World War 2 Memories of an Ulster Childhood
Setting the Scene
Northern Ireland or Ulster, as it is more commonly called, although three of Ulster's nine counties are in the Irish Republic, had a unique position during World War 2. It was the only part of the UK that had a land boundary with another country, Eire or the Irish Free State. Neither part of Ireland had conscription but young men and women from both parts flocked to join the British forces. Indeed at least three of the British Generals, later to become Field Marshals, were of Irish stock.
Northern Ireland played a very important role in the Allies' cause. Londonderry was a main base for the Battle of the Atlantic with Royal Navy, US Navy and Royal Canadian Navy war ships operating from there. Lower Lough Erne in Co Fermanagh was the RAF Coastal Command base for Sunderland and Catalina flying boats that hunted the predatory German U-boats as they tried to destroy the merchant ships on convoys from the US to Britain.
The government of Eire allowed the RAF an air corridor over Co Donegal so that using a direct route to the north Atlantic saved vital fuel. RAF aircrews that made emergency landings in neutral Eire were quietly slipped back over the border to Northern Ireland.
The nights of 7 until 16 April 1941 saw Belfast and surrounding districts suffer catastrophic air raids by Luftwaffe aircraft from bases in occupied Norway. Again Eire helped the Northern Ireland war effort by sending fire brigade units from Dublin, Drogheda and Dundalk.
The Irish/Ulster Game
People in Northern Ireland were subject to the same wartime restrictions as their cousins in the rest of the UK: rationing of essential items, the black out, identity cards, travel restrictions, etc.
However, Northern Ireland had one advantage over the rest of the UK. Its land boundary or border with Eire encouraged the Irish/Ulster game of smuggling. Trains going south to Dublin from Belfast had thin female passengers who returned looking as if they were in the family way. They were encased, below their outer garments, in parcels of tea, sugar, bacon and other items in short supply north of the border. At Christmas time the same female passengers went south childless and returned carrying young babies in shawls. The babies were turkeys or sides of delicious Irish ham.
The almost non-stop frequency of funerals crossing from south to north interested the customs officials in both jurisdictions, especially as the same mourners were always at every funeral. The cort猫ge was stopped and the coffin opened. No human corpse! The contents were items in short supply in the north.
Father to the Rescue
My parents were not among the well-to-do members of Northern Ireland society. In fact at the outbreak of the war my father's small wholesale grocery business suffered the effects of wartime restrictions and his income fell dramatically. But that did not prevent his providing for my mother and me. The weekly food ration was not sufficient for a growing child. Father's long brown gabardine raincoat with its deep pockets was an Aladdin's cave out of which would materialise every week extras such as country butter and grey duck eggs.
He was not a smuggler. He was a supplier of essential items to his family. On one occasion he was travelling home on the local bus. It was a cold wet winter's evening and the newspaper parcel on his knee was falling apart as a result of the soaking it had endured. Unknown to him one duck egg was peeping into the outside world. A policeman friend sat down beside him and asked the searching question,"Is that a pair of boots you have there?" Father replied in the affirmative. His friend's next question was a request for a similar pair. The next day the policeman received a dozen duck eggs.
Cigarettes were rationed and father was a heavy smoker. He could always find a source for his craving. One of our neighbours in our terrace of four houses was a heavy smoker, even more so than father, and the lack of an adequate supply was severely affecting his nerves. He would come to father and sit on the end of the couch in our tiny kitchen, twisting and rubbing his hands. Father always got him a supply at the proper retail price to calm him down. The black market of wartime was not father's way of helping a friend.
The Profiteer
Unfortunately not all grocers, whether retail of wholesale, were as honest. A few years after the end of the war a fellow grocer sent for father. The man had retired and was suffering the final stages of an incurable disease. His conscience was troubling him, as he knew he would soon meet his Maker. He wanted father to hear what he had done during the war.
He had sold country butter to the housewives in the little street of the Shankill and Falls roads. But he had not sold pure butter. To make an inflated profit he had mixed in lard and sold the mixture as pure country butter for which the housewives had paid the price in good faith for nourishing butter for their children. Father told him to speak with a minister of religion and left the bedside. He did not attend the funeral.
Here Come the Yanks
The war years were fascinating for a child. Near my home was a Royal Artillery post with two anti-aircraft guns. My friends and I often went to the post but the soldiers would not talk to us because they were on duty. The Royal Artillery left and in came the US army. What a difference. "Hi, kids. Have some candy. What do you call your sister?" was the order of the day, even if you did not have a sister.
