大象传媒

9) THE SUMMARY OF JUDY鈥橲 STORY 鈥� opens with her early thoughts of when she first moved from her Grandparent鈥檚 home in Bath, Somerset, to a Pre-Fab on Wandsworth Common, South West London in December 1946. She thinks back to her parent鈥檚 wartime roles 鈥� of her Father who joined the Army and was posted to South Africa but en route at Egypt, was seriously injured and of her Mother, who enlisted as a Fire-fighter in Bath. As well, she thinks about the paraphernalia of wartime Britain 鈥� the ration books, the tins of dried egg, dried milk, pig bins, pig clubs, and Lord Woolton鈥檚 British Restaurants. And on her Father鈥檚 return, she remembers her christening, her holidays with her Grandparents and a visit to Broadstairs, Kent, where they witnessed an absconding 鈥淧.O.W鈥� being shot. She closes with her thoughts of the time she performed in an early post-war dancing display that took place in a 鈥淏.O.A.C鈥� hanger 鈥� later to become part of Heathrow Airport...

JUDY鈥橲 STORY 鈥� On a snowy, December day in 1946, I moved with my parents to our new home in South West London, from the city of Bath in Somerset, where I had earlier been born. There, my Mother and I had lived with my maternal Grandparents for much of the war.
I had plenty to think about as I sat on a suitcase, munching a 鈥淟ord Woolton鈥檚鈥� mince pie in a freezing pre-fab in Bellvue Road on Wandsworth Common.

My Father had just found a job as a personnel officer with 鈥淏.O.A.C鈥� in London, which was the main reason for our move.
Eight years before, my Mother, Audrie May Ford had married my Father, Harold Ash in her native city of Bath. However, as they were first cousins, they faced strong opposition to this union, from both branches of their family鈥檚. Nevertheless, their marriage survived for over half-a-century.

In 1939 my Father was called up, joined the Army and was posted to South Africa. Unfortunately just a short time into his posting - whilst en route to Cape Town - he was involved in a jeep accident in Cairo, Egypt. As he was leaving the vehicle on his way to the barracks, he sustained serious injuries from a ricochet bullet. On his arrival at Cape Town he was immediately hospitalised where he stayed for a considerable length of time. He never recovered sufficiently for future active service and sadly he suffered from the effects of his wounds for the remainder of his life.

Meantime, my Mother had courageously enlisted as a fire fighter in Bath. Before the war, she had studied dance and it seems her training stood her in good stead as she adapted well to her new role. With her natural agility she soon learnt to slide down 鈥淭he Pole鈥� in double-quick time, giving her, I understand, quite an advantage over her wartime fellow fire fighters!

From 1942, the Luffwaffe launched a sustained offensive against Britain鈥檚 historic cities and Bath was a key target. So for a while my Mother was in the thick of the bombing and saw unimaginable horrors.
Later, she told me about one elderly couple who would wait for her at their gate after her shift was over and kindly give her a cup of tea. Then one day, as she was passing by, she was shocked to see that during the night their house had been hit and both were killed outright.

During my early years of living in the city and being in daily contact with Granny Ford, I have many memories of how she and my Mother struggled with all the paraphernalia of wartime Britain. I particularly remember my special child鈥檚 ration book for which the points were exchanged for such unforgettable wartime substitutes as tins of Dried Eggs, which made rubbery omelettes and 鈥淣ational Dried Milk鈥�, which made lumpy puddings. And soon the homely blue and cream tins became familiar household objects.

I remember too, another wartime food scheme 鈥� 鈥淭he Pig Bins鈥� which were devised to collect vegetable waste for swill to feed the pigs. Granny Ford was a keen supporter of them! Daily we collected our potato peelings and scraps of left over vegetables and together we carefully stowed them in a bucket, which she kept by her back door. I believed it was emptied weekly.
Then later, when we moved to London, Pig Bins were to be seen on most corners of the suburban streets. 鈥淪AVE YOUR BACON, SAVE YOUR SCRAPS鈥�, proclaimed the conspicuous posters!

As well as the Pig Bins, it was here in Wandsworth in 1940, that the first of the 鈥淎.R.P鈥� Pig Clubs were opened and these soon became popular in other towns and cities. Pigs were bought, fattened up and when they were killed 鈥� usually in November 鈥� all members of the clubs were entitled to a prize, piece of pork for their Christmas dinners!

