大象传媒

I was interested in this site because I wanted to put into print what my parents told me and my brother about their time during the war.
My parents, Reg Sloan and Doris Hall, got married on December 30th 1939, because my father had been called up for service and they worked out that they would have at least 6 months before he had to leave.
They got married at Christ Church in Bootle and as was the fashion at the time, my mother wore a tailored suit in a dusky pale blue colour. For the first months of their married life, they rented a house in Knowsley Road, Bootle.
When he did join up, my father, was sent to Altcar Camp to do his training. A very fortunate posting as it was just up the road, virtually, from home.
My mother, in the meantime, had had to find another job from the one she had done before her marriage, that of a telephonist for the GPO. The GPO was part of the civil service and did not employ married women at the time.
I know that at some point my mother worked at the ROF (Royal Ordnance Factory)and also worked for an insurance company, because she used to talk about collecting from people and if she was out when an air-raid warning went up, and she was nowhere near home, she would have to know the nearest shelter to dive into for cover.
My dad got stationed for a time in the Isle of Man and because the bombing of the Liverpool area and in particular, the docks became so severe, my grandparents advised that my mum moved over to the island, for safety.
My mother, was at this time living back at home with her parents.
My mother always felt that Liverpool was widely over-looked when stories of 'the Blitz,' were told. She felt that, because of the position of our city and the part it played as an escape route for many, it had been a prime target for German bombs and the surrounding areas had suffered more than was realised.
My grandparents home and street, although set back some way from the river, was hit by a stray bomb which took out about six terraced houses and took the top off a few more. My grandfather was something of an artist and he kept his work in the attic. Needless to say, he lost all his artwork that night.
He was also something of a small time hero. My mum would proudly tell of the fact that during the Blitz of Liverpool, he was a tram driver.
No-one would expect anyone to continue driving their tram with bombs flying around, but my grandfather was made of sterner stuff and he made sure his tram was delivered to the end of the line, at the Pier Head, Liverpool and then walked all the way home, back to Bootle, which is no mean hike.
My mum rented a house on the Isle of Man and in due course, her sister-in-law Min moved over too, bringing with her, my mums two small nephews Kenneth and Stanley, the twins, whom my mother adored.
Whilst my dad did his soldiering, my mum kept some money coming in by making gloves,from home, by means of crochet, and then embroidering the backs. Knowing the fine work that my mother did, I wish I had a pair that she made, but alas no.They must have been lovely though, and she made 1s.6d. per pair, just. But at least it was an income.
My father served in Holland, Begium and Germany itself and I believe that he started off in the artillery.
He wasn't very good at marching, so he said and he had flat feet so he was eventually moved to the Catering Corps. A situation that suited him very well indeed.
As he pointed out though, it wasn't all beer and skittles in that area of the armed services, although he came out of the army, the same weight as he went in, a neat if stocky, 11stones.
He made us realise just how tough things were for soldiers in the Catering Corps., when he reminded us that they had to go ahead of the main troupe of soldiers, to dig a trench kitchen to feed them when they arrived.
When my brother and I were little, he would entertain us with his make-believe stories of how he helped to win the war by throwing buns at the Germans out of his tank.
When we got older he told us of his real experiences.
He told how, as part of the catering corps., he had to move ahead of the fighting to dig trenches to make a kitchen; how, one time when the fighting had stopped and the men where sitting on the edge of their bunkers, polishing boots etcetera, one guy must have touched a land mine or something but one minute he was there, there was an explosion and then a silence and he was gone.
Another recollection was of marching through some gates in Germany and as they passed the posts, he saw the dead body of the guard who moments earlier had been standing there; a single shot through his head. Apart from this, the thing that my father couldn't forget was the pristine condition of this soldiers uniform and his beautifully shiny boots.
My father was meticulous about his own appearance and so that was something he appreciated about others.
My father was a willing soldier when it came to fighting for the freedom of his country, but when it came to fighting per sae, he had something of a conscience.
Of his time spent in Germany, my father was rather vague about the actual area he was in, but I know he had direct contact with a German family and I think, perhaps, along with some colleagues, got to know them quite well.
I do know that he told how they had made him realise that, just like his family, they had had to let their beloved sons go and fight for their country, however reluctantly. They also agreed with my father that, given a choice he would prefer not to be fighting them.
From that time, until the day he died, he always had a soft spot in his heart for any German people.