A Paratrooper Warning
To save the population from Hitler's airborne onslaught the Government built air raid shelters in every corner of the UK. The one for our corner was in our back garden. One day the US army's two guns opened fire. A neighbour ran into our house and proclaimed that a German plane was overhead. My mother, never one to panic in an emergency, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and dashed for the shelter, immediately followed by the neighbour and her family.
Being a committed teetotaller, mother kept a small bottle of brandy for medicinal purposes only. She had the bottle with her in the shelter and insisted on giving everyone a sip. "Good for the heart," she coaxed. I was given a sip and my heart almost stopped.
Well, after a few minutes no more salvos were heard and all seemed quiet. Mother looked out cautiously round the shelter's blast wall to see if any German paratroopers were in the garden. Seeing none, she informed the gathering they could resume normal life and we left the shelter. A demolition gang knocked it down in January 1946.
Wartime Schooldays
I commenced school in August 1944. One of my memories is waiting for the school bus and seeing British army canvas topped lorries driving past with German prisoners of war sitting on bench seats and being guarded by one British Tommy. They were on their way to the local brick works. On Sunday afternoons I often saw a single file of twelve or fourteen German prisoners out for a walk with one diminutive British soldier, carrying a large rifle on his shoulder, as their guard. After the war many of those prisoners did not return to the part of their homeland in Russian occupation. They remained in Northern Ireland and became first class citizens.
Celebrations and Nylons
When the war in Europe ended in May 1945, mother and the neighbours thought they would demonstrate their thanks for a safe delivery from the Nazi war machine and, in some cases from the Americans, by making patriotic bunting to hang from road to hedge along our terrace houses. Although the Government derationalised some cloth, the enterprising bunting makers of our terrace did not have an adequate supply. From the design and shape of some of the bunting suspended in mid air, the passing populace realised the sacrifice of undergarments made by the terrace's matrons.
A victory bonfire was hastily built in a nearby field and we all went along to burn Hitler's effigy. The fire blazed up and sparks shot out in all directions. A young lady cried out in alarm, not for her own safety, but because a spark had landed on her nylon stockings. We children wondered why she was making such a fuss. The adults, especially our mothers, were whispering that the spark on her nylons served her right because at that time nylons were available only from the American servicemen. We children, even though we pestered our mothers, were never told why it served her right.
Celebrations and the Cardboard Ticket
All the schools in our town organised a victory celebration in the local football field. There were races and games. Best of all we each had a cardboard ticket, which entitled us to a mug of hot tea and a large nondescriptive bun. The adults serving this repast were so overwhelmed by the rush of children that they were unable to keep count of children in a direct ratio to the cardboard tickets. The more enterprising, including myself, benefited from this lack of accountability by having many extra refreshments.
The Cost
The war was over. The service men and women were coming home. Well, many were. Others would lie forever in some foreign field or sleep beneath the waves. One who did not come home was my first cousin, a Flying Officer in the RAF. But that is another story.
World War 2 Memories of an Ulster Childhood
Setting the Scene
Northern Ireland or Ulster, as it is more commonly called, although three of Ulster's nine counties are in the Irish Republic, had a unique position during World War 2. It was the only part of the UK that had a land boundary with another country, Eire or the Irish Free State. Neither part of Ireland had conscription but young men and women from both parts flocked to join the British forces. Indeed at least three of the British Generals, later to become Field Marshals, were of Irish stock.
Northern Ireland played a very important role in the Allies鈥 cause. Londonderry was a main base for the Battle of the Atlantic with Royal Navy, US Navy and Royal Canadian Navy war ships operating from there. Lower Lough Erne in Co Fermanagh was the RAF Coastal Command base for Sunderland and Catalina flying boats that hunted the predatory German U-boats as they tried to destroy the merchant ships on convoys from the US to Britain.
The government of Eire allowed the RAF an air corridor over Co Donegal so that using a direct route to the north Atlantic saved vital fuel. RAF aircrews that made emergency landings in neutral Eire were quietly slipped back over the border to Northern Ireland.
The nights of 7 until 16 April 1941 saw Belfast and surrounding districts suffer catastrophic air raids by Luftwaffe aircraft from bases in occupied Norway. Again Eire helped the Northern Ireland war effort by sending fire brigade units from Dublin, Drogheda and Dundalk.
The Irish/Ulster Game
People in Northern Ireland were subject to the same wartime restrictions as their cousins in the rest of the UK: rationing of essential items, the black out, identity cards, travel restrictions, etc.
