大象传媒

Wartime Memories of a Civilian

Some of these memories are second hand, and all are well over 50 years old, so there may be some slight errors in the details. As far as I can, I aim to tell you about my memories, which are probably different from yours. Little will be said about rationing; 鈥� it was mum鈥檚 headache 鈥� the rest of us just tried not to grumble.

First let me tell you something of my background in 1939, as it greatly affects my life during the war years. Dad was a small business man who liked to run things. In the First World War he was in the Royal Horse Artillery; now he had joined the Special Constabulary and become a sergeant. Mum was a farmer鈥檚 daughter with bad nerves and a weak heart. One of her brothers had been a prisoner of war in German hands for three years, and another who had joined up underage was such a good shot that he was made a sniper and was soon killed.

Ken was just a normal teenager in the sixth form at Ashton-under-Lyne Grammar School. I was in the Lower Fourth 鈥� not a brilliant scholar, and something of a tomboy. Edwin was about to start at the Infants鈥� School. We lived in a semi on the road to Mossley from Ashton; - Ladysmith Barracks, home of the 9th Manchesters, was a bit further up the road. The whole family regularly attended Queens Road Methodist Chapel, where I joined the choir when I was old enough.

Although we did not have much money we managed to have a holiday each year, sometimes at a quiet seaside or country place, sometimes at an uncle鈥檚 farm. Every alternate year we went to Peel on the Isle of Man, and we were there in August 1939 when war was declared. . Dad, in the Specials, had to leave us and go home early, and Ken went with him as his schooling was important. Mum, Edwin and I were evacuated to an uncle鈥檚 farm.

My scholarship was transferred from Ashton to Lancaster Girls鈥� Grammar School but I never actually went there. As the expected invasion did not happen we went home to Ashton. We saw children passing with school bags and found out that they were going to school to collect work to do at home. I hadn鈥檛 been told because no one knew that I had come back. Everything was all mixed up in those days. Gradually we went to school half time, supposed to be working at home the other half day. Edwin鈥檚 school did not ask their new pupils to start for some time, and then not in the school buildings. Our house had a biggish front room, and this was used as a classroom. Half of the children came in the mornings and the others in the afternoons. Some of them had to sit on their gas mask cases like little elves. It was all to do with not having crowds of people in one place to be bombed.

To keep people at home where the authorities could keep track of them, school holidays were cut in half the first year, and the extra four weeks we spent at school were filled with unusual activities. The domestic science teacher took classes of boys for camp cookery, the geography mistress taught Spanish, the art teacher taught handicrafts. The chemistry master taught chess, and a chess club was started that went on at least 20 years, and may still be going. The French master took sketching in the open air and I did what was for me a masterpiece 鈥� a pencil sketch of the farmhouse across the field, surrounded by trees.

All the scholars could choose which class or classes to join, and spend as much time there as they wanted, and as much time out on the field in the sunshine as they liked. There were so many people out on the field that there was no room for 鈥榮preadie out鈥� games like football. There were two or three crowded cricket games going on, some rounders and lots of athletics. We got a chance at things we would not normally have tried, but strictly no javelins 鈥� someone in the crowds would have been sure to have been sure to be hit. Air raid bunkers were made on the field and we all enjoyed going out into them to sit in our gas masks, but we did not enjoy trying to work in our masks in the classrooms 鈥� except for those who managed to make rude noises.

At the end of that year I sat for my School Certificate 鈥� like our 'O鈥� Levels 鈥� and passed in all nine subjects. I will never know how I passed in Domestic Science: it must have been the sewing that pulled me through. We had to make a vegetable pie. To start with the teacher had forgotten to steep the peas, and they were as hard as bullets. Then ,to save food, we had done little practical work; mainly we had watched the teacher. I was not much good with pastry and mine just sadly draped itself round the little basin put upside down in the bottom of the pie dish. It both looked and tasted awful. In the cookery room we had to share two huge gas ovens and the doors were opened and shut frequently, even with cakes in. I once made a sponge cake that went in an inch thick and came out half an inch thick. I still don鈥檛 enjoy baking.