Also in 1940 London, the first of Lord Woolton鈥檚 British Restaurants were opened. Their original purpose was to cater for bombed out Londoners, but soon the idea spread countrywide. Many were accommodated in dingy church halls, run by the 鈥淲.I鈥� and the 鈥淲.V.S鈥� and became known locally under such names as 鈥淢aisie鈥檚 Menu鈥檚 and Dora鈥檚 Dinners鈥�!
The meals they provided were cheap but rarely cheerful! 3 courses for a shilling 鈥� children ate for half-price.
After customers had collected their tickets from a pay desk at the door, they queued with their trays in front of a counter on a self-service basis. The food was served on plain white, utility crockery and a typical mid-week menu would be 鈥� soup, rabbit pie or braised liver and on Friday鈥檚 鈥� pilchard pancakes or snoek 鈥� an unpalatable tinned Australian fish. These dishes would be accompanied by potatoes, parsnips and watery cabbage, followed by either sultana roll or a baked but burst suet apple dumpling with runny custard, all washed down with a penny cup of stewed tea!
On the wall a notice read - 鈥淧LEASE DO NOT ASK FOR BREAD UNLESS YOU REALLY NEED IT鈥�!
These schemes continued for long after the war had ended.

My paternal Grandparents lived in an old cottage in the market town of Ringwood on the edge of the New Forest in Hampshire. And my main memories of my visits there, was going to bed by candlelight and waking up in the mornings to see Granny Ash appearing in the doorway, carrying a tray upon which there was a jug of hot water 鈥� there was no bathroom here 鈥� a cup of tea and a slice of delicious home-made bread, spread with real, country butter. In those days this was a rare treat!

Thinking back now, I suppose it was due to my Father鈥檚 long absence abroad, but several years had elapsed from the time of my birth to the time of my baptism, which eventually took place at St. Mary鈥檚 Church, Bath.
As a young woman, Granny Ash had trained as a tailoress and so it was she, who naturally undertook to make my Christening dress 鈥� from white PARACHUTE SILK! It was beautiful. I have been told that I looked very fetching standing beside the font surrounded by my family and friends. I had looked forward eagerly to the ceremony -only to have my hopes dashed when unexpectedly I looked up to see the kindly Vicar depositing a full jug of water over my head. I was four years old!

Although Ringwood was our usual holiday place at that time, I particularly remember a Summer visit to Broadstairs, Kent. One day when we were sitting on the sand dunes, we saw a lone man running in the direction of the sea. Suddenly a shot rang out and we watched in horror as he fell down into the rock-pools before us! Later we learnt that the fleeing figure was that of a 鈥淧.O.W鈥� making an ill-fated bid for his freedom.
The memory of that tragic incident has remained with me over the years.

Back in London, the aftermath of the war was felt everywhere. Food continued to be in short supply. But now and again there would be the occasional treat. I well remember the day I was taken out to lunch at a smart restaurant, where I was given some creamy, delicious soup. So unaccustomed was I to such richness, that before my bowl could be whisked away, I unashamedly lifted it up and licked it clean! I hardly need to say my parents were utterly shocked!
I also remember the day I tasted my first pineapple. A colleague of my Father鈥檚 at 鈥淏.O.A.C鈥� had brought it back to England on a flight from South Africa. Until then the nearest we 鈥淲ar Babies鈥� had ever come to this tropical fruit, was some wartime concoction called 鈥� Pineapple Spread鈥� made from parsnips, golden syrup and a dash of pineapple essence. There was no comparison!

It was during this early post-war period that my Mother decided to open her Dancing Classes 鈥� 鈥淭he Ash School of Dancing鈥� in Wiseton hall on Wandsworth Common. And later several of the girls from 鈥淯pper Tooting High鈥� became her pupils. One was my special friend Susan, whose Mother Frances, became my Mother鈥檚 pianist.
One particular performance, which stands out in my mind, took place in a 鈥淏.O.A.C鈥� hanger near a runway on the outskirts of London.
Every Christmas a wonderful party for the children of 鈥淏.O.A.C鈥� employees was held there, and 鈥渨e girls鈥� were lucky enough to be invited to provide the entertainment. A coach was sent to collect us from Wiseton Hall and we were driven there in style.
After the performance came, in our eyes, the highlight of the afternoon - when superb refreshments, sweets and presents were distributed amongst us. We loved it all!

Then laden with our treasures, we were driven away through the flat fields of Middlesex, which over the succeeding years became Heathrow Airport 鈥� one of the busiest airports in the world!

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