大象传媒

Prepared for War

September 1939: I was on holiday with my parents and some other friends in Blackpool. The holiday was brought to a very abrupt end as we returned prematurely because of the outbreak of the war. It did not mean very much to me as I had no idea what 'war' really meant.

On our arrival home in my small mining village in Yorkshire it became increasingly obvious that something very important was happening. Strangely, my first worry - the owner of the local store informed us that any fireworks she might have in stock must be returned. I had always looked forward to Bonfire night and wondered why it would not happen that year.

My mother and father had lived during the First World War so they had experience of what to do and what might happen. I clearly remember my mother starting to hoard of essentials we may have needed.

Our village was quite small, and most families were connected in some way to the local coalmine. My father was from a mining family although he had a cobbler's shop where he also sold shoes and miner's safety wear. Like most other families in the village, we had an allotment where we grew most of our vegetables. We also kept a few hens, which meant that we were never without home-grown food. Food and clothing were rationed but we never knew what it was like to be really short of food.

At first, to myself and my friends, it all seemed quite exciting - having to make sure all the lights were blacked out as night-time came. The lights of the shops were dim and even on the bus one could barely see anything.

Dad鈥檚 Army and Walter

A local Dad's Army was formed and practised every Sunday morning. I have never seen anything so funny in all my life. To simulate gunfire one member hammered on a dustbin lid and their guns were brooms with which they marched as smartly as they could, parading through the village.

Sheffield, the heart of the steelworks, was a mere 9 miles away and tanks were being built at a factory about 4 miles away and the tanks were road tested through the village. The noise and dust they created was quite frightening at first.

Unlike many villages, we did not see many men go to war as mining was a reserved occupation. One young man, Walter, who lived at the back of my father's shop, was in the RAF. I think I really had a childish passion for Walter, especially after having seen him in his uniform. His father had been killed in the mine and his mother had brought him up alone.

It was early in the war that my initial excitement ended. Walter had been a Rear Gunner and his mother received the dreaded telegram. Perhaps the most distressing memory for me was the return of his bicycle. I was with my father and he was wiping tears from his eyes. Years later, when the memorial was officially opened at Egham, his mother was unable to afford the journey. A few years ago when I was living in Buckinghamshire I took my grandchildren to see the memorial and told them the story of Walter. I had also taken my father at an earlier date and he was very moved. I remember his upset at seeing list after list of names - men who died.

Return from Dunkirk and putting up the troops

In spring, 1940, I was absent from school because of some childhood infection and was sitting at the bedroom window, which looked out onto the main road through the village. A troop of men were marching in a somewhat bedraggled state: some had uniforms; some had part uniform; most as far as I remember had a knapsack; but they were not what I imagined real soldiers to look like.

I lived in a terraced house that had a garden wall running the length of the terrace, and the poor souls sat on the wall, which had only a year before had railings that had been removed for their iron contribution to the war. I looked on, bewildered, and very soon ladies of the village started hovering among them with jugs of tea, cakes, etc, etc. It did not matter that they were giving away their food, some of which was in short supply - the poor lads had all survived Dunkirk and they had been brought to our village as a recuperation exercise.

Representatives knocked at doors, asking if anyone would offer accommodation to the boys. We only had a two-bedroom cottage with no bathroom, a toilet at the end of a communal yard and one sink in the main living room. (Sounds dreadful but it really was very cosy!) My parents offered to take two of the soldiers. One was a married man, Sandy, and the other, David, was 21.

I was given a bed on the floor of my parents' room and the two lads had my bed, which was a double. They were very quiet at first and David used to wake in the night screaming when he first joined us. It turned out that he had seen an old lady being run over by a German tank and he could not forget that and many other awful memories. They did recover, or so it appeared to me. They developed a passion for Yorkshire puddings and members of the village, unable to accept the soldiers into their homes, would leave little treats - even cigarettes.

Happy times and entry to Grammar School

One of my happiest memories of that period was during the summer months, when our front door was always open for our own two lads and any of their friends who wished to call in. There was quite a lively atmosphere. It would appear daft to today's generation, but we had sing-songs around the piano. My father was a good musician and even though I was barely 10 years of age I could manage quite a few of the wartime songs.

It was during those months that I awaited the dreaded result of the scholarship I had taken earlier in the year, which would allow me to go to Grammar School. I had been sent on an errand to the local shop when my headmaster called me. It was a Saturday so I had little idea why he should summon me. He had the results of the exam and I had passed. I was speechless and could not believe what I had heard. The soldiers were parading as usual in the field opposite my home. I did not go straight to my parents with the good news; I hopped over the wall to David to give him the news. The officer taking the parade announced that the men should 'Stand at ease!' while the 'Little Lady' gave her message.

When David and Sandy finally came home, David gave me a small ornament he had picked from the beach while awaiting the rescue from Dunkirk. I still have that little ornament, which I have labelled with a sticker underneath in case either of my children may not appreciate its value.

My only other memories of the war were actually while at Grammar School. Sheffield was bombed twice and Ecclesfield Grammar School was not too far away and dangerously near the steel works at Chapeltown. There was an ack-ack battery at the very end of our school field. When the warning siren sounded we were all hurried into shelters. The sound of the guns firing seemed to shake the foundations. To deaden the impact we were ordered to sing loudly. The Deputy Head taught us rowdy songs with repeating verses. We were not afraid because we just did not understand the true meaning of it all, although it was upsetting when names of former pupils had been either lost or killed.

Women at work

Many women in the village, who had never been worked other than as housewives, went to work in the factories in Sheffield. They undertook all kinds of jobs. Some families, who had lost their homes in the London Blitz, were offered homes in our little village. Their southern accents rapidly changed to the Yorkshire dialect and they integrated very well on the whole.

When a female teacher married before the war years, she had to leave her profession. It was sad during the war that many of the male teachers in our school were replaced by women who had earlier been forced into very early retirement. Thankfully, the marriage ruling was never re-introduced as I became a teacher and taught for a while in the same village school I had attended when war was declared.

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