However, Northern Ireland had one advantage over the rest of the UK. Its land boundary or border with Eire encouraged the Irish/Ulster game of smuggling. Trains going south to Dublin from Belfast had thin female passengers who returned looking as if they were in the family way. They were encased, below their outer garments, in parcels of tea, sugar, bacon and other items in short supply north of the border. At Christmas time the same female passengers went south childless and returned carrying young babies in shawls. The babies were turkeys or sides of delicious Irish ham.
The almost non-stop frequency of funerals crossing from south to north interested the customs officials in both jurisdictions, especially as the same mourners were always at every funeral. The cort猫ge was stopped and the coffin opened. No human corpse! The contents were items in short supply in the north.
Father to the Rescue
My parents were not among the well-to-do members of Northern Ireland society. In fact at the outbreak of the war my father鈥檚 small wholesale grocery business suffered the effects of wartime restrictions and his income fell dramatically. But that did not prevent his providing for my mother and me. The weekly food ration was not sufficient for a growing child. Father鈥檚 long brown gabardine raincoat with its deep pockets was an Aladdin鈥檚 cave out of which would materialise every week extras such as country butter and grey duck eggs.
He was not a smuggler. He was a supplier of essential items to his family. On one occasion he was travelling home on the local bus. It was a cold wet winter鈥檚 evening and the newspaper parcel on his knee was falling apart as a result of the soaking it had endured. Unknown to him one duck egg was peeping into the outside world. A policeman friend sat down beside him and asked the searching question, 鈥淚s that a pair of boots you have there?鈥 Father replied in the affirmative. His friend鈥檚 next question was a request for a similar pair. The next day the policeman received a dozen duck eggs.
Cigarettes were rationed and father was a heavy smoker. He could always find a source for his craving. One of our neighbours in our terrace of four houses was a heavy smoker, even more so than father, and the lack of an adequate supply was severely affecting his nerves. He would come to father and sit on the end of the couch in our tiny kitchen, twisting and rubbing his hands. Father always got him a supply at the proper retail price to calm him down. The black market of wartime was not father鈥檚 way of helping a friend.
The Profiteer
Unfortunately not all grocers, whether retail of wholesale, were as honest. A few years after the end of the war a fellow grocer sent for father. The man had retired and was suffering the final stages of an incurable disease. His conscience was troubling him, as he knew he would soon meet his Maker. He wanted father to hear what he had done during the war.
He had sold country butter to the housewives in the little street of the Shankill and Falls roads. But he had not sold pure butter. To make an inflated profit he had mixed in lard and sold the mixture as pure country butter for which the housewives had paid the price in good faith for nourishing butter for their children. Father told him to speak with a minister of religion and left the bedside. He did not attend the funeral.
Here Come the Yanks
The war years were fascinating for a child. Near my home was a Royal artillery post with two anti-aircraft guns. My friends and I often went to the post but the soldiers would not talk to us because they were on duty. The Royal Artillery left and in came the US army. What a difference. 鈥淗i, kids. Have some candy. What do you call your sister?鈥 was the order of the day, even if you did not have a sister.
A Paratrooper Warning
To save the population from Hitler鈥檚 airborne onslaught the Government built air raid shelters in every corner of the UK. The one for our corner was in our back garden. One day the US army鈥檚 two guns opened fire. A neighbour ran into our house and proclaimed that a German plane was overhead. My mother, never one to panic in an emergency, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and dashed for the shelter, immediately followed by the neighbour and her family.
Being a committed teetotaller, mother kept a small bottle of brandy for medicinal purposes only. She had the bottle with her in the shelter and insisted on giving everyone a sip. 鈥淕ood for the heart,鈥 she coaxed. I was given a sip and my heart almost stopped.
Well, after a few minutes no more salvos were heard and all seemed quiet. Mother looked out cautiously round the shelter鈥檚 blast wall to see if any German paratroopers were in the garden. Seeing none, she informed the gathering they could resume normal life and we left the shelter. A demolition gang knocked it down in January 1946.
Wartime Schooldays
I commenced school in August 1944. One of my memories is waiting for the school bus and seeing British army canvas topped lorries driving past with German prisoners of war sitting on bench seats and being guarded by one British Tommy. They were on their way to the local brick works. On Sunday afternoons I often saw a single file of twelve or fourteen German prisoners out for a walk with one diminutive British soldier, carrying a large rifle on his shoulder, as their guard. After the war many of those prisoners did not return to the part of their homeland in Russian occupation. They remained in Northern Ireland and became first class citizens.
Celebrations and Nylons
When the war in Europe ended in May 1945, mother and the neighbours thought they would demonstrate their thanks for a safe delivery from the Nazi war machine and, in some cases from the Americans, by making patriotic bunting to hang from road to hedge along our terrace houses. Although the Government derationalised some cloth, the enterprising bunting makers of our terrace did not have an adequate supply. From the design and shape of some of the bunting suspended in mid air, the passing populace realised the sacrifice of undergarments made by the terrace's matrons.
