大象传媒

Bitterne Park Memories - 1939-1945: part II

About 4 years ago I went to the R.S.H. with a friend to visit a patient in Lower Bullar which is immediately below Upper Bullar - it was a replica of Upper Bullar and brought the awful memories rushing back. When I returned to school I had been moved up to the junior school (across the playground) and was in Mr Bennett鈥檚 class: I can remember, with perfect clarity, Mr. Bennett saying that 鈥淭oday we are going to do fractions.鈥� and of not having the slightest clue about what was going on 鈥� and of consciously opting out of maths, simply hating them 鈥� almost like a blind-spot: mention maths/close down mind. It wasn鈥檛 until many years later when, as a mature student, I did my teacher training that I came to love maths and, I hope, inculcated this enjoyment into many of my pupils 鈥� but in a way which enabled them to understand what was going on.

Dress - we had 3 three set of underclothes, in my case - vests, knickers and liberty bodices 鈥� one on, one off, one in the wash -these were changed once a week. I can remember that clothes were made from parachutes and on one occasion granny had a tailor make me a coat from an ex-army blanket: I quite resolutely (foolhardily, in the face of granny) refused to wear it. I couldn鈥檛 tell her why but it was because the coat was loose and I knew that ladies who had babies wore loose smocks (I had no idea why, had asked but not been given a satisfactory answer) and I was therefore convinced that I, too, would have a baby if I as much as put it on. My hair was as straight as a yard of pump water but I longed for curls 鈥� I tried to assure my friends that I had been born with curly hair but that my aunt, a hairdresser, had 鈥榗ut it all wrong and it had gone straight鈥�. When my hair needed cutting, I was given the money and told to walk round to the hairdresser and ask for a shingle 鈥� which I obediently did. I would then complain loudly, tearfully and at length that it made me look like a boy 鈥� I never dared to question the 鈥榮hingle instruction鈥�! We bathed once a week, downstairs in the big (iron?) bath. The water was heated in a boiler and put in the bath with a wooden handled dipper. Granny, if in residence, bathed first, then dad, followed by Anne, Peter and, finally, me; this was known as 鈥橳he Order of the Bath鈥�. We used red carbolic soap for our bodies and hair. My best friend, Sheila Duffin, lived in a 鈥榯ied鈥� house - her father being the groom for the horses who pulled the milk floats at the local dairy (South Coast Dairies) Sheila鈥檚 house had a black range on which everything was cooked; washing was done in a copper in the corner of the kitchen and bath water was also heated there - the bath being a tin tub which was placed in front of the range. The lavatory was a wooden board with a hole over a bucket, sited at the top of the garden; this was emptied very regularly into a pit which also had composting materials in it - I can鈥檛 remember any details except that I recall that it was near to the soft fruit garden and that Mr. Duffin鈥檚 blackcurrants were enormous! I spent many happy times at Sheila鈥檚 house. Granny鈥檚 house had an outside lavatory, off of the basement and on the wall opposite the lavatory was a large picture of 鈥楾he Laughing Cavalier鈥� and I used to sit on the lavatory making outlandish movements to see if I could get into a position where the Laughing Cavalier would not be looking at me! My brother and I had the task of tearing the newsper - the Daily Express and News of the World - into squares which had string passed through a hole in the corner which was then suspended from a nail - this was toilet paper - Bronco and Izal not being known in our households. The basement of granny鈥檚 house also served as the air raid shelter; the house (above, and below the chip shop!) was next to the River Itchen; a few hundred yards away was the bridge carrying the main railway line from London to Portsmouth, therefore of strategic importance consequently a target for German air raids.

