My memories of events in the second world war are not only clear, but to those of us who spent our formative years during that time the importance of the war was a fact we recognised. This recognition is not a matter of being wise after the event: wartime life was such that one was influenced not only by one's personal experiences, but also by external influences, for example, the press,the wireless and the cinema.
In September 1939, I ,- a mere child,- with other members of our extended family, was evacuated to Tarbert, Argyll. I have only three, but perfectly clear, fragments of memory of that event. The first is of being aboard a Clyde steamer, which, I think, sailed from Wemyss Bay or Fairlie: the second is of one of the months' old children being wheeled in a pram up a steep hill: the third is of us returning home after only a few weeks away (Hitler having decided to postpone our obliteration awhile) in a train during the blackout.
Then as now, school was a dominating influence in our lives. During the war years, materials were in short supply. ( It is no exaggeration to say that no classroom could boast a decent box of crayons.) We learned to write and count by use of a slate and slate-pencil, whilst teacher, almost certain to be a confirmed spinster, dedicated to dinning the three Rs into her silent charges, (talking in class was almost a capital offence) stood by the blackboard , which had an abacus at its foot, tapping her foot in silent frustration as she awaited some bright spark to produce a correct answer.
The current controversy over the mmr vaccine reminds me of the smallpox vaccination all children had to undergo around 1942. No hoo-ha then. A mighty scratch on one's arm was followed by satisfaction from those who did not undergo the ordeal when the vaccination "took" i.e. a pronounced scab appeared over wound. All of us who were vaccinated bear the mark on our arms to this day. (Incidentally, shame on the Scottish media for referring to vaccination as a "jab." The proper Scots word is "jag." To jag means to prick with a sharp point, hence the nickname for Partick Thistle FC: the Jags. A jab is a short punch.)
Following D Day, we were asked to contribute towards a relief fund for the people of Caen in Normandy. Caen had been bombed very heavily by the Allies and much of it lay in ruins, with many of its inhabitants dead. Our resources were limited by shortages and rationing, but I recall my mother managing to give me two tins of cocoa (Fry's, in flat tins?) and something else which escapes me. The school's collection was deposited in the drill-hall for all to see before it was sent to our unfortunate and unknown friends in Caen. More than 50 years later I visited Caen and its Memorial Museum. Memories were rekindled and I thought of myself and my school friends clutching our precious little parcels which, I hope, got through to the refugees in far-off Normandy.
Recommended story
Story with photo