A victory bonfire was hastily built in a nearby field and we all went along to burn Hitler鈥檚 effigy. The fire blazed up and sparks shot out in all directions. A young lady cried out in alarm, not for her own safety, but because a spark had landed on her nylon stockings. We children wondered why she was making such a fuss. The adults, especially our mothers, were whispering that the spark on her nylons served her right because at that time nylons were available only from the American servicemen. We children, even though we pestered our mothers, were never told why it served her right.
Celebrations and the Cardboard Ticket
All the schools in our town organised a victory celebration in the local football field. There were races and games. Best of all we each had a cardboard ticket, which entitled us to a mug of hot tea and a large nondescriptive bun. The adults serving this repast were so overwhelmed by the rush of children that they were unable to keep count of children in a direct ratio to the cardboard tickets. The more enterprising, including myself, benefited from this lack of accountability by having many extra refreshments.
The Cost
The war was over. The service men and women were coming home. Well, many were. Others would lie forever in some foreign field or sleep beneath the waves. One who did not come home was my first cousin, a Flying Officer in the RAF. But that is another story.
World War 2 Memories of an Ulster Childhood
Setting the Scene
Northern Ireland or Ulster, as it is more commonly called, although three of Ulster's nine counties are in the Irish Republic, had a unique position during World War 2. It was the only part of the UK that had a land boundary with another country, Eire or the Irish Free State. Neither part of Ireland had conscription but young men and women from both parts flocked to join the British forces. Indeed at least three of the British Generals, later to become Field Marshals, were of Irish stock.
Northern Ireland played a very important role in the Allies鈥 cause. Londonderry was a main base for the Battle of the Atlantic with Royal Navy, US Navy and Royal Canadian Navy war ships operating from there. Lower Lough Erne in Co Fermanagh was the RAF Coastal Command base for Sunderland and Catalina flying boats that hunted the predatory German U-boats as they tried to destroy the merchant ships on convoys from the US to Britain.
The government of Eire allowed the RAF an air corridor over Co Donegal so that using a direct route to the north Atlantic saved vital fuel. RAF aircrews that made emergency landings in neutral Eire were quietly slipped back over the border to Northern Ireland.
The nights of 7 until 16 April 1941 saw Belfast and surrounding districts suffer catastrophic air raids by Luftwaffe aircraft from bases in occupied Norway. Again Eire helped the Northern Ireland war effort by sending fire brigade units from Dublin, Drogheda and Dundalk.
The Irish/Ulster Game
People in Northern Ireland were subject to the same wartime restrictions as their cousins in the rest of the UK: rationing of essential items, the black out, identity cards, travel restrictions, etc.
However, Northern Ireland had one advantage over the rest of the UK. Its land boundary or border with Eire encouraged the Irish/Ulster game of smuggling. Trains going south to Dublin from Belfast had thin female passengers who returned looking as if they were in the family way. They were encased, below their outer garments, in parcels of tea, sugar, bacon and other items in short supply north of the border. At Christmas time the same female passengers went south childless and returned carrying young babies in shawls. The babies were turkeys or sides of delicious Irish ham.
2
The almost non-stop frequency of funerals crossing from south to north interested the customs officials in both jurisdictions, especially as the same mourners were always at every funeral. The cort猫ge was stopped and the coffin opened. No human corpse! The contents were items in short supply in the north.
Father to the Rescue
My parents were not among the well-to-do members of Northern Ireland society. In fact at the outbreak of the war my father鈥檚 small wholesale grocery business suffered the effects of wartime restrictions and his income fell dramatically. But that did not prevent his providing for my mother and me. The weekly food ration was not sufficient for a growing child. Father鈥檚 long brown gabardine raincoat with its deep pockets was an Aladdin鈥檚 cave out of which would materialise every week extras such as country butter and grey duck eggs.
He was not a smuggler. He was a supplier of essential items to his family. On one occasion he was travelling home on the local bus. It was a cold wet winter鈥檚 evening and the newspaper parcel on his knee was falling apart as a result of the soaking it had endured. Unknown to him one duck egg was peeping into the outside world. A policeman friend sat down beside him and asked the searching question, 鈥淚s that a pair of boots you have there?鈥 Father replied in the affirmative. His friend鈥檚 next question was a request for a similar pair. The next day the policeman received a dozen duck eggs.
