大象传媒

This is a composite of the book 鈥淢ary鈥檚 War鈥� by Mary Smith and appears by her kind permission. They are her own memories. Others may have different recollections of the same events. She has not intentionally made a false statement about anyone or anything.

I was four when war was declared. Life was different then. Eaglescliffe was part of County Durham; there were no supermarkets, automatic washing machines or McDonalds; few people owned televisions and cars.

My father was the village postman. He did gardening to supplement his income of 拢2.00 per week.

I attended Preston Primary School. I was carried there during the winter of 1940. (I was very small and couldn鈥檛 stand up in the snow and ice.) My classroom had a big iron stove in one corner. No one could get the temperature right; it was either too hot or too cold. The tall, curtain-less, windows were criss-crossed with sticky tape as a precaution against being blown inwards.

The Ministry of Food allowed each child one third of a pint of milk per day. In wintertime it was usually frozen in the bottles, so the crates were put on the stove to thaw them out. By break the milk was only half-thawed so we had to drink a horrible combination of warm milk followed by milk-flavoured ice.

I don鈥檛 remember much about my first lessons except learning to count using big red buttons. Friday afternoon was story time; we read from 鈥楯anet & John鈥� books. What I do remember very well were the safety lessons and air-raid drills鈥�

We practiced every day in the classroom and playground. The procedure was simple: we assembled in long lines in the playground and did exactly what the teachers said. It was strictly enforced: no arguments, no questions. Even the youngest child had to know it. Those drills made us very obedient children.

They began issuing gas masks before the war. They were worn over the head and face and had a little window to let you see out. Part of drill involved wearing it for a few minutes. They were hot, sticky and smelly. We children had coloured ones, which we nicknamed, 鈥楳ickey Mouse鈥� masks. Thankfully they were never needed in earnest.

I can still remember my identity number: FHQA45/3. The numbers meant that people could be named and traced wherever they were. As children we wore a small cardboard disc around our necks with our number on it. Later you could get silver ones from the jewellers. All the girls wanted them as presents and eventually I got one of my own.

School wasn鈥檛 always so disciplined. There were lots of fun days and I enjoyed lessons. My favourites were music, drama and nature study (which was a simple type of Botany.) In the playground, after we had finished Drill, the girls played games such as 鈥淭he Big Ship鈥�, 鈥淚n and Out the Naughty Bluebells鈥� and 鈥淗op Scotch.鈥� (The boys played one called, 鈥淢ount Kitty鈥�, which was so rough the headmaster banned it!) Out-of-school games were different because they needed sides or teams. In the summertime we played such street games as 鈥淭-Alley-O鈥� 鈥淜icky Tin鈥� and 鈥淪troke a Bunny鈥� until as late as possible. Incidentally, don鈥檛 ask me why the bluebells were 鈥渘aughty鈥� because I can鈥檛 remember.

Part of the playground was taken over for the building of air raid shelters. Half above, half below ground they were covered with tons of earth to provide the maximum protection against bombs. They had no windows and smelled of dampness. A sort of portable loo inside a cubicle served nature鈥檚 requirements. They must have been pretty uninviting places for adults but we children thought it was fun when we stayed in them and had a lesson, even though the seats were made of hard wood and had no backrests. Sometimes we had a sort of picnic from the stores of emergency food there: plain biscuits, barley sugar sticks and possibly Lucozade from time to time.

The school was designated a Rest Centre i.e. a place where people could stay if they were bombed out of their homes. The entrance hall was used to store lots of blankets and mattresses. One day we arrived to find them in a great heap. When they were moved, a girl鈥檚 body was found underneath. She had been caught in the fall and suffocated. I think her name was Margaret. There was a lot of talk about it in the village and we all did a lot of crying.

Apart from pre-school children and pensioners, everyone was expected to 鈥榙o their bit鈥� for the war effort. At school we collected, cleaned and stored empty tins until they could be re-cycled. They went in with other kinds of scrap and turned into all manner of things, including aeroplanes. One summer there was an enormous crop of rose hips, which made Rose Hip syrup and medicines containing Vitamin C. The government paid schoolchildren up to six old pence (3p) per 14lbs (about 6 kilos) picked. It was hard work! The October holiday was introduced at that time so the older children could help with potato picking. The pay varied between 2 shillings and 6 pence and 10 shillings (12p and 50p) per DAY, depending on the farmer.

On the subject of recycling, I found out after the war that a large, storage depot-type building nearby had been used for that purpose. It was not, however, the usual sort of recycling. It was sited where the Ministry of Defence Spare Parts Depot stood for many years afterwards. It was guarded night and day by soldiers and had a gun battery, so I knew it was 鈥� to use wartime jargon - a very 鈥榟ush hush鈥� establishment. I believe that Lord Nuffield had something to do with it. I used to see wagonloads of scrap going by on the railway en route there.