Dad鈥檚 area of control in the Specials included a main crossroads, the main road to the barracks, two hospitals, three schools and an auxiliary fire station, in addition to all the surrounding houses. Our front room was used for the first aid classes for his section and I would dress up in my games clothes and go in to be bandaged and splinted. I watched and listened, and what I learned came in handy when I later took a first aid course myself. I also had the job of working out the rotas for the men in Dad鈥檚 section, typing them on postcards and delivering them. Most of the men only went on duty on a rota day or night, but whenever there was an air raid Dad had to go out. If it was a night air raid mum would fling on a dressing gown and slippers, pick up the emergency tin and go out to the shelter in the garden. As well as dressing myself I had to dress Edwin, which was difficult. When he was wakened in the night he went all stiff and I had to hit the backs of his knees so that I could bend his legs to stuff him into his siren suit. Then I carried him down to the shelter, switching off lights as I went.

When dad went home from Peel he lay in bed listening to the called-up men marching up from the station to the barracks, and he went to see the Methodist Minister to see what could be done to help. A Circuit Meeting was called and one of the Chapels that had a Sunday School on the main road gave it up to become the Soldiers鈥� Rest Room and canteen. My well earned badge from the Rest Room is one of my most precious possessions. The whole Circuit rallied round to run the canteen. Each night there was a lady in charge, a man to give support and two or three other ladies to help. At first I just washed up and made sandwiches for hours on end, as girls under 21 were not allowed to go on to the counter amongst all those strangers that none of us knew. Then the age limit was lowered and I could go into the main room and chat to the men. We got to hear all about their families, and admired the photos of their wives and children whether they were pretty or not.

As I remember it sandwiches on bread cost one old penny. Those on teacakes were dearer 鈥� all of three halfpence. We had cheese, beetroot and salmon. Some of the juice from around the beetroot was mixed with the salmon, making it tastier and redder, so that it looked like grade 1 instead of grade 2 salmon. We also sold buns, biscuits and bars of chocolate 鈥� strictly for the troops. If we wanted any supper ourselves we had to take it from home. The upstairs room was used as a quiet room with a few books and newspapers, and free writing paper and envelopes. Every Sunday evening after our own chapel services we would go to the Rest Room and hold another service for the boys. The hymn requested most often was 鈥榃hat a Friend we have in Jesus鈥� . After the service there were free refreshments for all the men, which is probably why we got such good attendances.

Behind our row of houses was a field where we used to have our bonfires. All the garages were at the back of the gardens, and the cars went out this way, and it was also used as a short cut to the Chapel, the junior school and some local shops. Beyond the field was a disused cotton mill, and this was taken over by the army. First it became an overflow dormitory for the Pay Corps, which had a major centre at the barracks. The single storey time -keeper鈥檚 office at the gate became the guard room, and one of the soldiers stood for hours at the open window playing his violin. One day, as I was passing, I asked if he would play the Skater鈥檚 Waltz for me and after that, whenever he saw me he would play it. If he was not there any soldier within sight would whistle it. I once saw about 20 soldiers trying to march in step to the Skater鈥檚 Waltz, not very successfully. Luckily their Corporal was very sympathetic.

Later the Bomb Disposal Squad of the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers (REME) used the Mill as a depot during and after the Manchester blitz, clearing up in Manchester every day after the bombing. Any unexploded bombs that they could not de-fuse but could safely move they took up on to the moors beyond Mossley to explode. Those they could de-fuse they brought back and tipped out on to our field, which by now had become a cinder patch. I remember watching one soldier chipping the explosives out of a bomb case with a mallet and chisel. One Sunday morning Dad backed the car out of the garage to take us to Chapel , and the car stopped and would not budge. He got out to see what was wrong and found that the back axle had run up on to the nose of a bomb. The soldiers quickly came and lifted up the back of the car and rolled the bomb away. Even though we knew that it had been de-fused we still felt a bit shaky.

I used to knit fingerless mittens, and every few days I would go out to give a pair to one of the men as they piled into the lorries early in the morning鈥�. By this time they felt like an extended family, and we would sit at the breakfast table with the lights on and the curtains open so that we could wave them off. They would go off singing or whistling, and would with any luck come back the same way. If they were quiet we knew that someone was injured. I did hear that one had lost a leg and one a hand. It was dangerous work trying to lift heavy bombs out of broken buildings.