Cigarettes were rationed and father was a heavy smoker. He could always find a source for his craving. One of our neighbours in our terrace of four houses was a heavy smoker, even more so than father, and the lack of an adequate supply was severely affecting his nerves. He would come to father and sit on the end of the couch in our tiny kitchen, twisting and rubbing his hands. Father always got him a supply at the proper retail price to calm him down. The black market of wartime was not father鈥檚 way of helping a friend.
The Profiteer
Unfortunately not all grocers, whether retail of wholesale, were as honest. A few years after the end of the war a fellow grocer sent for father. The man had retired and was suffering the final stages of an incurable disease. His conscience was troubling him, as he knew he would soon meet his Maker. He wanted father to hear what he had done during the war.
He had sold country butter to the housewives in the little street of the Shankill and Falls roads. But he had not sold pure butter. To make an inflated profit he had mixed in lard and sold the mixture as pure country butter for which the housewives had paid the price in good faith for nourishing butter for their children. Father told him to speak with a minister of religion and left the bedside. He did not attend the funeral.
3
Here Come the Yanks
The war years were fascinating for a child. Near my home was a Royal artillery post with two anti-aircraft guns. My friends and I often went to the post but the soldiers would not talk to us because they were on duty. The Royal Artillery left and in came the US army. What a difference. 鈥淗i, kids. Have some candy. What do you call your sister?鈥 was the order of the day, even if you did not have a sister.
A Paratrooper Warning
To save the population from Hitler鈥檚 airborne onslaught the Government built air raid shelters in every corner of the UK. The one for our corner was in our back garden. One day the US army鈥檚 two guns opened fire. A neighbour ran into our house and proclaimed that a German plane was overhead. My mother, never one to panic in an emergency, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and dashed for the shelter, immediately followed by the neighbour and her family.
Being a committed teetotaller, mother kept a small bottle of brandy for medicinal purposes only. She had the bottle with her in the shelter and insisted on giving everyone a sip. 鈥淕ood for the heart,鈥 she coaxed. I was given a sip and my heart almost stopped.
Well, after a few minutes no more salvos were heard and all seemed quiet. Mother looked out cautiously round the shelter鈥檚 blast wall to see if any German paratroopers were in the garden. Seeing none, she informed the gathering they could resume normal life and we left the shelter. A demolition gang knocked it down in January 1946.
Wartime Schooldays
I commenced school in August 1944. One of my memories is waiting for the school bus and seeing British army canvas topped lorries driving past with German prisoners of war sitting on bench seats and being guarded by one British Tommy. They were on their way to the local brick works. On Sunday afternoons I often saw a single file of twelve or fourteen German prisoners out for a walk with one diminutive British soldier, carrying a large rifle on his shoulder, as their guard. After the war many of those prisoners did not return to the part of their homeland in Russian occupation. They remained in Northern Ireland and became first class citizens.
Celebrations and Nylons
When the war in Europe ended in May 1945, mother and the neighbours thought they would demonstrate their thanks for a safe delivery from the Nazi war machine and, in some cases from the Americans, by making patriotic bunting to hang from road to hedge along our terrace houses. Although the Government derationalised some cloth, the enterprising bunting makers of our terrace did not have an adequate supply. From the design and shape of some of the bunting suspended in mid air, the passing populace realised the sacrifice of undergarments made by the terrace鈥檚 matrons.
4
A victory bonfire was hastily built in a nearby field and we all went along to burn Hitler鈥檚 effigy. The fire blazed up and sparks shot out in all directions. A young lady cried out in alarm, not for her own safety, but because a spark had landed on her nylon stockings. We children wondered why she was making such a fuss. The adults, especially our mothers, were whispering that the spark on her nylons served her right because at that time nylons were available only from the American servicemen. We children, even though we pestered our mothers, were never told why it served her right.
Celebrations and the Cardboard Ticket
All the schools in our town organised a victory celebration in the local football field. There were races and games. Best of all we each had a cardboard ticket, which entitled us to a mug of hot tea and a large nondescriptive bun. The adults serving this repast were so overwhelmed by the rush of children that they were unable to keep count of children in a direct ratio to the cardboard tickets. The more enterprising, including myself, benefited from this lack of accountability by having many extra refreshments.
The Cost
The war was over. The service men and women were coming home. Well, many were. Others would lie forever in some foreign field or sleep beneath the waves. One who did not come home was my first cousin, a Flying Officer in the RAF. But that is another story.
World War 2 Memories of an Ulster Childhood
Setting the Scene
Northern Ireland or Ulster, as it is more commonly called, although three of Ulster's nine counties are in the Irish Republic, had a unique position during World War 2. It was the only part of the UK that had a land boundary with another country, Eire or the Irish Free State. Neither part of Ireland had conscription but young men and women from both parts flocked to join the British forces. Indeed at least three of the British Generals, later to become Field Marshals, were of Irish stock.
