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I always vowed that when the war was over I would buy myself a tuppeny Mars Bar and eat the whole thing by myself, but sweets didn鈥檛 come off the Ration until 1954 and by that time the enthusiasm had worn away. And I was happily used to going to the pictures with a bag of corn flakes mixed with sultanas.

At that time Liverpool was always full of troops, soldiers, sailors, airmen marching through to board special trains or marching to the docks for a boat. Sometimes a civilian would march beside them and carry a weary man鈥檚 heavy load for a while. These men had no idea where or when they were going, but they were leaving their loved ones behind and entering the unknown. Many of them were going away as boys and coming back as hardened men. It was very sad. Sometimes a man would throw a handkerchief out onto the pavement, which would perhaps, contain a shilling and a letter to a loved one to say goodbye. If I picked one of these up I always posted it, but not until the convoy had got safely away. There were hundreds of servicemen around, mostly cheeky and cheerful, 鈥楴ice legs lady, like a night out?鈥� As a Scottish Regiment marched through there was always the swirl of the kilts and the blaring of the bagpipes; maybe it helped the morale.
When the War Cabinet decided that if we were to survive, the Battle of Atlantic had to be won, they turned Merseyside into the biggest Merchant naval base in the world, and consequently it was battered night after night. Our worst time was autumn 1940 and then the May Blitz following. Up all night and working all day, we became very, very tired. Some of the girls I worked with were very frightened because they lived near to the docks. It was decided we might not live till Christmas 1940 because of the intensity of the bombing, so we agreed to give our presents early in December, and each present was only to cost 6 pence. We lived to tell the tale, but some only just.
Birkenhead docks were a prime target, and we dreaded moonlight nights. One night we were bombarded with hundreds of incendiary bombs, not so much to cause damage but to lighten the way for bombers. The tops of all the firtrees in Storeton Woods caught fire, it was almost amazing sight, just like a forest fire. One incendiary landed in the garden of the house behind where I now live, and one man had the water pump ready, but the girl who lived next door was there first and hit it with a spade, shattered it, and burned the man鈥檚 leg for life. He was a despatch rider, a typical Brylcreem boy, with the RAF, mostly in North Africa and Italy. We always laugh when he shows his war wound. He still drives his car like a despatch rider to this day. This was a time when tar wagons were parked along the main road on the Wirral side, on the hill. When the wind was in the right direction these tar wagons were lit, and belched out thick black smoke to cover the river, which was always a signpost for bombers aiming for Liverpool. We needed them especially on a moonlight night, which we dreaded.

Early in 1940 our local hospital was emptied and the Americans took over, and they built very substantial huts for the wounded that were expected. They were all Medics, huge men with great big bottoms; each one took up a double seat on our buses. The last bus was at 10.30 and was known as the Yankee Clipper, and was always packed full, even sitting on the stairs. The saying then was 鈥渢hey鈥檙e overweight, over sexed and over here鈥�, they were great lads though and never caused any trouble.

There were at this time, four gun emplacements in the nearby fields, we called them the Big Berthas. Every time these were fired our house shuddered, and the windows rattled. In other adjacent fields there was a Battalion of Light Artillery, and if we had been a few nights without an alert, then on the Saturday night there would be a dance in one of their huts. It was, of course, double summertime. We danced on the concrete floor, the boys in their boots and the girls in sandals with wooden soles. I think there was only a piano and a drummer, but it was enough. Sometimes one of the lads would get up and sing, and whenever I hear the song 鈥業f you knew Susie鈥� I think of these times. It was all good fun; we were just boys and girls having a good time. There was no 鈥榮nogging鈥� and I don鈥檛 remember any alcohol about.
Sometimes at the end of a route march, these lads would collapse on the grass outside our house, and mum would find a cup of tea and a tomato sandwich for them. Mum always believed that if you gave away you would get twice as much back, and when I had been to a dance at the camp, the Captain would come up to me and say 鈥榊our mother is very good to the boys, call at the cookhouse on your way home, there will be a parcel for you鈥�. It was usually tins of sardines or packets of dates, and if Mum had plenty of hot water she would let some of them come in and have a bath for a treat, provided they brought their own soap and a towel. Some of the boys came to church on Sundays, even sang in the choir. We opened the church hall for them every evening and served endless cups of tea and toast. Then one morning they were gone. D-Day would soon be here.