During the Blitz I was working in Manchester on Cross Street. I travelled by train from Ashton to Victoria Station and as I walked from the station I had to clamber over piles of rubble and hose pipes still being used, not knowing whether the office would be standing when I got there. But, although St Ann鈥檚 Church around the corner was damaged, our building escaped. I was working in an insurance office and I remember the name on one War Risk policy I had to type each month. It was Udokimos Sizmanoglow. I dreaded that name.

One Blitz night dad and I took my note book up to the top floor of the mill to try to identify and note down bad blackouts in the nearby houses. As we looked out over Manchester it was like looking at a picture of Dante鈥檚 Inferno 鈥� row after row of blazing buildings in the distance, like ranges of mountains in a painting 鈥攂ut horribly alive. We went round the houses we had listed , telling people to improve their blackout, then toured the Infirmary grounds with a hospital orderly, pointing out faulty blackouts there. Some of the lights showing were like torches shining into the sky, pointing out to German pilots the way to Manchester and Liverpool. Ashton was directly on that route.

As a teenager, working long hours and travelling, I was getting run down, and the doctor advised me to get a job nearer home. On the very Monday morning that I was going to hand in my notice there was an air raid, and the train I was waiting for was not allowed to come into the station to pick us up. I stood on the platform, which was high up like that at Rochdale, and watched a German bomber going over to Manchester. I heard later that it had dropped two bombs, one on a school in Ardwick, but at eight o鈥檆lock in the morning no one was hurt because school didn鈥檛 start until nine o鈥檆lock. The nearest bomb we got was on the golf course, where it made a new bunker.

The Dunkirk evacuation was a busy time for our family. Ashton Barracks was a receiving centre and soon filled up. The Mill also filled up, and some of the men were sleeping in the lorries they arrived in. We threw thoughts of coal rationing to the winds, made a big fire and switched on the immersion heater. We had queues of men waiting their turn for a quick bath, although they had only their dirty clothes to put on afterwards. The neighbours kindly lent us some towels, but none of them would have those dirty men in their homes. Mind you, none of them had sons away in the forces. Luckily it was nice weather or the little boats would never have made it across the Channel. We took out our deckchairs, and I went out to talk to the men, or at least for them to talk to me. Some of their tales were harrowing. They were not pleasant to listen to, but it helped the lads, and it was good training for when I became an Age Concern Visitor when I retired. That weekend the Soldier鈥檚 Rest Room stayed open 48 hours, never took a penny and never turned anyone away unfed. Our official rations were very meagre, and we were given no extras, so foraging parties went from door to door asking people if they had any food they could spare. Some gave us bits from their Sunday joints, some could only manage a couple of slices of bread, but we were grateful for anything we could get. In the upstairs writing room free stamps were added to the free stationery.

When I was working in the tax office at Ashton I was on the fire watch rota. We went to Manchester for training, which I thoroughly enjoyed 鈥� I did say I was a tomboy. We were taught how to deal with fires caused by different types of bomb. For instance, if you put water on an incendiary bomb the fire would only spread 鈥� you had to use sand or foam. It was simple enough to use a stirrup-pump, but we were told not to lift it out of an empty bucket into a full one and so stop the flow of water, but to pour the water from the full bucket into the almost empty one. Then we put on boiler suits and crawled through a shed containing a lot of burning straw, dragging a hose with us. The shed was full of smoke, and the tutor told us to keep our heads close to the ground to get the best of the air, and to hold the nozzle of the hose near our faces because the water brought some air with it. Then we practised with the large fire hose 鈥� I was the only one in our group who could manage this. I took the back end of the nozzle under my arm and gripped the front end with both of my hands, and could direct the jet of water where I wanted it to go. The force of the water was too strong for the other ladies, who did not lean on the nozzle properly, and the water hit everything in sight except the flames.

We fire watchers had to keep watch over the office building whenever it was not in use, day and night. One Sunday a girl on watch on her own invited her boyfriend in to keep her company and showed him round. She took him up into the loft, which was reached by a ladder from the Inspector鈥檚 Room. Unfortunately, there was a bucket full of sand kept near the trap door, and it got kicked over and emptied itself into the room below, all over the Inspector鈥檚 desk. There was quite a fuss the following morning.