Northern Ireland played a very important role in the Allies鈥 cause. Londonderry was a main base for the Battle of the Atlantic with Royal Navy, US Navy and Royal Canadian Navy war ships operating from there. Lower Lough Erne in Co Fermanagh was the RAF Coastal Command base for Sunderland and Catalina flying boats that hunted the predatory German U-boats as they tried to destroy the merchant ships on convoys from the US to Britain.
The government of Eire allowed the RAF an air corridor over Co Donegal so that using a direct route to the north Atlantic saved vital fuel. RAF aircrews that made emergency landings in neutral Eire were quietly slipped back over the border to Northern Ireland.
The nights of 7 until 16 April 1941 saw Belfast and surrounding districts suffer catastrophic air raids by Luftwaffe aircraft from bases in occupied Norway. Again Eire helped the Northern Ireland war effort by sending fire brigade units from Dublin, Drogheda and Dundalk.
The Irish/Ulster Game
People in Northern Ireland were subject to the same wartime restrictions as their cousins in the rest of the UK: rationing of essential items, the black out, identity cards, travel restrictions, etc.
However, Northern Ireland had one advantage over the rest of the UK. Its land boundary or border with Eire encouraged the Irish/Ulster game of smuggling. Trains going south to Dublin from Belfast had thin female passengers who returned looking as if they were in the family way. They were encased, below their outer garments, in parcels of tea, sugar, bacon and other items in short supply north of the border. At Christmas time the same female passengers went south childless and returned carrying young babies in shawls. The babies were turkeys or sides of delicious Irish ham.
2
The almost non-stop frequency of funerals crossing from south to north interested the customs officials in both jurisdictions, especially as the same mourners were always at every funeral. The cort猫ge was stopped and the coffin opened. No human corpse! The contents were items in short supply in the north.
Father to the Rescue
My parents were not among the well-to-do members of Northern Ireland society. In fact at the outbreak of the war my father鈥檚 small wholesale grocery business suffered the effects of wartime restrictions and his income fell dramatically. But that did not prevent his providing for my mother and me. The weekly food ration was not sufficient for a growing child. Father鈥檚 long brown gabardine raincoat with its deep pockets was an Aladdin鈥檚 cave out of which would materialise every week extras such as country butter and grey duck eggs.
He was not a smuggler. He was a supplier of essential items to his family. On one occasion he was travelling home on the local bus. It was a cold wet winter鈥檚 evening and the newspaper parcel on his knee was falling apart as a result of the soaking it had endured. Unknown to him one duck egg was peeping into the outside world. A policeman friend sat down beside him and asked the searching question, 鈥淚s that a pair of boots you have there?鈥 Father replied in the affirmative. His friend鈥檚 next question was a request for a similar pair. The next day the policeman received a dozen duck eggs.
Cigarettes were rationed and father was a heavy smoker. He could always find a source for his craving. One of our neighbours in our terrace of four houses was a heavy smoker, even more so than father, and the lack of an adequate supply was severely affecting his nerves. He would come to father and sit on the end of the couch in our tiny kitchen, twisting and rubbing his hands. Father always got him a supply at the proper retail price to calm him down. The black market of wartime was not father鈥檚 way of helping a friend.
The Profiteer
Unfortunately not all grocers, whether retail of wholesale, were as honest. A few years after the end of the war a fellow grocer sent for father. The man had retired and was suffering the final stages of an incurable disease. His conscience was troubling him, as he knew he would soon meet his Maker. He wanted father to hear what he had done during the war.
He had sold country butter to the housewives in the little street of the Shankill and Falls roads. But he had not sold pure butter. To make an inflated profit he had mixed in lard and sold the mixture as pure country butter for which the housewives had paid the price in good faith for nourishing butter for their children. Father told him to speak with a minister of religion and left the bedside. He did not attend the funeral.
3
Here Come the Yanks
The war years were fascinating for a child. Near my home was a Royal artillery post with two anti-aircraft guns. My friends and I often went to the post but the soldiers would not talk to us because they were on duty. The Royal Artillery left and in came the US army. What a difference. 鈥淗i, kids. Have some candy. What do you call your sister?鈥 was the order of the day, even if you did not have a sister.
