大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by a volunteer from Age Concern, Dorchester on behalf of Sylvia Ayers and has been added to the site with her permission. Mrs Ayers fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

I was born at 14 Franklin Road, Weymouth in Dorset on 28 June 1936 鈥� just as the dawn was breaking, my mother told me 鈥� and have vague memories of the old black range in the basement kitchen, crawling on a black and white rug in a big sitting room and greeting Dad when he came home from work.

I was just 3 years and 3 months old when war with Germany commenced, so have few conscious memories of pre-war days. My father, working at Whiteheads engineering works in Wyke Regis, was moved to Bournemouth to work on torpedo production. We moved first to Lydlinch, a cottage in the country, where I remember being scared by the whine of low flying planes which I thought were chasing me. There on a summer鈥檚 night an enemy plane crashed in a field nearby - I can still recall the pungent smell of the burning aeroplane! The little cottage at Lydlinch had no water at all indoors, there was a rain water butt outside the kitchen door, no electricity, lighting was an oil lamp in the sitting room and candles, heating was a coal or wood fire and the toilet was a bucket in a shed at the end of the garden. (Poor dad would dig a hole and bury the contents regularly). We had to walk about a mile to a nearby farm with a special tin can to collect our milk. I spent many happy hours playing in the fields and a little stream, and we went for long walks in the countryside collecting blackberries, mushrooms and hazel nuts in the autumn.

Later we moved to Courthill Road in Parkstone where, when I was 5, I started school. Then another move to 10 Strouden Avenue in Bournemouth. (These were rented houses, as most homes were in those days). From this address my memories flood in. Dad, besides his regular work, did voluntary ARP (Air Raid Protection) work at nights. Bournemouth was not heavily bombed, but it was nevertheless, very scary. We occasionally visited, by train, my grandmother (Mum鈥檚 mother) in Weymouth where the beach was barricaded with scaffolding and barbed wire against enemy attack, as was the beach in Bournemouth too. There were always many ships in Portland harbour with dozens of barrage balloons flying overhead, against invasion from the enemy. My little brother was born during one visit to Weymouth, then back to Bournemouth we went. The bombing became more frequent and as we didn鈥檛 have an air raid shelter, we had to make a dash to share with the elderly (to me) lady next door. I have vivid memories of clinging to Mum鈥檚 nightgown as we fled, she cradling my brother, with the screaming sound of bombs falling, along the garden path through the gate, then into next door鈥檚 house, then safely into the shelter where we waited, sometimes for hours, until we heard the all clear siren and could go home again.

The major event of each day was when we all sat down to hear the daily news on the big old bakelite radio - reports of where our troops were, bombing damage in Britain etc - and I remember wondering what the news was about when there was no war! There were very few shops open, all manufacturing was centred on the war effort. Of course everything was rationed, each item of food, clothing, even furniture needed coupons. I can recall standing in queues of patient people for bread at our designated shop. If one saw a queue in those days we joined it, for it was bound to be for something worth having. We, the British people, could trust our neighbours; we were all in it together against the enemy (the Germans) but had to be on our guard against spies.

There was very little crime and people seldom worried about locking doors in daytime or leaving windows open. Meals must have been a nightmare for my mother as food was so very short. Many meals were of rabbit 鈥� rabbit pie, rabbit stew etc (not rationed but bought from a local who snared them). Vegetables were a treat and if we were lucky there was a dessert, usually a junket, dried prunes or apricots or tinned fruit. Any food scraps 鈥� vegetable peelings 鈥� were taken in a bucket to a collection point down the road for feeding pigs. It was a mortal sin to put any food in the dustbin, 鈥淭hink of all the starving people in the world鈥� Mum would say. But we were always too hungry to leave anything anyway. There was no such thing as sweets, crisps, biscuits 鈥� all the things we have today. There were, too, no magazines, books, toys, TV 鈥� so many things that we take for granted nowadays. Nothing was ever wasted; worn clothes were mended again and again, then cut down to make something else, then when beyond repair, finally cut up for dusters and rags, after careful removal of buttons (no zips in those days). And of course socks were darned over and over - all done by hand, no sewing machines then.

