大象传媒

The War 鈥� 1939 onwards

My earliest real memory was, believe it or not, the announcement on the radio that we were at war with Germany. My mother had been bathing me in the kitchen sink and I was standing on the draining board waiting to be dried off when my mother suddenly ran to the radio and started to cry. I too began crying. I didn鈥檛 take kindly to being left dripping! I subsequently learnt the reason for my mother鈥檚 tears.

I have a few distorted memories after this but can remember very clearly both the Anderson and Morrison shelters being installed. I couldn鈥檛 wait to sleep in the shelter in the garden although I gather my father didn鈥檛 take too kindly to me peeing in his ear! I was on the top bunk above him. My mother confirmed that this really happened!

The war to me was full of excitement. I had no fear. As I kept trying to tell my mother 鈥淚f we are in one of the shelters and a bomb drops on us we will be fine鈥�. The innocence of youth.

My father joined the Home Guard and was made a Sergeant because of his previous experience in the Army. He was not called up because of the job he was doing for the Air Ministry. I believe it was considered to be important war work.

My mother tells me that, from the very first moment that war was declared she was expecting bombs to be dropping on us! I remember her tears.

Although I have stated that I had no fear, I do remember a temporary tightening of the tummy when the air raid siren sounded. However, the excitement overtook the fear. On one occasion I was standing at the back door after the siren had sounded and watched the searchlights dancing across the sky, the silver barrage balloons magnificent when caught in the light. I could hear the thud of the guns and see the puff of smoke in the sky whilst I searched desperately for the object of the attack. I was not disappointed - there it was, an enemy plane 鈥� intermittently exposed by the searchlights as it tried to take evasive action.

I stood mesmerised and was totalling ignoring the fact that my mother had been calling me to get into the shelter. I am afraid I ignored her to my cost. In her panic to get me into the shelter she grabbed me by whatever came to hand 鈥� it happened to be my pigtails!

When I was four, I started school at a Catholic School that was run by the nuns who were very cruel. I remember falling and badly grazing my knee. When I told a nun I just received a severe- ticking off for being careless.

On another occasion I dropped a box of beads on the floor. I was made to pick up every one including those that had fallen between the floorboards. Even though I was crying and my fingers had splinters 鈥� no pity was shown.

I used to try and lock myself in my bedroom every day because I was terrified of going to school. Eventually my father decided enough was enough and took me away from the school.

My experience of Catholicism was not a happy one. I remember that every now and then a priest and a nun would visit my mother and I was made to leave the room. They always left my mother in tears.

Many years later my mother told me the reason for their visits. They wanted to know why she had no more children and threatened her with excommunication from the church if she dared to use birth control.

The war was a time of rationing. We had ration books that contained a certain number of coupons a week for such things as meat, sugar and butter.

We only had dried eggs and dried milk. Even clothing was rationed. My mother managed to eke out the frugal meat allowance by cooking such things as mouth-watering stew and dumplings. Her jam roly-poly puddings cooked in muslin were magnificent. In spite of the hardships, our food was nutritious and filling.

Occasionally, my mother would fly to the shops having been told by a neighbour that a delivery of oranges had arrived. She would queue for as long as it took to bring home perhaps only two oranges. I had never even seen a banana never mind eaten one. This was the luxury food that all children coveted.

I was a shy child and (I鈥檓 told) well behaved. Both my mother and I remembered well one occasion when I was not on my best behaviour. It was the day I was taken to the local clinic to get my Mickey Mouse gas mask. No amount of cajoling or inducement was going to get this monstrosity on my head. It was hideous and I can smell the rubber even now.

Eventually, I gave in and tried it on. It had a rubber tongue that blew a raspberry every time I exhaled. This contraption had to be carried around in a cardboard box like a shoulder bag everywhere I went. I really couldn鈥檛 understand why. I think my mother tried to explain to me the danger of being gassed by the Germans but how is a small child able to understand what gas is?

Chronologically I may be getting the order of events in the war wrong but I can remember the bombings starting. It was often just my mother and I curled together in the indoor shelter when there was an air raid as my father was often out on Home Guard duty. My mother used to hold me tight and I remember very clearly how she shook until the all-clear sounded. We could hear the thud of bombs dropping around us, sometimes feeling the vibration of the closer ones.

Another painful memory of the indoor shelter was my mother nursing me whilst I was sobbing with the pain of earache. I suffered from this greatly and there were no antibiotics then. My mother used to warm a teaspoon and pour a little olive oil in my ear then plug it with cotton wool.

When I was five I was taken into Hospital in Twickenham to have my tonsils removed 鈥� the cause of my chronic earache. This was an unforgettable experience. There were no such things as children鈥檚 wards in those days and one鈥檚 parents were not allowed to visit 鈥� they could only look through the window. The post-operative pain was dreadful and the Ward Sister sent for the Matron to force me to drink some Bovril (which drink I hate to this day). I drank it and promptly vomited. I think you can imagine how painful that was. All I could eat when I got home were bowls of custard.

