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"This story was submitted to the People's War site by the Barnsley Archives and Local Studies Department on behalf of Kenneth Richardson and has been added to the site with his/her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions."
As someone who was only five years old when the war came to an end, my memories of the war are very limited. To a very young child, many of the problems encountered by the family as a result of the war seemed, to me, to be the normal practice, as I had not experienced any other situation. I still don鈥檛 know whether we used cut up newspaper in the bathroom because of the war or was it simply that the 鈥渓uxury鈥� of toilet paper was beyond the means of a young couple trying to bring up a family of three children. On the rare occasion that steak was in the house, it was a small piece prepared solely for my Father. Was this a due to wartime rationing, cost, or the result of a working class attitude that expected the breadwinner to be well fed?

My memories that can be directly connected with the war are very limited. I can remember being woken in the night by my cot rattling and shaking, I can remember clearly crying out with fear as I stood holding the bars as they vibrated in my hands. I was told afterwards that it was a night when Sheffield was badly bombed.

Convoys of troops seemed to drive passed our home regularly in covered trucks with open backs. It was accepted practice to hold our thumbs up to them and they would do the same in return.

An Uncle, who worked at Dodworth Colliery, brought us a dark painted box. It was about twelve inches square and about five inches deep with, what always seemed odd to me, a small round lid. The box was full of dry tasteless biscuits and, I think, some packs of cheese. These were extra supplies that were given to miners to supplement their diet.

I had a child鈥檚 gas mask that was always referred to as a Mickey Mouse mask as it had a little nose on the front. It was a dreadful device that smelt awfully of rubber. I hated it and was a little frightened of it.

My Father, with the help of neighbours, built an Anderson shelter in the garden. It was set into the ground and was therefore always damp and smelly. The beds were wooden frames with sacking for the base on which you laid. I can only remember going into it on one occasion and was horrified to discover a frog in the corner.

Although I can remember my Father having petrol coupons at some stage, there must have been a period when he was unable to get fuel. He had a five-gallon drum of petrol in the garage and every now and then he would use a rubber pipe to siphon sufficient petrol out of the can to fill the carburetor. He would then drive the car out of the garage to work on it.

I started nursery school at the age of three and often as we walked to school a car passed us with a huge black bag on its roof. This would be filled with coal gas to provide an alternative fuel to petrol.

The Yorkshire Traction Bus Company had a number of buses converted to run on gas. These buses towed a trailer with a fire on the back that burned either wood or charcoal to produce the gas. As a child I was reluctant to go near these as when you walked through the bus station you could see the flames and smoke coming out of the furnace.

We received a Christmas card from an Uncle who was serving in the army. It was a small, single sheet on unusual shiny paper. I was told that to reduce the bulk of mail, the cards were photographed and reprocessed back in England.

Most of the fruit we had during the war seemed to be dried fruit in the form of apple rings, sultanas and cubes of banana. These were kept in a locked cupboard in the sideboard and issued about once a week rather like the rum ration being issued on a ship. I can remember my Mother showing us the first real banana and demonstrating how it was pealed. The taste and texture however was a great disappointment and I much preferred the dried variety.

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