大象传媒

Life during the war was not easy for a child. We were either evacuated or left at home as products of one parent families, nearly all the Fathers were away in the forces. Many of us did not see our fathers for years. My Father joined the RAF, when I was three years old; he was sent to Canada with the School of Air navigation, so I did not see him again for four years. He used to send presents from Canada, which were the envy of the children at school, and My American Aunts and Uncles sent food parcels and the most impractical frilly dresses. My Sister and I were called the 鈥榩osh鈥� kids because we had smart coats and proper school hats which we had to wear when we were sent to church on Sunday, we were taunted mercilessly when we walked passed the local kids. As soon as we were out of sight of our house we would whip off the hated hats and stuff them into our pockets, till we went home.

Most Mothers worked during the war, which meant that we were the original 鈥榣atch key kids鈥�. Those children who could stay with Grandparents were lucky because they were often better off than the evacuees who were parted from their families. We all helped with the war effort however young we were. We collected tin, iron, foil bottle tops, all of which we were told went to make spitfires. We saved with National savings, either through school or the National savings club which sold national saving stamps on a weekly collection. There were posters all over the place with a horrible drawing of the 鈥楽quanderbug鈥�, a creature that filled me with terror. It had horrible teeth which were very pointed and looked very sharp! We ate carrots to improve our night-vision, that鈥檚 what the posters said they would do. I did a lot of the shopping for the family鈥檚 food. We were registered with the Grocer down the road and so it was really a matter of collecting the rations. I learned to keep an eye open for anything that was going from under the counter, and once managed to get a tin of custard powder, just so that I would not tell anyone else that the shop had any.

We had to do as we told for sometimes our lives might depend on it. Carrying gas masks at all times, hiding under the stairs at one school I went to, and under the table at home during a bombing raid. The sirens were terrifying. For me the night times were worse, bombing, which we almost got used to, but the searchlights which threw dark shadows round the room at night making the imagined patterns on the walls were worse. [I still cannot sleep with my bedroom curtains drawn] it always seemed so much better when I could lie in bed and watch the beams of light raking the sky for the enemy aircraft. Heavy bombers are a distinct sound, as are spitfires and hurricanes, etched on the memory as an everlasting mental image. The defending guns were very comforting; it meant that we were fighting back. First the large guns would start to boom followed by the sharp retorts of the bofors guns. I don鈥檛 know how we ever managed to sleep though that noise. I suppose that we got used to it. Despite our fears, we got on with life and enjoyed helping with all the things that had to be done to beat 鈥楯erry鈥�

We did not get much pocket money, and what we did get, we had to earn. I got paid 1d a jar for picking off caterpillars from the cabbages that my Grandpa used to grow. I used to drown them in the jar and then when I fed the chickens, I think that they got the caterpillars as extras. The rabbits were my special job, I had to feed and clean them and not mind when they went in the pot to make a stew. Some of the meals we had would be very strange to children of today. Breakfast might be plates of fried onions, or dried egg in a variety of ways. We had to eat what we were given or go hungry. When I was very young Grandma and I used to have winkles on Sundays for tea. We would pick them out of their shells with a large Victorian hat pin, they were a feast indeed. Then I asked her what winkles ate and after she told me 鈥渄ead Germans鈥� I refused to eat them ever again. Our family was very lucky because my Mother not only worked very hard but she was a wonderful cook. Our meals were given variety by home made brawn, soup, jellies from the juice of soft fruit that she used to bottle for the winter, eggs from our chickens, carefully rationed, to either my Sister or me, the adults in the house rarely got one. Excess from the Spring laid eggs were pickled in Isinglass for the Winter and were quite disgusting to eat. Meat from the many rabbits we kept made stews and broths. Nothing was ever wasted. Grandpa was a wonderful gardener and saved his seeds after every crop. Some children were far worse off than us, I remember one little girl from up the road, knocked the door and said that her Mother wanted to borrow some bread. 鈥淗ad we got any to spare?鈥� Mum gave her a couple of stale crusts. She was horrified to see the child sitting on the kerb eating the stale bread. Poor kid had had no other food all day so she said and that that was all she had got to eat.

There were very few toys to play with, Christmas brought a strange assortment of odds and ends. Everything we had was second hand, but Father Christmas always came and our bulging stockings always had some fruit and a sixpence in them. We had to go to school and Sunday School amid the air raids and because my Grandmother died and we were bombed out, my Sister and I spent three months in Formby until the bungalow was repaired enough for us to come home.

Living in the North was so different from living at home. My Aunt had no children and so was not really used to having them around. I remember a long walk to the farm every day to get the milk and potatoes. That was all we seemed to get to eat. People used to call out to Auntie, 鈥淗ow long have you got the kids for Nellie鈥� and when she answered 鈥渇or the duration鈥� my heart used to sink at the thought. We were all invited to tea at very large house; there were cakes with icing on. Trouble was we were eating tea in the garden and wild and fierce chickens kept stealing the cakes. I did not understand these semi-wild northern hens, they were spiteful. [The Hens at home were so docile]. The cockerel was nearly as big as me; Auntie was frightened of it so I had the job of feeding it. I really enjoyed my dinner the day we eat it, it made up for all the times I had been pecked.

Going home was wonderful, I have never been homesick in my life, but I was so glad to get back to my own school and family. The houses in the lane were all split in half because they had not yet been repaired after the bomb. VE day was a wonderful celebration as was VJ day. Street parties celebrated the end of what had really been a nightmare. When the streetlights came on again and our Fathers came home there were a lot of adjustments to make within all the families. Even though our Dad was really a complete stranger to us, we all settled down to family life just glad to be alive. Peace time meant quiet nights, no more dogfights in the sky, no more collecting silver paper from the garden which was dropped to foil the radar.
We moved away from Windsor a few years after the War, to live in the Countryside

My generation might have been deprived of a lot of things, but we did have freedom to be children. We were free to go anywhere with little adventures, hunting for spring flowers or holly depending on the time of year. My friend and I used to cycle up to the forest with our jam sandwiches, sit under a tree to eat them and then cycle home. We would write and perform our own plays in the back gardens, play hopscotch, skipping and other games which have now died out. We grew up in a tight and disciplined environment but I am very glad that I was a war time child, because we learned to appreciate the wonder of just being alive. I am always thankful for each day and always will be for the rest of my life

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