大象传媒

Our little Welsh street was sadly depleted of men folk during the war years, but I do not recall ever hearing any of the women complaining or being miserable. Granted, because of my age, I spent all day at school, and my bedtime was usually early (by today鈥檚 standards), so I must have missed a lot鈥� but one caring action that my mother carried out every week is still sharply clear.

Llandough Hospital stands on a hill between Barry and Cardiff. During the war, it took in many casualties, directly and indirectly as a result of the conflict. Several wards held the burns victims from plane crashes and from ships that had gone down. Many of the patients were just young boys, often Polish, and seldom able to speak English. It was these young men who benefited from my mothers鈥� hard work and dedication.

Each week she would go around our neighbourhood and collect anything that her friends could spare鈥 little sugar, an ounce or two of margarine (remember we were all on strict rationing) or maybe there would be a tablet of soap or a few cigarettes. All these were collected into a big wicker shopping basket. When my mother returned home, these groceries would be put together; then she would start baking. She was a superb cook and the house would soon fill with the comforting and tempting smell of fruit cakes, fairy cakes, sponges and even her home-made peppermints. She seemed to be baking for hours and hours.

Next day she would make up small packs of these delectable 鈥済oodies鈥� and with any other contributions from the neighbours she would set off by bus for the hospital.

I remember so clearly her description of the young men. Some had their faces and hands burnt black and crisp like eggshells; some with the healing process beginning, showed 鈥渃racks鈥� in their skin where new pink baby soft flesh was starting to peep through. Some were so ill that only their eyes seemed to be still alive.

Yet despite the distress she must have felt, my mother would go from bed to bed offering each patient a couple of her cakes, some toilet soap or a few sweets or cigarettes 鈥� always something. There was no familiarity of language between them but her gestures must have been quite clear. They really appreciated what she was doing 鈥� their tears were their thanks; no words were needed. She must have seemed like a maternal angel to them as they lay enveloped in pain. Such young boys and all so far from home.

Mother was always quiet when she came back from the hospital 鈥� and looking back, I think it must have been far more stressful than I ever imagined, but this was her contribution to 鈥渉elping us win the war鈥�, and I was very proud of her.

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