forces.

Both my father and Michel had received wounds in the same engagement in Italy, and the whereabouts of a person, a joint friend, wounded a day earlier in the same battle were broached.

When Michael had received treatment to his wounds, at the advanced dressing station (ADS) he was seated in the shade beside a number of occupied beds, one of which held, what he thought was a sleeping person, with head wound. A Jacket hung upon the chair nearby indicated that the person was an infantry captain.

After a while a couple of Doctors or Surgeons made their way through the recovery tent to have a cigarette break, whereupon this body came to life and asked the pair if anything could be done for him, as he had lain there for the a number of hours?

One doctor glanced at the label pinned to the bed top, which described the patients鈥� condition, and with a quick look at his companion said,鈥� We will attend to you as soon as possible.鈥� The patient lay back and said, 鈥� I quite understand doctor.鈥�

The patient couldn鈥檛 see Michael, but Michael thought the voice was familiar. Michael related that the captain (the friend that were being discussed) died, where he lay, of his wounds that evening

Spam.

Whatever the taste and texture of today鈥檚 made-in-Denmark under licence Spam, the World War 2 product was never 鈥渁 wobbly mass of pink pig鈥� as I have heard reported.

Hormel鈥檚 pork-and-ham delight was as manna to the wartime housewife. 鈥淕od bless America鈥� my mother used to say as she opened a tin. Spam (the first and last two letters from the title, spiced ham) brightened our table as often as it could be obtained. While it was never rationed, Spam was scarce and required ration points from our ration book.

Ironically, while my mother searched for the stuff, she knew of shopkeepers who had stocks marked as emergency food stores and listed as Supply Pressed American Meat (abbreviated as Spam).

The local Co-operative was so straight they handed their stock over to the military as requested in 1944,and not an ounce of Spam were missing, much to the people鈥檚 frustration.

That awful school food

Most of the children at the five schools in the immediate Surrey -- Teddington area would partake of lunchtime school meals. The alternative, a return journey home, rationing, or lack of access to food (there being no such thing as a tuck-shop) being the immediate problem of having a meal at home.

At one spell my mother became worried as my sister and I were loosing weight. Mum knew we weren鈥檛 finicky eaters for we ate our cooked evening meal with her and although fresh meat was scarce, corned beef dishes with lots of vegetables also casseroles were always on the menu.

This problem climaxed when hot food wasn鈥檛 available from St Marks; the school with its huge kitchens that provided cooked meals and delivered it in aluminium-pressurised containers, to the schools.

During one three-day period, children had to take sandwiches for lunch, of go without. Not really a problem you might say, unless the child came from a one-parent family, as many did following the death of parent/s during the recent hostilities.

During this spell, my mother happened to be visiting a relative and they paid a visit to the St Marks state school where the meals were cooked. In those times there weren鈥檛 the press investigation teams that seem to be about nowadays, and the cookery manager, an ex WAAF woman in her 50s, explained the problems associated with such a difficult task.

The Manageress welcomed my mother and friend into the kitchen area where three women performed the work of ten persons, peeling potatoes and vegetables by hand. They had a potato peeler but it was counter productive, as each potato had to have the eyes cut out after being winched by hand for ten minutes in the automatic peeler. It was thought quicker to peel these seven hundred weight (200 kilo) of spuds by hand, and two women would start at seven am to be ready for cooking same.

Upon completion of cooking, the meals were distributed in a fifteen hundred weight van to the nearby schools and this was the managerial job. The manageress pointed out that they were extremely short of staff and unless things changed for the better, they would have to close. The loss of food over the three-day period in question was due to a blockage in the wastewater area, flooding the kitchen. Repairs were to be rectified on the weekend by male personnel.

My mother and her friend found Wellingtons and with buckets and cloths they cleared the swamped kitchen area. Upon lifting the metal floor covering grills, a mutton cleaning cloth was found to be blocking an outgoing wastewater area.
The manager was very pleased and offered my mother and her friend a position as food preparation persons etc. My mother decided to accept said position for a short spell or until staff could be recruited.

Mum wasn鈥檛 too proud to roll up her sleeves and get down on her knees whenever a problem was found. She obtained the current health and safety booklet and would lift the manhole and floor covers and clear said blockage if need be.

A visit at the local working mans club with hand-written requests for help at the St Marks kitchen, enlisted eight women, bringing the cooking and preparation staff up to full strength, making everything a lot easier, and we school kids happier.

Within twelve months, mum became cook supervisor and didn鈥檛 we notice the change in our school meals? Without eyes staring at us from the mashed potatoes. The meals were delivered on time; also the food and sweet always had a nourishing garnish or liquid dressing. We were treated once weekly to a meal with crispy baked potatoes 鈥� sheer delight.

Beautiful Assassins

At the age of twelve, whilst walking with a friend past a tree-lined house hired by the AAF for a yank colonel and his family, I was hit in my neck by a missile. Whilst my friend looked for the hooligan responsible, I knelt in pain, thinking a wasp or whatever had stung me, whereupon a pair of airgun weapons commenced rapid fire from a gazebo in the garden 10 meters away.