A Paratrooper Warning
To save the population from Hitler鈥檚 airborne onslaught the Government built air raid shelters in every corner of the UK. The one for our corner was in our back garden. One day the US army鈥檚 two guns opened fire. A neighbour ran into our house and proclaimed that a German plane was overhead. My mother, never one to panic in an emergency, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and dashed for the shelter, immediately followed by the neighbour and her family.
Being a committed teetotaller, mother kept a small bottle of brandy for medicinal purposes only. She had the bottle with her in the shelter and insisted on giving everyone a sip. 鈥淕ood for the heart,鈥 she coaxed. I was given a sip and my heart almost stopped.
Well, after a few minutes no more salvos were heard and all seemed quiet. Mother looked out cautiously round the shelter鈥檚 blast wall to see if any German paratroopers were in the garden. Seeing none, she informed the gathering they could resume normal life and we left the shelter. A demolition gang knocked it down in January 1946.
Wartime Schooldays
I commenced school in August 1944. One of my memories is waiting for the school bus and seeing British army canvas topped lorries driving past with German prisoners of war sitting on bench seats and being guarded by one British Tommy. They were on their way to the local brick works. On Sunday afternoons I often saw a single file of twelve or fourteen German prisoners out for a walk with one diminutive British soldier, carrying a large rifle on his shoulder, as their guard. After the war many of those prisoners did not return to the part of their homeland in Russian occupation. They remained in Northern Ireland and became first class citizens.
Celebrations and Nylons
When the war in Europe ended in May 1945, mother and the neighbours thought they would demonstrate their thanks for a safe delivery from the Nazi war machine and, in some cases from the Americans, by making patriotic bunting to hang from road to hedge along our terrace houses. Although the Government derationalised some cloth, the enterprising bunting makers of our terrace did not have an adequate supply. From the design and shape of some of the bunting suspended in mid air, the passing populace realised the sacrifice of undergarments made by the terrace鈥檚 matrons.
4
A victory bonfire was hastily built in a nearby field and we all went along to burn Hitler鈥檚 effigy. The fire blazed up and sparks shot out in all directions. A young lady cried out in alarm, not for her own safety, but because a spark had landed on her nylon stockings. We children wondered why she was making such a fuss. The adults, especially our mothers, were whispering that the spark on her nylons served her right because at that time nylons were available only from the American servicemen. We children, even though we pestered our mothers, were never told why it served her right.
Celebrations and the Cardboard Ticket
All the schools in our town organised a victory celebration in the local football field. There were races and games. Best of all we each had a cardboard ticket, which entitled us to a mug of hot tea and a large nondescriptive bun. The adults serving this repast were so overwhelmed by the rush of children that they were unable to keep count of children in a direct ratio to the cardboard tickets. The more enterprising, including myself, benefited from this lack of accountability by having many extra refreshments.
The Cost
The war was over. The service men and women were coming home. Well, many were. Others would lie forever in some foreign field or sleep beneath the waves. One who did not come home was my first cousin, a Flying Officer in the RAF. But that is another story.
World War 2 Memories of an Ulster Childhood
Setting the Scene
Northern Ireland or Ulster, as it is more commonly called, although three of Ulster's nine counties are in the Irish Republic, had a unique position during World War 2. It was the only part of the UK that had a land boundary with another country, Eire or the Irish Free State. Neither part of Ireland had conscription but young men and women from both parts flocked to join the British forces. Indeed at least three of the British Generals, later to become Field Marshals, were of Irish stock.
Northern Ireland played a very important role in the Allies鈥 cause. Londonderry was a main base for the Battle of the Atlantic with Royal Navy, US Navy and Royal Canadian Navy war ships operating from there. Lower Lough Erne in Co Fermanagh was the RAF Coastal Command base for Sunderland and Catalina flying boats that hunted the predatory German U-boats as they tried to destroy the merchant ships on convoys from the US to Britain.
The government of Eire allowed the RAF an air corridor over Co Donegal so that using a direct route to the north Atlantic saved vital fuel. RAF aircrews that made emergency landings in neutral Eire were quietly slipped back over the border to Northern Ireland.
The nights of 7 until 16 April 1941 saw Belfast and surrounding districts suffer catastrophic air raids by Luftwaffe aircraft from bases in occupied Norway. Again Eire helped the Northern Ireland war effort by sending fire brigade units from Dublin, Drogheda and Dundalk.
The Irish/Ulster Game
People in Northern Ireland were subject to the same wartime restrictions as their cousins in the rest of the UK: rationing of essential items, the black out, identity cards, travel restrictions, etc.