Dad drove a lorry for Vickers Armstrong and I sometimes went him on his travels. On one particular journey, delivering gigs to Horsham and Brighton 鈥� I remember that we passed a flower shop called DOROTHY ELLIOTT and marvelling/wondering because that was my, then, late stepmother鈥檚 name 鈥�.. was she dead, what was death, had she really only moved to Brighton? My father would tell me the names of the trees and the habits of the birds - I was fascinated by the nesting habits of lapwings; I also believed that he actually knew all of those drivers to whom he waved - it wasn鈥檛 until many years later that I realised that the waving was merely an acknowledgment. Anyhow, whilst working for Vickers Armstrong, if fish/potatoes/palm kernel oil became available then the fish and chip shop would be opened and the queue would stretch all along the Broadway (where we lived) and round the corner. There must have been money around because for as long as I can remember we had a telephone, which was used for emergency calls by many of our neighbours; we had a Bendix washing machine which had a central agitator and, I seem to remember, two separate,enormous, rinsing baths through which the clothes were manually passed and then put through a mangle on top of the machine 鈥� the washing was then pegged out on a line which went high above 鈥榯he cut鈥� at the back of our row of shops. Our Anderson shelter, which was in 鈥榯he cut鈥�, was bigger than anyone elses (having 鈥榖igger鈥� was another Elliott trait) 鈥� had seating on which one could sleep and I can remember once being left down there because I was asleep and waking up to see a rat looking at me: this threw me into terror and I could only be placated by being given a Beechams powder mixed in a saucer of milk 鈥� I regarded this as a treat! I can remember once peeping out of the shelter during a raid to see my father who was an ARP warden sitting on our high gate 鈥� and wondering how he got up there! The next day my brother and I would go off to look at the odd unexploded bomb crater, or if housing had been flattened, to look for shrapnel (I never did know what shrapnel was or even why we collected it 鈥� it had no obvious attraction like cigarette cards for example) it was always a source of much puzzlement that, though we scrabbled over many bombed properties, we never found any whole articles/artifacts/belongings. We also always had a vehicle 鈥� granny used to boast that 鈥極ur car is always a Humber鈥� 鈥� which it was 鈥� even into the early 60鈥檚 鈥� but I have clear memories of travelling through the New Forest in a wonderful shooting brake - even more vivid memories of a green Singer van. This van, used to collect fish from the market in Southampton, always reeked of fish and was known as The Kipper Box. Dad fitted low wooden bench/seats and on Sundays we piled into the back and drove off to the New Forest, Netley beach or one of our Aunts 鈥� we were as happy as larry 鈥� oblivious to the fact that we were getting another, reinforcing, dose of fish perfume. I loved visiting my aunts: Aunty Winnie and Uncle Reg鈥檚 house was redolent with the smell of Palmolive soap; chickens were kept in the garden and I really loved collecting the eggs most of which had to be preserved in a bucket of isinglass but some of which we ate, boiled, for our tea. Uncle Reg was a very quiet man who worked at the big Southern Railway depot, as did most of the male working population of Eastleigh. Aunty Helen and Uncle Will lived in the opposite direction, at Totton. I enjoyed going there, the journey being still etched on my mind - past the busy docks and drydock, past the now defunct Toogoods Seed Factory; when the tide was low being fascinated by the railway crossing the, then revealed, mudflat on stumpy piles; sometimes having to stop at a level crossing next to some allotments where one crop that I remember was sooty rooted celery (I used to go round to the local allotments, pulling and eating carrots - wonderful - with no feeling of doing wrong); the last features of note before arrival at my aunt and uncle鈥檚 house were the John Deere warehouse and the tollgate at Eling Tidemill (still extant) - on some occasions we went through the tollgate and walked to the very pebbled beach at Lepe(?) beach - I can remember the smell and it hasn鈥檛 changed! Aunty Helen would invariably be found sitting in a darkened room with a 4711 Cologne soaked handkerchief resting on her forehead (she was a victim to headaches!); Uncle Will, a merchant seaman was invariably away at sea. They had an adopted daughter, about the same age as me, called Desna. We all played and then - tea. Tea was the reason, as far as I could see, for our presence. We sat on Windsor chairs which had seat cushions under which were folded tea-towels or handkerchiefs which we were, effectively, pressing. Then came the food - Aunty Helen made wonderful dripping with thick, delicious, jelly at the bottom - we would dig as big a hole as manners (and Aunty Helen鈥檚 eagle eyes) would permit in order to get as much jelly as possible. There was a slight problem - we had to eat bread and butter/jam/dripping before we could eat the cake; once a cake had been eaten, there was no going back to fill oneself up. Now, there might be an especially delicious looking cake on which one had one鈥檚 eye and the concomitant need to get it before anyone else got it 鈥�. what was a greedy child to do in the face of such desirable comestibles which were not normally found at home, we certainly wouldn鈥檛 have wanted to leave the table feeling hungry. We also visited Uncle Percy and Aunty Betty - I think that our maternal grandmother lived with them; Granny Collins was a gentle soul, she was deaf and was good at lip reading; I