Before all this I had become very unsettled and wanted to join up. Because I was in an office dealing with food for the Nation, and all the young men were going from the office, I was in what was termed a Reserved Occupation. I wanted to go into the WRNS but the powers that be would not release me. I opted to force the issue by going before a tribunal. That was a laugh afterwards, I don鈥檛 remember where it was, but the waiting room was full of girls who didn鈥檛 want to go in the forces, and by the look of things had made sure by getting pregnant. When my turn came I was ushered into a room, and there to stand and shake hands with me was what looked like the Admiral of the Fleet, he had so much gold braid on his uniform. Horror of horrors, sitting there was the Director of the firm that I worked for. I was asked a load of questions, one was 鈥榃hy did I want to join the WRNS?鈥� I couldn鈥檛 say 鈥榳ell I rather go for their Tricorn hats鈥�! I said, a bit lordly, there was a naval tradition in the family; I didn鈥檛 tell him that my father was an AB in the First World War. I didn鈥檛 get released. I eventually worked for this Director, and I was distraught when the news came that his son, aged 18, a Cadet in a shipping firm, had been killed. His ship had been torpedoed in the Far East and the Japs had machine-gunned the men in the lifeboats. There were no survivors.
I then joined the Ambulance Unit, stationed along the road from home, in a lovely old mansion. I was the youngest member there, and I had to wear navy slacks a white blouse, navy tie and I was given a navy blue jacket and a great coat and a tin hat. Like many other people I used my great coat when the war was over and clothes were short. I also had a navy blue peaked cap and eventually a Cheshire Badge for the front 鈥� I have still got the badge - which I will give to my grandchildren, but the moths enjoyed the cap. I was there two nights a week, from seven o鈥檆lock in the evening until six o鈥檆lock in the morning. Every night for safety and availability we moved from the house to the disused stables which were heated by a coke boiler. We slept on a camp bed and were not allowed to undress. We checked that all was in order before we settled down, then in the night we would have to go to the garages and re-fill the hot water bottles in the ambulances, then rev up the engine. One night, to our horror, we found a tramp asleep in one. We only had one decent ambulance, the other three were what I would call covered wagons, they held four stretchers strapped to poles, and there was also a sitting casualty part. This was a monster, it was a huge Daimler, and given to us by Lord Leverhulme because he couldn鈥檛 get any petrol for it. It had a double de-clutching system and most of us never mastered it. I used to stop every time I had to change down. It was here that I passed my driving test. A police sergeant came from Chester to do it, in the blackout of course, and I had to wear a tin hat and gas mask all the time. The girls all advised me to give my visor a good clean with a special solution. I did it so well I could only see through a pinhole, and the rubber flap stuck to my cheek and there was the tin hat on top. At the end of the test my head was just a hot, sweaty, mess and the sergeant removed the lot from my head. I passed, but his comment was that I had more guts than skill. Well I鈥檇 passed!
We were a very mixed age group, 45 downwards and we usually complied with all the rules, except when it entailed going to the local hospital and taking blankets off bodies when we were short for the stretchers.

After the war was over with Germany in May, there was still Japan, but that too ended in August with the dropping of the Atomic Bomb. And as the months went by great liners started to come up the Mersey loaded with weary soldiers and skeleton like ex prisoners of war of the Japanese. While they were waiting for the tide at the Mersey Bar word would go round Liverpool and thousands would rush to the landing stage to welcome them home. Anybody, who had a bell to ring, a drum to bang, bagpipes to bellow, did so with great gusto. The ARP bell, which stands by my bed now to ward off possible burglars, did a great job. None of the men was allowed to land, they were ushered into lorries, not even the dignity of a coach, and driven to reception centres to be medically examined and make sure they were free from infection. They were driven through the streets, and it makes me cry now to think of it, relatives were chasing after the lorries shrieking 鈥榟ave you seen our Bill鈥� 鈥榟ave you got our John in there鈥�, it was all very sad as loved ones searched for loved ones emotion took over, and we went back to work.

It is now February 2005, and now we are preparing for the 60th Anniversary of the Second World War, we should not forget what men did for us.

鈥楾his story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by 大象传媒 Radio Merseyside鈥檚 People鈥檚 War team on behalf of the author and has been added to the site with his/ her permission. The author fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.鈥�

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