Its official title was Metal Reclamation Unit No 2. Irrespective of nationality, all aircraft, which had crashed in the North of England, were taken there. The metals were separated and melted down ready for re-use.

Every civilian experienced shortages during WWII. The military had priority and that was that. To ensure fair distribution of what remained, the Government introduced rationing. Adults were the worst hit. Schoolchildren, (including myself) babies and pregnant women were entitled to extras from the Welfare Clinic. I remember getting orange juice and a delicious blackcurrant drink.

Most meat and fish was difficult to get. Sausages and tinned meat called SPAM (Special Processed American Meat) were available, but not much else. Eggs were rationed so my father kept some hens in the back garden. If they laid well he would give some to our neighbours, who were always grateful. As a family we were allowed four ounces (100 grams) of butter per week. Sometimes my father was given homemade butter from the farms when he delivered mail. I think he could have got into trouble for this if he had been caught. And my uncle Frank used to catch rabbits, which my mother made into pies and casseroles. I had to be cajoled into eating them because the sight of the dead rabbits, still with their fur on, upset me.

The shops only had apples and oranges in the summer and autumn. I did not see a banana until I was 7 鈥� and even then I wouldn鈥檛 eat it! We were allowed about 2 ounces (50 grams) of sweets per week. We used to buy them each Friday at Mrs. Carrigan鈥檚 shop with our sweet coupons and pocket money. She used to make us form a line before she began serving. The most dreadful thing to happen was to arrive at her shop on a Friday and find out there were no sweets that week.

In County Durham alone there were over 100 coalmines in those days, yet even IT was rationed. Most of the production went either to the armed forces (especially the Royal Navy) or factories. One of the biggest local factories was Dorman Long & Co (now Corus). We all had open fires and it was difficult to keep really warm in cold weather. To eke out the coal ration we used to collect small logs and branches from Quarry Wood and Cowley Moor Wood. At least pinewood and apple wood fires smelled much nicer than coal fires.

For most ordinary folk fashion became a thing of the past. Clothes, which otherwise would have been discarded, were swapped around, handed down, altered and repaired. Almost any kind of clothing did for school or play (but they were always kept clean.) Winter stockings for the girls were made of awful material called Lisle or knitted in the most horrible colours. They made our legs look all wrinkled (and even worse when they had to be darned or mended) but we had to wear them. However, most people did manage to have at least one dress, coat or pair of trousers (the 鈥榩osh鈥� clothes), which they kept for special occasions.

One such occasion was the wedding of my cousin, Renee. If anyone expected her to turn up in the kind of short, coloured dress a lot of wartime brides wore, they were in for a big surprise. Renee worked as a machinist in a parachute-making factory. Parachutes were made of white silk and the machinists used to take 鈥榬ejects鈥� home and turn them into things like underwear and nightdresses. With her wedding in sight, no need to ask what became of Renee鈥檚 鈥榬ejects鈥�. And she looked lovely.

As well as being the village postman, my father鈥檚 contribution to the war effort was to go out during air raids to look for incendiary bomb fires. If he found any he had to report them to Eaglescliffe Fire Station. This meant running all the way from the scene to the station. Fortunately we didn鈥檛 have many air raids, which resulted in our village being officially declared a 鈥楽afe Area鈥� i.e. one that could receive evacuees from urban areas like Sunderland and Newcastle upon Tyne.

One day my mother received a visit from a Requisition Officer, whose job was to find places for evacuees. Even though my baby sister had come into the world by this time we still had a spare bedroom, so two small boys came to stay with us. They were scared at first but the local children took them out to places like Trotters Pond to get frogspawn and crested newts (now a protected species) and taught them how to collect (and play) conkers. Sadly, on one occasion, two other evacuees went to the river without any local children, got into difficulties and drowned.

As a 鈥楽afe Area鈥� Eaglescliffe was also used for military training. Soldiers were billeted in the Preston & Eaglescliffe Social Club. To give them a bit of family life, my parents invited some of them to our house. There was Ronnie, Ossie and Walter. There was also the barrack鈥檚 cook, Archie. In the middle of the war, when just about everything was unobtainable, he made me a birthday cake with REAL icing. How I loved him for that! (Mind you, I think most of the ingredients were courtesy of the officers鈥� mess supplies.)

There was a special type of party - an Embarkation Party 鈥� common during the war. My family held one for my cousin, Jack. He had joined the navy and they wanted to give him a real send-off. The whole thing was organised by my grandma, whose skill at making a decent party from wartime rations was nothing short of magical. Cousin Jack eventually served in submarines. His parents would go for months without knowing where he was, but that was quite common then.

