- Contributed by听
- 大象传媒 Cumbria Volunteer Story Gatherers
- Background to story:听
- Civilian
- Article ID:听
- A4489491
- Contributed on:听
- 19 July 2005
This story was submitted to the site by Edwina Davies. The author understands the sites terms and conditions
I was almost two when war broke out and my family were moved from Liverpool to Bickerstaffe. There we lived with a family but then my mother found somewhere else for us to live and we moved first to Bedford Road in Southport and then to 7 Duke Street where my mother remained until 1992. I had a baby sister but sadly she was killed in a road accident during the war.
My recollections of the war are an odd mix.
I attended Linaker Street Junior School. I remember very little other than being conducted into the air-raid shelter in practice drill and the fact that it was very dark and unlit. We only ever went in at these practices. Warm days when I was in infants so us all outside after we had had our milk, sleeping or resting on tubular framed beds. Children were expected to be out of doors. Fresh air was good for you and I remember my sister was outside in her pram in all weathers.
The shortage of housing which existed led my mother to decide to augment the family income by taking in lodgers. For a time an American doctor and his wife lived with us. He was a big man and extremly smart in his tan jacket and beige trousers. That must have been 1943/1944 because my brother was born in May 1943. He was a large child and used to hold his breath in temper and would begin to turn blue. I recall the doctor seized him and stuck his head under the cold tap until he gasped for air and began to splutter. He advised my mother, Esther, to do the same but she was only small and could not manage it so he told her to keep a bucket of water handy and throw it over him.
Making the most of what we had when everything seemed to be in short supply shaped our lives. I recall, pinned to the door of Rothwell's tobacconists, a picture of Chad and the words "Wot no cigarettes!".
At the corner of Shakespeare Street and Duke Street, opposite what was Stanley's general store (it is still there and houses the Lawnmower Museum as well, bright red with a picture of a pig on a white notice attached to it , was the swill bin. There people were to deposit and scraps or left-overs although frugal mothers with rationing to contend with wasted very little.
Because of rationing we learned to eat whatever was put before us and most youngsters were adept at adding anything they could to the family larder. "Scrumping" that is pinching apples, pears, plums, any fruit or vegetable which was in season, from gardens or orchards was common practice amongst children. I broke my shoulder when I bid a hasty retreat from one orchard where I was getting apples at the approach of the owner and fell from the boundary wall. I was keen to protect my cache of apples and lost my grip in consequence.
Having a younger brother resulted in us getting National Dried Milk and that wonderful clinic orange which I savoured with delight. Its taste is fixed in my memory. I was less fond of the Cod Liver Oil which my mother doles out to us every day.
Sweets were a rare treat. I usually settled for Uncle Joe's Mint Balls when funds and coupons allowed because with careful sucking, they could be made to last.
There were plenty of American's about and they were deemed a soft touch. Like my friends, I would approach them with the words which had become the national greet for Yanks from children "Have you any gum, chum?" Only rarely do I remember being given gum, more often it was a bar of delicious chocolate.
Airmen were the heros and when I went on one of my wanderings to Woodvale I would press my face to the fence and gaze at the planes with their RAF roundels.
My father somehow managed to evade the draft..it was not something which was spoken about. He was quite dapper and used to preen in front of the mirror. Always smartly dressed he sported a thin Errol Flynn style moustache. After my brother was born he deserted my mother.
My mothers brother, Leslie, did serve. At one time he was in a convelescent home in Liverpool and I went with my mother to see him there. He was not wearing the normal khaki but a blue uniform with a red beret and red tie. He was later invalided out of the army and came to live with us at Duke Street. He had abscesses which would not heal. He died soon afterwards.
We moved to Southport to be safe and did not expect to be bombed. One night the bombs did fall on Southport. My mother made us shelter under the table. We heard them exploding about a mile away. Tragically they had landed on what all the locals called "The Blind Babies Home".
漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.