大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Elizabeth Perez of Stockport Libraries on behalf of Joan Phipps and has been added to the site with her permission. She fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

"On 3rd September 1939 I was six years old and was playing in Beech Avenue, Hazel Grove, when one of my playmates, Gordon Norris, came riding on his bicycle shouting "War is declared, war is declared!" Not knowing what this meant, I remember shouting back "What does that mean?" Obviously it was to be a good few more years before I actually did know what those three words really meant.

Both myself and Gordon still live in Hazel Grove, Gordon and his wife Jean in Beech Avenue in the house which in 1939 was his grandmother's house. Although those days seem far off, some of the neighbours (the Gerrards, the Browns, the Schofields, the Norrises and the Normans) still live in my memory. As far as I can remember, we (the children) all attended Hazel Grove Primary/Junior School with Miss Derbyshire as Headmistress.

One day returning from school, I vividly remember arriving in Beech Avenue, the whole of the road being filled with children of all ages, literally masses of them, lining the avenue, with labels attached to their coats. When I managed to get to my own house I was greeted by two complete strangers in my bedroom. Being an only child, this was an intrusion to what I believed was "mine". However I later discovered the children were from Manchester (many miles away I thought) and that they had been brought to safer areas for the duration of the Blitz. They became known to us as the "evacuees". The two that stayed at my house didn't stay many weeks; they became homesick and wanted to go back to their own environment, naturally so, but when they did go back I missed their company very much. One of the children's dads ran an ice-cream van, and I remember him bringing it all the way from Manchester to Hazel Grove. He sold those triangular ice lollies with a cardboard sleeve, and on his van was a logo "STOP ME AND BUY ONE". This was early 1941 and by then, gradually, the children returned to their homes in Manchester.

At this time my father worked as a salesman for Hoover Limited and the office he had to report to was situated over what is now known as the Monihar Restaurant, at the corner of Grundey Street and fronting the A6. I used to wait for him finishing work, and would stand on the opposite side of the road, and whenever I pass this position, I can still hear strains of music which I heard then - "Any umbrellas, any umbrellas", a song which would now be termed "Top of the Pops"!

In 1939 Beech Avenue ran, as now, to the bottom, but where the houses meet Hazelwood Road there was a large working farm known as Bostock's Farm, owned by two brothers Len and Jim Bostock. This farm stretched as far as the top of Torkington Road. The new properties (bungalows in Hazelwood Road, and the adjoining estate at the back of Torkington Road) were built 1958 onwards.

Later around 1940 my father changed his employment to work for the Prudential Company. Shortly after this we moved house, and whilst my mother had everything packed away in tea-chests ready for removal, we had the first Air-Raid. Because of this my mother was very frightened and Mrs Schofield invited us to "take cover" in her cellar, but the sirens, I think, were practising, I can't remember any damage being done.

We moved to Great Moor and the next day I was settled into Great Moor Junior Schol on Southwood Road, I was now seven years old. Whilst there, we were allocated our gas masks in a cardboard box, and my mother,who was a skilled machinist, made a lovely blue rexine cover with shoulder strap so that I could carry it to school each day. One day per week was allocated for Air-Raid practice with gas masks at the ready; half an hour away from lessons and we loved it, not really attaching any realism to war. We were allowed biscuits (if we had any in our gas mask cases), known as emergency rations. As the war progressed, different situations arose which stay in one's mind forever.

I lived close to a park in Great Moor and can remember men coming to take away all the steel railings which surrounded the park, all for the war effort! Later, builders came to each house measuring up for brick and Anderson shelters. Anderson shelters were sheets of corrugated steel which were driven well into the ground; I think one could choose which one would be most suitable for the family.

For a time we used them for air-raids getting up late at night or in the early hours of the morning, we kids thought it exciting. Dads had put beds, paraffin stoves, candles, torches, rugs and just about everything in them to keep us happy, where we could "brew up" and have a biscuit. It was like a picnic to us, although it was not like this in other parts of Britain. I had cousins living in London, and they lived under a steel table for 6-8 weeks at a time, suffering much bomb damage. One neighbour, who lived alone whilst her husband was in the R.A.F., used to come round and sit with us during an air-raid.

My father was unsuitable for war service due to blindness in one eye, so he became a member of the A.R.P. and was given different veneus to go to each week. He was also a St. John's Ambulance man so he was very proud to "do his bit". His headquarters were somewhere around The Crescent on Woodsmoor. He did "firewatch duty" at Great Moor School as well as other places in the area.

One Christmas, our family were all congregated at my Grandmother's house in Aldersgate Road, Mile End, and the table was being prepared for dinner by my mother and her sisters, when my father had to leave suddenly because of news of a bomb being dropped on Garners Lane which had demolished a couple of houses. I was very worried about him having to go where it was dangerous. Another time he was on duty at the school when an incendiary bomb was dropped and hit a house in Cedar Road; this was demolished with loss of life and bad injuries.

A feature which enhanced our young lives was "collecting paper" for the war effort. This we did with much enthusiasm and the many books we collected were put into air-raid shelters and turned into pretend "libraries". The shelters were not used a great deal after the end of the Manchester Blitz, fortunately.

Our neighbour, whose husband was in the R.A.F., used to invite American soldiers from Burtonwood and they brought food which we had not seen for years and years. She used to bring some round to my Mum, who was delighted to have "good food" for a change.

Eventually after years of food rationing, no luxuries of any kind, horrors of war never to happen again we thought, came the big day of VE DAY 7th May 1945. Flags and bunting were everywhere, street parties were put into action and the whole of Stockport town was ablaze with colour after years of "black-out" and rationing. Where the food came from - well I just don't know, but rows and rows of tables were put into many many streets with cakes, buns, sandwiches, jellies, everything in fact for continual celebrations, which went on for days and days. Children born during the war had never seen a party and they went mad, all they had ever known was ration books for everything, no sweets or chocolates, very few presents, nothing compared to today's standard - it was unbelievable. Even myself at 13 had never had a party, but today this was different, and after five long years of hostilities, we were all going down to the party on Merseyway to celebrate. Merseyway in Stockport, as it was then known, was the long road over the River mersey (now the shopping precinct) where the VE party was arranged. I remember going down with some of my school friends to shout and dance the night away, the lights were full on, no "black-out" anymore, and plenty of music. There were literally hundreds and hundreds of people and children dancing the full length of Merseyway, all deliriously happy to be taking part in the End of the War Festivities.

Although the hostilities did not end for another two or more years, people began to live again with hope for the future. Britain was also at war with Japan, Singapore fell in Februaruy 1942. Finally the surrender of Japan came on 12th September 1945, four months after the surrender of Germany. As chidlren we had no actual memories pertaining to this war other than many school friends had dads fighting in the Middle East and some had been held as a prisoner of war with disastrous results. World War 2 had started just 20 years after World War 1 and so my parents, along with many more, although young, had witnessed two great wars by the time they were 45 years old.

Some of my friends had dads in the Forces and they were looking forward to seeing them come back from the war, hardly remembering them. One friend's dad had been a prisoner of war in Singapore; he came home, an absolute skeleton, couldn't walk, couldn't eat, could hardly speak, but he came home and he survived. "Welcome home" banners were everywhere, on top of houses, across streets and avenues, messages chalked on pavements; it was a lovely lovely time.

Finally, although this was now a happy time, it was also a very sad time, many families suffered the traumas of war and the great loss of loved ones who were not lucky enough to return to good old "Blighty", but no-one complained. The British way of life was to "get on with it" and this we did, but never ever to forget."

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