was told that she presented meals that were colourful with vegetables which she called 鈥檖retty鈥� much to Granny Elliott鈥檚 down-to-earth disgust. Uncle Percy always seemed stern and Aunty Betty birdlike - I remember being most impressed by my naughty cousin being in big trouble for having made a false 999 call to the Fire Brigade. Sunday was visiting day: in the morning my siblings and I would meet with our cousins and go to Mass (at the church at which I later married). Sometimes we would call on granny, en route, where I might be allowed to mix the Yorkshire pudding - really big treat! After lunch dad might take us for a walk to Uncle Frank鈥檚 home. The walk took us over one of two routes - the first being along the River Itchen (in which we often swam during the summer); the river seemed to hold endless fascination, at least for me. Even the garlands of hops hanging from the hedge in the autumn seemed fascinatingly beautiful. Before reaching Uncle Frank鈥檚 home we passed the cemetery and I actually enjoyed visiting the family graves especially my mother鈥檚. Uncle Frank was very interesting - he was a poacher and wore poacher鈥檚 clothing; he used to take salmon from Lord Swaythling鈥檚 salmon pool and, whilst we could peep through the fence and see the pool, how he actually got in was an intriguing mystery - also, how did he catch them - tickling was mentioned but this activity might have involved trout and be elsewhere. He did tell me how to catch eels - one got an old car tyre, bound it round with fabric strips leaving a very small hole into which was placed a bit of kipper or bloater (something odiferous); a young elver, attracted by the smell, would swim into the tyre, feed off the bait then plankton/organisms in the water, grow fat and then,unable to escape, grow fatter; months later Uncle Frank would return and, having marked the position of the tyre, recover it complete with eel! Another thing that I found interesting about Uncle F. was that his wife had left him, running away to Brighton with the milkman - I had understood this to be a music-hall joke but that it had actually happened to my Uncle 鈥�. Wow! The alternative route to Uncle Frank鈥檚 was to pass the Woodmill, over the bridge where one could get glimpses of Lord Swaythling鈥檚 salmon pool, past the University Halls of Residence and then along Monk鈥檚 Way where there was a spring which always had water bubbling from it. The name, Monk鈥檚 Way, always seemed quite mysterious and the spring held endless fascination; we then passed by a little stream from which, in due season, we caught tiddlers in jam jars which we held with string handles. From there we passed a Monumental Mason鈥檚 workshop which was almost as interesting as the cemetery which, together with Uncle Frank, was just a little way up the road. We always had tea at the visited uncles and aunts and then home, play draughts, cards, noughts and crosses, battleships, ludo, snakes & ladders and make marvellous constructions with my brother鈥檚 Meccano. At Christmas the big treat was to play Newmarket. During the week we mainly listened to the radio; the house was very cold and during the winter we would try to get warm by sitting on one of the two padded boxes - coal in one, kindling wood in the other with a fender in between; we would huddle on one warming our hands and the leg on that side got very hot and the veins stood out, red and blotchy. When it was time for bed we would wash and have a boiled sweet from the supply kept in a Slippery Elm tin (I never did find out what Slippery Elm was.) On Friday night we were all dosed with a spoonful of California Syrup of Figs to keep us regular; we also might need to have our hair combed with a fine tooth comb our heads hovering over a piece of brown paper - and, horror of horrors, our bottoms checked for threadworms, a hairpin being used for the task 鈥� such indignity. Our bedrooms were often freezing and beds so cold that I sometimes got out and walked around on the lino getting so cold that when I returned to it, even bed seemed warm! Sometimes there were wonderful frosty patterns on the windows.

When the D-day landings were about to take place, hundreds of American soldiers were stationed near and in Southampton. The soldiers lived, as I remember, in bell tents which were erected in all the parks in the town centre. The parks had high fences around them (to keep them in, us out鈥�?) We used to go into town and hang around the camps, calling out 鈥淕ot any gum, chum?鈥� My father would not have been pleased had he known about our begging. Southampton town centre had been almost completely flattened by German bombs and buddleia grew profusely among the rubble. Some shops re-opened in temporary buildings and chief in my memory was the single storey Woolworths with long counters and tempting displays; I used to go into town quite frequently and hover around the yo-yo counter trying to pluck up the courage to shoplift one - I never was brave enough but the sad fact is that, had I gone less frequently and saved the one penny 鈥榖us fares, I would quite quickly had accumulated enough money to buy a yo-yo.

I suspect that dealings with the black market were not unknown in our household. On one occasion dad called me downstairs to look at something; the something was a beef carcase hanging in the commercial 鈥榝rig 鈥� he assured me that it had been accidentally knocked down and killed in the New Forest. On another occasion I recall granny complaining about the fact that the whisky, obtained from the butcher who lived next door but one, had been watered down with cold tea 鈥� this from a stalwart of the Salvation Army - obviously no honour among thieves.

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