Aside from parties, keeping cheerful was especially important during the war. That was difficult at first because places like theatres, cinemas and swimming pools were closed. In the end there was nothing else to do but make our own entertainment. One memorable occasion was when my music and singing teacher, Mrs Soulsby, got us all together for a village pantomime (Cinderella.) We all dressed up and had a great time. It was staged in our school.

That school: what would we have done without it!

Another great source of entertainment, especially during autumn and winter, was the radio (or 鈥渨ireless鈥� as it was called then.) Tommy Handley鈥檚 show ITMA (It鈥檚 That Man Again) was a great favourite. For us there was 鈥淐hildren鈥檚 Hour鈥�, with hosts Uncle Mac and Auntie Violet, which went out from 5 p.m. to 6 p.m. (鈥淎untie Violet鈥� was none other than Violet Carson who played Ena Sharples in the long-running T.V. soap opera Coronation Street after the war.) As funny as these programmes often were, one of the most humorous moments we had during the whole war was not provided by a professional entertainer, but by my father鈥�

One day the soldiers staged a mock battle, with some of them dressed as Germans. Somehow my father hadn鈥檛 been warned and, consequently, thought we鈥檇 been invaded when he walked out of the post office - and straight into the arms of what he thought was a German officer! He nearly died of fright but (I鈥檓 sorry to say) all we could do was laugh and laugh.

In spite of the restrictions life simply went on. As well as being a gifted party organiser, my grandma was also good at finding places to go on holiday. The seaside was a no-go area since all the beaches were mined, so she found a holiday cottage at Wark on the edge of Kielder Forest. On another occasion we went to Arkengarth Dale in the North Pennines. For a day out we would go to Leven (in between Yarm and Thornaby.) We would splash around in the river and get ourselves dirty. These were our treats.

Grandma and Grandad lived in Felling, Gateshead. One night when we were staying with her an air raid took place. The targets were all across the river in Newcastle: railways and Manors Goods Station (which burned for three days due to the stocks of lard and sausages stored there.) The noise from the bombs and guns was terrifying; the sky turned red from the fires. The searchlights lit up everything and I could see aeroplanes in their glow. I got a similar fright when a big oil storage tank was set on fire during another air raid at I.C.I., Billingham.

My great aunt Annie lived near the river in Newcastle. One night a stray bomb landed on her house, killing her, her husband and her son, Andy. Four other relatives who lived next door were also killed. One of the dead girls was pregnant. Seven relatives who had been my mother鈥檚 aunts, uncles and cousins were gone in an instant. I knew something terrible had happened when the telegram arrived. I can still see my mother鈥檚 face as she read it. She cried and cried.

We had some scares in our part of the country, too. Very early in the war, (I think it was even before I started school) an airplane flew very low overhead. I was playing with a group of children in the street at that moment. I remember mothers rushing out of their houses screaming and grabbing their children off the street. After my memories were set down in the book, a Mrs Mary Pattinson, then aged 86, explained what had happened. She said that the aircraft had been in pursuit of a goods train (the railway ran parallel to our street.)

Later on another aircraft crash-landed in Snaith鈥檚 Field behind Yarm High Street. Whoever it was, he must have been a brilliant pilot, because he landed in the only green space in the whole length of Yarm, and doubtless saved many lives by his actions.

On another occasion my father arrived at Cowley Moor Farm to deliver mail and discovered everyone in a state of excitement. A bomb had fallen close to the farmhouse during an air raid the previous night but had failed to go off. When the bomb disposal people took a look they found the bomb had no detonator. Whichever worker slaving away in Hitler鈥檚 factories had done that certainly saved the lives of our friends. I just hope they were never caught. If they were鈥�

Cowley Moor Farm belonged to my friend鈥檚 father. A German prisoner of war called Hans was paroled to work there from the big camp in Norton. He was friendly and I never really thought of him as 鈥渢he enemy.鈥� He taught us how to leapfrog over bales of hay. The farmer liked him too and once gave him of a packet of cigarettes. When the officer in charge found out, however, he was forbidden to receive any more gifts.

By now it was 1945. I would soon be ten. We knew the war would be won. In May news came through on the radio that the European war really WAS finished. On hearing this, my mother hung a union jack flag from our bedroom window. Many others did the same thing.

A fancy dress parade and street party was organised for the whole village. Jelly and cake appeared from nowhere. After dark, Mr Allen turned all the street lamps back on; the hated 鈥淏lackout鈥� was over! We had a big bonfire, complete with guys (which looked suspiciously like Hitler, Goebbels and Goering). We danced in the street to the music of Mrs Winter, who had dragged her piano outside. No one told the children to go to bed; we stayed out until we fell asleep on our feet.

Peace at last.

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