The bombing became very intense 鈥� air raids most nights but something very sinister was looming 鈥� it was the doodlebug 鈥� a flying bomb. Of this I was afraid. I can almost imagine the drone of its engine now. Whilst you could still hear it you were OK but once the engine stopped, that is when you held your breath because this is when it dropped from the sky. We used to listen to it flying overhead and sometimes it seemed as if the engine stopped when it was immediately above us 鈥� but a few seconds later we would hear the explosion as it landed.

One morning after such an incident, we went to see the High Street, only to be confronted by complete devastation. We were not allowed to venture further than the railway bridge. The right hand side where David Greigs used to be had been flattened and several people killed.

As the air raids became more intense, there was pressure to evacuate the children to the country. I was terrified and didn鈥檛 want to go, neither would my mother let me. My father insisted that it was now so dangerous that my mother and I should go to stay with my grandparents in Hull. This we did. Again, this turned into a frightening experience.

We arrived at Paragon Station only to discover that Hull too had been having air raids. There were, of course, no street lights and my mother and I made our way to my grandmother鈥檚 house by torchlight. It was a very long way from the station and we were having to avoid craters in the roads and pavements. It was terrifying and both my mother and I were crying. Having got lost a few times, we eventually arrived at my grandparents鈥� home.

We had only been there a couple of days when an air raid warning siren went off and, having no shelters, we had to seek shelter in a walk-in coal storage cupboard. We all looked like chimney sweeps when we came out!

One of my strongest memories during my stay in Hull was opening my grandmother鈥檚 larder and seeing a very large earthenware bowl full of fresh eggs. I couldn鈥檛 believe it. My grandfather kept chickens in the back garden so we had real eggs! He used to let me collect the eggs 鈥� sometimes they were still warm.

My grandmother also used to keep a quantity of bacon rashers to crisp up in the oven 鈥� I have never tasted crispy bacon as delicious.

My grandmother used to cook on a large black kitchen range which was so shiny you could see your face in it. She regulated the heat by how much fuel she put in the burner. Her Yorkshire puddings were wonderful. These were served as a starter with gravy prior to having the roast beef.

It鈥檚 a good thing that her cooking was so good because my grandfather would not let me leave a morsel of food on the plate.

Whilst in Hull my grandfather would take me to the docks to see the fishing trawlers come in and unload their catches. It was such a busy place with the fishwives alongside the trawlers gutting and preparing the fish. I found it very exciting although it didn鈥檛 smell so good! We even went on the ferryboat across the River Humber occasionally.

After we had been in Hull for a few weeks my mother received a telegram from my father telling her that a bomb had dropped in the field behind the house and that some damage had been sustained. My mother immediately returned leaving me behind. I was suffering from impetigo at the time and looked a complete mess as my face was covered in gentian violet! I was very miserable and cried for ages after she left.

Eventually, I was brought home and discovered what had happened when the doodlebug had dropped behind our house. Apparently we were very fortunate because on the edge of the field there was a very large poplar tree and it seems that the doodlebug clipped its wing on the tree and was deflected downwards thus landing in the field rather than on the houses.

Further along the road there was much more devastation than we had sustained and many families had to be evacuated from their homes as they were so badly damaged. There was not a window left intact in our house but we were able to make do and stay put.

The air raid warning siren had sounded whilst my father was visiting friends a few doors away so he had to dive into the inside shelter with everyone else. After the bomb had fallen dad鈥檚 friend popped his head out of the shelter to have a look. My father hauled him back just in time to save him being hit by the ceiling falling in!

Dad was an air raid warden and the following morning he had to check on all the affected houses. As he knocked on the door of one house, the door fell in. It had somehow been blown off his hinges but remained in situ.

Two elderly spinster ladies next door had been sleeping in the same bed together and they and the bed came straight through the ceiling landing in the lounge. Miraculously neither of them was seriously hurt.

My cat disappeared after the explosion and didn鈥檛 return until some weeks later.

The crater formed by the bomb was quite deep and my friends and myself spent many a happy hour playing inside it 鈥� digging for pieces of shrapnel. We also found many pieces of broken crystal and china created by the bomb but the real treasure was the shrapnel. Sometimes the bottom of the crater iced over and we had great fun slipping and sliding.

The VE street party was a great occasion. In Lincoln Avenue trestle tables were placed along the road and all of the children were treated to lots of party food, jellies, cakes and anything that people could lay their hands on. My father wheeled his piano out into the street and everyone danced to the music whilst he played.

At the time, my Uncle Jim having come home on leave was staying with my mother and father. Later in the evening I had to leave the party to go to bed and my mum, dad and uncle were going to the Winning Post for a drink. The lady next door was in charge of me.

I remember clearly hearing all the fun still going on outside and I decided to get up, get dressed and go back to the party. As I walked down the path the lady next door saw me and I told her that it was all right as my mother said that if the noise disturbed me I could go back to the party!

Thus it was that when my folks returned, they saw me singing and dancing in the street. I was soon returned to my bed!

Yes, I have happy memories of my childhood in spite of the war.

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