There was a sort of gauze called 鈥渟crim鈥� glued on to our windows to protect us from flying glass caused by falling bombs, and this got dirtier and dirtier as the years went by. I celebrated VE day by tearing mine down and washing my windows, and got told off for it. The very next week the official order came down for the scrim to be removed and we saw real daylight for the first time for years. In those days tax office personnel had to dress more formally than they do now. Men had to wear suits and shirts with collars and ties, except on Saturdays when they could wear open necked shirts and sports jackets. When there was a problem with the heating and we were trying to work at under 40o Fahrenheit the typists were allowed to wear trousers, but any lady who might have to go to the counter and be seen by the public still had to wear a blouse and skirt, or dress, with a cardigan. Workers in the local airoplane factory downed tools because of the cold, but we worked on!

We were given special leave in addition to our normal holidays, to help with the harvest and, as I had spent so many holidays on a farm, I gladly volunteered. For two consecutive years a few of us joined many more volunteers billeted in the Royal Ordnance Factory Hostel, at Euxton near Chorley. The first year my group went to a farm with huge fields of potatoes, which were dug out of the ground with a large ugly spidery looking thing pulled by a tractor. We ladies tied big pieces of sacking round our middles and gathered the other end of the sacking to make a sort of bag. We held this in our left hands and bent double and picked the potatoes off the ground into it. When the sacks got too heavy to carry we dragged them along the ground to skips dotted around the field, and poured the potatoes into them. These skips were emptied into lorries by German prisoners of war who had their own officers with them, and there was strictly no fraternisation. It was backbreaking work 鈥� the first night we wished we were dead, the second night we knew we were dead, the third night our backs merely hurt badly. By the end of the week some of us could have stayed on longer.

The second year we went to a farm with big orchards where we were picking up apples that had already fallen onto the grass, to be made into jams and jellies. Towards the end of the week the three most agile of us were allowed to go up ladders and pick dessert apples carefully into baskets. That year we had two Italian prisoners of war with us. We were rather envious of them, as the farmer鈥檚 wife called them in for a cooked dinner whilst we only had sandwiches. They were very different from each other 鈥� the one from Northern Italy, big and slow -speaking, the one from the South was small and talked very fast. They normally spoke to each other in Italian, but when they were excited they could not understand each other鈥檚 dialect, and had to speak a kind of English. The one from the South used to sing a lot, songs and snatches of opera, and when he stopped for breath I would sing the last bit back at him. We all had many a good laugh 鈥� not only did I not know the tune properly, but the words I made up were a lot of nonsense.

Food production was encouraged at home, where we were asked to grow vegetables instead of flowers. Dad went one better 鈥� he kept hens and rabbits, or rather hares. Dad had some Belgian hares sent in two big crates by rail, and housed them in hutches inside the garage walls. He separated the buck from the eight does and when he built a honeymoon suite he put the buck to one doe after another, but nothing happened. At last he realised that he had picked out the wrong one as the buck. When the doctor heard about this he was highly amused; he offered to lend dad a book!

Some of the neighbours were registered with us for eggs, so dad could officially buy proper hen food, and the neighbours gave us what kitchen scraps were suitable. One man at the office brought some slices of stale bread and asked for six eggs. One girl brought some slices of stale bread and asked for an egg for her dog, who had not had one that week. Needless to say they were both unlucky

My brother Ken had gone on to University, where he joined the Manchester University Air Squadron and, on being called up at the end of the year, he went into the Fleet Air Arm. I wrote to him each week, and I can still remember his number 鈥� the only address we could ever use 鈥� it was FAAFX89040. He did his initial training at HMS St. Vincent, a shore-based training station near Portsmouth. This was one of the many ships that Lord HawHaw quoted as being sunk, although in fact it was a collection of buildings on solid ground. Then Ken went to Trinidad for flying training. The Americans were supposed to keep that area of the sea free from submarines, but they were not too successful and our boys were very hungry as the food ships kept being sunk. One food ship reached one port and was told to go to another further up the coast which had a deeper harbour, and it never reached there. One morning Ken was on an early morning training flight when a thunder storm blew up and they had to make a forced landing at an American airstrip. The two of them were invited into the mess and given a huge breakfast, and Ken鈥檚 mates never let him forget it.