My friend and I sat out the madcap shooting, shielded by a 1 metre high wooden fence, and were eventually approached by two teenage American girls. Allegedly they had been fired upon earlier and decided to return the favour on any passing young male.

On seeing I were wounded we were invited to the gazebo that the girls had transformed into their den, complete with running water, electricity, camping beds, bottled gas-cooker and racks for their ball-bearing under-leaver air-rifles.

Both girls were attractive but Grace, the youngest at 15 years of age was a ravishing brunette. I had no problem allowing her to remove the ball bearing missile from my neck. Her sister Veronica, a dark haired young adult aged 18 seemed strange and had a collection of male underclothing pinned to her section of the gazebo.

Grace and I soon became enamoured and, (going Dutch treat) would visit the three cinemas at Kingston-upon-Thames. We could walk the mile or so via back streets, but mostly we would use the electric omnibus or I would use my bicycle with Grace sat upon the crossbar. Veronica called this my 鈥� passion wagon鈥�. My friends said it were 鈥� Squeals on wheels鈥�. This yank family eventually moved to Germany in the early 1950s. Grace corresponded for a number of years until she were married in early 1960s.

Summary

During and following WW2 there were no television or mobile telephones in Britain, News were gleaned by radio from the 大象传媒 situated at Broadcasting House in the West End of London, or the Cinema, who put out short news programmes.

Seemingly Mrs Lilley 鈥� white, knew of the German bombers activities but a clippie (who collected travel fares upon the bus) told of London children in danger of eradication, being evacuated that day to Batley. Mrs Lilley witnessed children being led from and, decided to see what was happening within the Hall. The rest of course is history.

Adoption.

During my 21st Birthday party, I learned that Mrs Lilley 鈥� White (my surrogate Mothers full name) had taken me to Blackpool, out of range of the German Flying bombs. Apparently she wished to adopt me and was prepared to marry Arthur the butcher to comply with adoption rules. My mother wouldn鈥檛 concur to this and, I never saw Mrs Lilley - White again.

I understand Mrs Lilley - White sent me greeting cards and 拢1 postal order gifts, at Xmas and my birthday, this ceased when my father arrived home from the war and (on mums behalf)wrote requesting Mrs Lilley 鈥� White, desist in this practice.

During my teens I visited the area Martin and Peter Wheeler, my evacuee friends on the bus-ride to Yorkshire, had written on the piece of paper we had retained.

The area now had high-rise flats built upon it. During lunch nearby, I remarked of the landscaping etc, to an elderly couple who advised me the children I were looking for, had returned to Plumstead within weeks of being evacuated, but lightning had struck twice on this occasion, as the family had been killed during the V1 or V2 rocket bombing in 1944.

Both my parents are now deceased and as I peruse their documentation of WW2 my memory becomes clearer. Unfortunately I鈥檝e been powerless to contact my surrogate mother Mrs Lilley 鈥� White as her address were lost or destroyed.
In conclusion

The original theory of evacuation didn鈥檛 help my Mother or sister who put up with a woeful, zero tolerance of evacuees from their Welsh hosts. I on the other hand was fortunate and enjoyed my time throughout the war. Albeit being brought up in a one-parent family, bonding with my mother until 1942 and then with my surrogate mother until 1945, my relocation proved the governmental theory on evacuation, fait accompli.

Fortunately I am blissfully married, blessed with two female children both of who are happily married. I have two grandchildren, the eldest an attractive female teenager, the younger, a know-all lad. Therefore the war and its consequences caused me few lingering problems

With fewer child evacuees of WW 2 living, I hope others will record their facts, thereby enabling thinking people perusing said documentation, note the sacrifices and joys endured during WW2?

If alive I sincerely wish Ms-/Mrs Lilley 鈥� White, this lovely lady, everything she would wish for herself, and I am grateful for the unconditional love, and nurturing she endowed upon me as if I were her son. I will never forget her kindness and, I retain a picture of her in my minds eye that never matures.

Fin

Fraternally

J.P.Thornton ID 785835

Ps; my father demobbed in 1946, died in a motorcycle accident as he journeyed to his employment as a foreman welder boilermaker at the family firm of Engineers, named, Thornton and Simpson鈥檚 ltd.

I was barely in my teens, therefore a non-combatant during the Korean War, when the British national press reported of the US resorting to germ warfare against China.

Later, the US flattened Vietnam, using all the devilish weapons known to man, but the socialist farmers eventually won and the US beat a hasty retreat. Their bombers though are on record as dropping more tonnage on Vietnam than used on Germany throughout the Second World War

Domiciles known of the Thornton's.

1942 34 South St Greenwich SE10 Family
1942/4 364 Evelyn St Deptford Mother and sister also from 1942 to 45. John Thornton evacuee at Batley - Yorkshire and Blackpool.

1944/5 50 Stafford St Burton 鈥� on 鈥� Trent Ditto
1945 Hampton Wick Kingston on Thames. Family
1954 Purchase home at Sidcup in Kent Family
1963 Wedded and live in Havant 鈥� Hampshire.

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