Sometimes Mum would take us into Bournemouth town centre. We would visit the park and I could paddle in the gentle stream there, then we would have a meal at the 鈥淐ookery Nook鈥�, located at the pavilion theatre. (I cannot remember ever seeing anyone who was fat !). Happy days though鈥�. Mum would softly sing as she went about her work. No vacuum cleaner, no fridge, no washing machine, no fitted carpets in those days, just a meat safe, a copper which had to be filled with water and brought to the boil to do the washing, then a mangle to be turned by hand to wring the water from the clothes. Linoleum and a few mats on the floor. No central heating and no running hot water. A kettle had to be boiled to have a wash. (The entire population, including the King and Queen, were allowed one bath a week in four inches of water. Many people suffered with chilblains in the cold winters 鈥� swollen and painful blisters on fingers and toes and sometimes on ears and noses too!). These appliances were all unobtainable, still, in the days when I first married in 1955. Toilet paper was cut up newspaper threaded on a string. Plastic had yet to be invented 鈥� and biros 鈥� so usually a pencil was used for writing, or a pen with a nib to dip into an inkwell. At bedtime Dad would tell me stories, all from his imagination and keep me entranced with tales of adventure, magic and suchlike. I very soon became an avid reader of the few books that we had in the house and when allowed to join the local library 鈥� located just down the road 鈥� immediately withdrew the maximum allowance of three books, took them home, read them, then took them back for exchange on the same day, only to be told, 鈥測ou must wait until tomorrow鈥�! I had one toy, a china doll called Jennifer. My friends and I made our own amusement, playing in the local woods or visiting each other鈥檚 houses. I can鈥檛 remember much about Christmas during the war, except that one year, at Strouden Avenue, Dad had managed to buy a goose. It caused such great excitement; he plucked it in the kitchen and there were feathers everywhere. Later, when we were back in Weymouth, my brother and I would have a little Christmas stocking with an orange, an apple, a few nuts and a sugar mouse. Our main present would be something useful, usually a pair of slippers.

In Bournemouth town centre it was a shock to see bombed buildings and piles of rubble, and when we visited Weymouth there were so many familiar buildings missing. Bombs there were of course, aimed at Portland harbour, but many went astray.

When the war began everyone in the country had been issued with gas masks, as the greatest fear was of poison gas attacks. We were supposed to carry these at all times but as time went by without gas attacks these were gradually forgotten. (Mine was a 鈥楳ickey Mouse鈥� mask 鈥� a smaller version made for children). Then of course there was the blackout. There were very few cars on the road anyway, but their lights had to be hooded so that they were dimmed and only projected downwards. Street lights had a special screen to dim their light 鈥� these were gas lights in those days and a man had to go round each night to light them! Every window in every house had to have blackout blinds or curtains so that no light could be seen outside. If a chink of light were visible, the local warden would soon be knocking at the door to tell you so. These precautions were all enforced so that enemy planes would have no reference point as to where they were. Many people had air raid shelters in their home or garden - the Anderson in the garden (many survived for years after the war as garden sheds), and the Morrison, a hefty steel structure, indoors. Other people sheltered in basements (like the one next door in Bournemouth), cellars and stairwells or, if caught unawares, under the bed or dining table. The Civil Defence teams did a wonderful job, all voluntary workers, I believe.

Any buildings needed for the war effort were requisitioned by the government. Thus the house next door to one of my school friends was taken over to house American soldiers when they joined the fighting and my grandfather鈥檚 garage in Weymouth was taken over as a fire station. When the Americans joined the war, orange juice and Virol supplements were introduced for children (to this day I hate orange squash and remember the yummy taste of the Virol!). I also remember powdered eggs as so few eggs were available.

When the war ended, we had Union Jack flags hanging from the windows of the house, as did most people, and the whole population erupted into the centre of Bournemouth, cheering and shouting, singing and waving. I had never known such excitement!

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