On their way home to England they were held up waiting for transport to cross the Atlantic. In one holding camp an officer came in and asked if any of them could drive, then sent two of them out to wash his car. They he asked if any of them liked trains, and they pictured themselves washing engines. However, he wrote two of their names onto travel passes and sent them up to Niagara to pick up a deserter. On the outward journey they were fooling about with the handcuffs, and one of them got them stuck round his wrists. They were not carrying the key and had to wait until the end of the journey and then argue with an MP before he was released. (That鈥檚 Military Policeman, not Member of Parliament).

A well to do family on Rhode Island, New York, took some of the airmen under their wing. One Sunday morning their daughter, Mary, took Ken to church with her to show him off to her friends- it was only 60 miles away!. Ken and a pal were given tickets for a show in New York and they were invited back stage and had a chat with Carmen Miranda. I do not think America was yet in the war, but they could not do enough for our boys.

Ken was assigned to 845 Squadron, flying Grummond Avengers, torpedo bombers with folding up wings, and did some Atlantic convoys. Then he was sent out East, part of the time on a shore base in Ceylon, where a wealthy planter invited the airmen in twos up to his guest bungalow. He took them on shooting trips and Ken shot a small deer and also a crocodile, from which he had a handbag made for me. On one of the trips he was following a game trail through the tall grass when he rounded a bend and saw the legs of several wild water buffalo through the grass stems a few yards in front. He quickly and quietly turned tail and fled. Further East again, and Lord Louis Mountbatten visited the fleet. He held a reception on HMS Illustrious, inviting one man from each ship and Squadron. Ken and his lot elected Charlie, a young man who was prematurely bald. When Mountbatten got round to him he asked if everything was OK, and Charlie seized the opportunity to ask to be put into fighters. The Admiral put his arm across his shoulder and said 鈥楧on鈥檛 you think we should leave the fighters to the younger men?鈥�. Charlie was just 21.

Ken never talked much about his active service, but I once came across a group photo of his Squadron and about half of pictures were marked with crosses. The active service life expectancy was about six months for bombing crews and three months for those in fighters. If a plane was damaged the only place to come down was in the sea. The carrier could be miles away, and could not alter course to come and look for you. Dad鈥檚 weekly letters were mainly about all the neighbours and branches of the family. Perhaps because we knew so many of the same people I seemed to get the job of telling Ken about those who had, as they said 鈥榖ought it鈥�, and this happened far too often. In my own class at school there were 12 boys, and 5 of them died in the war. One of them died of appendicitis because, as he was serving in the desert at the time it came on, he did not get to hospital in time to get proper attention.

Dad鈥檚 firm was salvaging metal from a grain ship aground off Puffin Island, off Anglesey. I went there with him one day. We left home at 2 in the morning as we were due to be picked up from Bangor Pier Head at 7. All road signs had been taken down, and the map was not much good in the blackout, and no one would tell strangers the way in case they were German spies. We were stopped five times at road blocks, and our identity cards examined. Dad had his Police Sergeant鈥檚 jacket on the back seat, and I wore my school uniform, so they did not bother to search the car. If they had we would have been badly delayed 鈥� we had a load of gelignite in the boot. Whilst waiting for the ferry at the pier head I learned for the first time that a square was a three sided figure 鈥� there was a squad of Home Guard drilling on the pier, and their Sergeant told them to form a three sided square 鈥� and they did.

Our ferry that day was a small motor launch with cowling over the front bit to make a cabin, and I sat in there out of the way eating chocolates to supplement my breakfast sandwich. Dad stood in open like a man, and kept asking me if I was all right - meaning that he wasn鈥檛. When we reached the wreck we had to jump across to the ship, with the waves lifting our boat up and down by about six feet. We had to judge the exact moment to jump, when the two boats were nearly level, and I nearly fell down between them when one of the men took hold of my arm to help me and put me off balance. The smell of the rotting grain was awful, and I was glad when Dad had seen all he needed to and we could leave. By that time the weather had worsened and the waves were lifting our boat up and down about eight feet. I made the sailors leave me alone to do the jump myself - much safer. The weather was so bad that they dare not leave any of the workmen on board, and as we rounded the ship and set off back I realised that it had broken completely in two 鈥� daylight showed between the bow and the stern, and I was thankful I had not known this earlier.

