大象传媒

MY GOOD COAT

MY EARLIEST RECOLLECTION
EASTER TUESDAY 1942

My clearest memory of that night concerns my good coat. In those days it was customary for 鈥渘ice little girls鈥� to have bought for them, every other year a Sunday Outfit. At the beginning of the winter 1941, my Mother had taken me to a large store to buy my new winter coat. The sales lady produced one which was sheer perfection 鈥� green Harris Tweed with matching hat 鈥� make Heatonex 鈥� the ultimate in quality. It fitted perfectly. My Mum and I were overwhelmed with delight at my appearance in it. It cost 拢3.00 more than my Dad earned in a week, but my Mum did not hesitate 鈥� muttered under her breath that Rates and Electricity Bills could wait, and with quiet resolution handed over the money. I loved my coat and hat. As it was strictly for Sundays, I became very devout, attending as many religious services as I could cram into a Sunday, with admirable ecumenical tolerance 鈥� I sat and worshipped 鈥� Myself 鈥� in my good coat, lovely brown Sunday shoes, and experienced pure bliss!

We lived on the Ormeau Road, at Rosetta, in a modest semi-detached house. In the early hours of Easter Tuesday I was wakened by a bright flash on my bedroom blind. Immediately my mother shook me. 鈥淕et up and get dressed quickly鈥� 鈥� then the really magic words 鈥減ut on your good coat鈥�! I was immediately awake, full of joyous excitement, dressed quickly and my Mum and I ran next door. My Dad had set off to his A.R.P. post. The delights of that night followed so quickly that I could not contain my joy! Then under my neighbours鈥� table 鈥� (Anderson) shelter, sat all my day time friends 鈥� equally excited, tittering, giggling, unable to believe this great adventure was happening to us. Our neighbours passed into us, homemade biscuits, and lemonade. Our Mothers, aware of our presence and anxious to protect us from their anxiety talked and laughed rather hysterically. A few older women, who had no children, did not share their sense of responsibility, and they cried openly, prayed, even screamed as the loud explosions shook the house. We thought this was hilarious. We had never enjoyed ourselves to much! After some hours we heard the dreary tone of the All Clear, and we moaned in disappointment. My father came to my neighbours鈥� house and called me out on my own. He lifted me in his arms 鈥� hugging me very tightly. I experienced great joy as I felt his intense love, though I could not begin to understand the reason for the special intensity that night. 鈥淚 want you always to remember this night and realise how evil war is鈥� It was dawn, a beautiful spring morning, and the sky was glorious 鈥� just one beautiful mellow pink glow. I thought it must have been some fireworks display. I had no idea what he was talking about, but I was so happy sharing this great pleasure with him, and was afraid to speak. I just snuggled into his neck and smiled happily in deep content. The 3 of us went into our house (I was an only child). More treats were to follow 鈥� a cup of tea together at dawn. My dad said 鈥淐ome into our bed: I think we should be together tonight鈥�. I just delighted in our love for each other and wondered why my parents were shivering. It was not cold! And so we fell asleep. We were wakened a few hours later by a loud whisper. There at the foot of the bed stood a neighbour 鈥� our back door had been left open. 鈥淕et up Jim鈥�! The Antrim Road has had a dreadful pasting, you better go and see if they鈥檙e all right (referring to my Mum鈥檚 Mother, Sister and Brother who lived in 271 Alexander Park Avenue.) I was awake now. It was a glorious morning! I was growing rather bored with trying to make sense of the adult world, and irritated at their intrusion into my own lovely world. I dressed, ran out to play. Some of my friends were not there but I 鈥� always fickle 鈥� found new friends and was playing happily with them. In my absence, my Father had set off in a neighbour鈥檚 car to look for his in-laws. I was not in the house when my Mother鈥檚 brother staggered in through our back door 鈥� having walked through the burning streets of Belfast. His house had got a direct hit 鈥� he lived with his Mother and Sister. They refused to 鈥減ut up鈥� the Anderson shelter but the three of them crouched in their cloakroom under the stairs. They had just bought a very good, heavy ironing board 鈥� when the bombs hit the house, the ironing board shored up the house for a few minutes, and they were able to get out. Uncle Ernie helped his 72 year old Mother and Sister through the burning streets 鈥� bombs falling round them. They were taken into a house in the district, where room was made for them under the Anderson Shelter. I was annoyed when my Mother came looking for me, and was suspicious of her story 鈥淲e鈥檙e going away for a holiday鈥�. Rubbish! The only holiday we ever had was to Portrush, every summer, and we talked about that for weeks beforehand.

Back in the house I was ignored as plans and preparations were made. My Father was full of praise for my Grandmother. 鈥淭here she was sitting under the table, telling everyone about her sons in America 鈥� not a word of complaint鈥�. She referred only once to the destruction of her home. 鈥淲ould you see if Frank鈥檚 plaque is still there鈥�? Frank was her oldest son who had been killed in the 1914-18 war. There among the ruins was Frank鈥檚 plaque 鈥� just one small piece out of it. It was mended, remounted 鈥� and she was happy. During the time I had been out playing, my refugee relations had been transported to our house, and it was agreed the Ormeau Road might not be so lucky again, and we should all leave the city. My father has to stay in Belfast as he was plant engineer in a bakery. Ignored, I listened to the decision. And now the foundations of my world began to crumble. I had always heard my parents denounce as the worst possible sin 鈥淢aking use of people鈥�. I couldn鈥檛 believe my ears. My Dad, 鈥淕o to Uncle Ernest in Broughshane. My Mum 鈥� 鈥淵ou haven鈥檛 been in touch with him for years鈥�. Dad 鈥淚 know, but he will help you when you say who you are鈥�. I was mortified! This was just not the proper way to behave鈥�! Miserably I climbed into my Uncle鈥檚 Morris 8 鈥� 4 adults, 1 child and all our luggage. My leg was pressed tightly against the corner of a big biscuit tin. I could not move my leg, and it was agony. No need to guess what I was wearing! 鈥� but it brought me no joy now. It was a beautiful day, and I was boiled! We drove through the still burning streets of Belfast 鈥� people sitting on kerbs crying 鈥� dirty, pathetic and I thought 鈥渃ould they not have tidied themselves and put on their good coats before they came out!鈥� I was utterly miserable, confused, and felt great embarrassment at the thought of meeting with this - until now when we needed him 鈥� ignored relation.

Eventually after many enquiries we arrived at the school in Broughshane. My Mother rang the door bell. Out came a lovely gentleman with long flowing white hair. In two seconds he grasped the situation, ran out to the car, and brought us in to the school residence 鈥� his home 鈥� with great welcome, warmth and courtesy. Just as I was recovering slightly, another foundation of my childhood crumbled. Although it was rarely mentioned in our house, it was an assumed fact that drink was an evil, never to enter our house, or pass the lips of anyone claiming any degree of respectability. Occasionally I would hear the phrase 鈥淗e drinks鈥� 鈥� no more to be said. My new uncle opened his side board, and I saw and recognised 鈥渋t鈥� 鈥� bottles of liquid, clear, amber tones and rich red. Glasses were filled and passed to my Mum, Aunt, Grandmother and they accepted gladly, savoured it, appeared comforted and strengthened by it. Again, I was excluded. And then I began to perceive that something momentous had happened that Easter Tuesday night. Less than 24 house earlier my innocence slipped away. I saw my beloved relatives as frail, weak mortals, ready to abandon their strongest principles when the pressure was too great! Still in my good coat, I stood watching, desolate, afraid, abandoned in this room of strangers. The rapture of my early childhood was gone forever.

Clare Thomson

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