- Contributed by听
- Hitchin Museum
- People in story:听
- Beryl Hill
- Background to story:听
- Civilian
- Article ID:听
- A6370797
- Contributed on:听
- 24 October 2005
My father鈥檚 grief when he heard the declaration of war; he鈥檇 fought at the Battle of the Somme in the 鈥淲ar to end wars鈥.
The Home Guard: my father led his platoon through our moorland village: he had the only gun, a pistol: no bullets!
My mother lining all the curtains with black cotton 鈥 no chinks of light allowed.
The evacuees arriving from London 鈥 how apprehensive they looked.
My pride at having a latch-key on string round my neck when my mother was drafted into the factory.
Standing on top of our Anderson shelter watching the docks on the Manchester Ship Canal being bombed.
Our neighbour鈥檚 son arriving home from Dunkirk after waiting 24 hours, waist-deep in water, for a rescue ship.
The freezing winters- very little coal and no paraffin for the stove.
My delight when my mother produced a stuffed, roasted chicken for Christmas dinner and my tears when I saw the empty rabbit hutch 鈥 moral - never name an animal earmarked for the pot!
My mother鈥檚 successful chocolate sponge cake and the dire aftermath, she鈥檇 used liquid paraffin to replace the margarine.
Dried egg; it made very good eating, especially scrambled.
Very small newspapers - what a boon!
Cocoa and sugar mixed in a tobacco tin; you licked your finger, dipped it into the mixture and licked it again, unhealthy, but it spanned the gap between the infrequent sweet deliveries in the village store.
The Telegraph map pinned on the sitting room wall showing the position of the allied armies marked with coloured flags, as they advanced across Europe.
The complete horror when I saw the Pathe News reports in Belsen: I remember the total silence as their pictures flashes onto the screen at a packed village cinema.
The return of my cousin just after V.E. day from a Japanese prison camp; he was regrowing his finger nails after they had been removed because he had shown 鈥渓ack of respect鈥 to his captors.
The feeling of euphoria on V.E. day and the gradual realisation that, although it was over, the queues on Saturday morning at the shops seemed to grow longer; the winters seemed colder and peace became quite an endurance test!
But 鈥 my 鈥淣ew Look鈥 coat in 1948 was marvellous!
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