On the way back to Bangor the engine of the ferry cut out for a while, and we got sideways on to the waves and Dad got even greener. He was not scared 鈥� just seasick and trying not to show it. I was planning to take off my coat and shoes, and wondering which was the nearest shore, or buoy, to swim to. The pilot said, 鈥楧on鈥檛 worry Mr Vernon, I only have to pull out my white hankie and the lifeboat will come for us 鈥� we are the only boat out on the Channel, and there will be two lots of glasses trained on us鈥�.

Soon I after I left school I joined the Women鈥檚 Junior Air Corps and learned some Morse code, although it is nearly all forgotten now. We were taught to march by a retired army Drill Sergeant who one day gave us the order to turn right instead of left, and marched us into a brick wall. We all collapsed in giggles 鈥� the poor chap did not know what to do with us. I will always remember the routine for about turn 鈥� it was 鈥淐heck/T/L/V/F鈥�. The T, L and V were the patterns made by our feet 鈥� the F was forward; I could probably still do it.

A lot of local girls, when called up, went into the Pay Corps where they could be billeted at home, and this included two from my hockey team, the Ashton Ladies. We played three friendly games against the Army, mixing up the teams so that there were some men on either side. One of the men was extremely good, and he could dribble the ball around your feet 鈥� you could not get it off him by any fair means. I was marking him and, to everyone鈥檚 surprise 鈥� including my own 鈥� I took the ball away from him twice, but once he realised I was physically leaning on him to put him off balance I did not get another chance.

Our front room came into use once again one night each week as a waiting room for soldiers ringing home long distance.At this time the wait for a call could be up to 2 hours. Then, when there was an Officers鈥� Promotion Course at the barracks for the ATS we had a shampoo and telephone night for the ladies.

When I first went to the Grammar School I made friends with Amy Taylor, a girl who was a little older than I was 鈥� a friendship that lasted until she died recently. She joined the ATS and, while on leave in London, a bomb blast picked her up and threw her against the wall. During her convalescence she went on a course for instrument mechanics learning to service the electronic gadgets for aiming anti aircraft guns. She came out top, beating all the men. She met and got engaged to a Canadian Air Force man, Alan Conliffe and when they married I was the bridesmaid. I had no clothing coupons for a new dress, so got out my only floral silk. I had filled out a bit since I first got it, so I unpicked the belt and removed the stiffening. I put strips of material down the side seams; it was a quite normal piece of 鈥� make do and mend鈥� in those days.

Alan鈥檚 cousin should have been the best man, but the King was due to visit their air station that weekend, and all leave was stopped. They let Alan out to get married, but his cousin could not come. On the night before the wedding Amy鈥檚 family were scouring Mossley for anyone Alan had met who could act as best man, and the only one they could find came just about up to my nose. Luckily on the wedding photos we were not standing together.

Amy went to Canada as a war bride, and she was desperate to find a pair of silk stockings before she set off. She wanted to show a lot of elegant leg as she stepped off the train to meet her new family. Perhaps it was as well I did not meet and fall for the cousin 鈥� Amy showed me his name on a war memorial when I visited Canada.

All the young men and some of the women from the office had been called up 鈥� one of the men was a Bevin Boy 鈥� he had to work in a coal mine. Some of the young women were sent to the aircraft factory at Guide Bridge. Before I got to calling up age I volunteered for the Women鈥檚 Royal Naval Service. I had an interview at the Labour Exchange and passed it and was told that, although the WRNS was the elite of the women鈥檚 services, and was hard to get in to, as I had a brother in the navy I would be accepted, and I was sent home to await my medical. I even started to make white undies out of parachute silk.

One day the boss called me into his office with a paper in his hand 鈥� he had been asked to give me a reference. He told me that they needed to keep some strong young people to work the long hours, and asked me if I really wanted to go. I suddenly thought of my mother, left at home with a young boy, her eldest son not really expected to come home, and I said 鈥榥o鈥�. It was one of those moments that can alter your whole life, and I have often wished that I had said 鈥榶es鈥�.
Margaret Wilson (nee Vernon)
[personal details removed by moderator]

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