However, Northern Ireland had one advantage over the rest of the UK. Its land boundary or border with Eire encouraged the Irish/Ulster game of smuggling. Trains going south to Dublin from Belfast had thin female passengers who returned looking as if they were in the family way. They were encased, below their outer garments, in parcels of tea, sugar, bacon and other items in short supply north of the border. At Christmas time the same female passengers went south childless and returned carrying young babies in shawls. The babies were turkeys or sides of delicious Irish ham.
2
The almost non-stop frequency of funerals crossing from south to north interested the customs officials in both jurisdictions, especially as the same mourners were always at every funeral. The cort猫ge was stopped and the coffin opened. No human corpse! The contents were items in short supply in the north.
Father to the Rescue
My parents were not among the well-to-do members of Northern Ireland society. In fact at the outbreak of the war my father鈥檚 small wholesale grocery business suffered the effects of wartime restrictions and his income fell dramatically. But that did not prevent his providing for my mother and me. The weekly food ration was not sufficient for a growing child. Father鈥檚 long brown gabardine raincoat with its deep pockets was an Aladdin鈥檚 cave out of which would materialise every week extras such as country butter and grey duck eggs.
He was not a smuggler. He was a supplier of essential items to his family. On one occasion he was travelling home on the local bus. It was a cold wet winter鈥檚 evening and the newspaper parcel on his knee was falling apart as a result of the soaking it had endured. Unknown to him one duck egg was peeping into the outside world. A policeman friend sat down beside him and asked the searching question, 鈥淚s that a pair of boots you have there?鈥 Father replied in the affirmative. His friend鈥檚 next question was a request for a similar pair. The next day the policeman received a dozen duck eggs.
Cigarettes were rationed and father was a heavy smoker. He could always find a source for his craving. One of our neighbours in our terrace of four houses was a heavy smoker, even more so than father, and the lack of an adequate supply was severely affecting his nerves. He would come to father and sit on the end of the couch in our tiny kitchen, twisting and rubbing his hands. Father always got him a supply at the proper retail price to calm him down. The black market of wartime was not father鈥檚 way of helping a friend.
The Profiteer
Unfortunately not all grocers, whether retail of wholesale, were as honest. A few years after the end of the war a fellow grocer sent for father. The man had retired and was suffering the final stages of an incurable disease. His conscience was troubling him, as he knew he would soon meet his Maker. He wanted father to hear what he had done during the war.
He had sold country butter to the housewives in the little street of the Shankill and Falls roads. But he had not sold pure butter. To make an inflated profit he had mixed in lard and sold the mixture as pure country butter for which the housewives had paid the price in good faith for nourishing butter for their children. Father told him to speak with a minister of religion and left the bedside. He did not attend the funeral.
3
Here Come the Yanks
The war years were fascinating for a child. Near my home was a Royal artillery post with two anti-aircraft guns. My friends and I often went to the post but the soldiers would not talk to us because they were on duty. The Royal Artillery left and in came the US army. What a difference. 鈥淗i, kids. Have some candy. What do you call your sister?鈥 was the order of the day, even if you did not have a sister.
A Paratrooper Warning
To save the population from Hitler鈥檚 airborne onslaught the Government built air raid shelters in every corner of the UK. The one for our corner was in our back garden. One day the US army鈥檚 two guns opened fire. A neighbour ran into our house and proclaimed that a German plane was overhead. My mother, never one to panic in an emergency, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and dashed for the shelter, immediately followed by the neighbour and her family.
Being a committed teetotaller, mother kept a small bottle of brandy for medicinal purposes only. She had the bottle with her in the shelter and insisted on giving everyone a sip. 鈥淕ood for the heart,鈥 she coaxed. I was given a sip and my heart almost stopped.
Well, after a few minutes no more salvos were heard and all seemed quiet. Mother looked out cautiously round the shelter鈥檚 blast wall to see if any German paratroopers were in the garden. Seeing none, she informed the gathering they could resume normal life and we left the shelter. A demolition gang knocked it down in January 1946.
Wartime Schooldays
I commenced school in August 1944. One of my memories is waiting for the school bus and seeing British army canvas topped lorries driving past with German prisoners of war sitting on bench seats and being guarded by one British Tommy. They were on their way to the local brick works. On Sunday afternoons I often saw a single file of twelve or fourteen German prisoners out for a walk with one diminutive British soldier, carrying a large rifle on his shoulder, as their guard. After the war many of those prisoners did not return to the part of their homeland in Russian occupation. They remained in Northern Ireland and became first class citizens.
Celebrations and Nylons
When the war in Europe ended in May 1945, mother and the neighbours thought they would demonstrate their thanks for a safe delivery from the Nazi war machine and, in some cases from the Americans, by making patriotic bunting to hang from road to hedge along our terrace houses. Although the Government derationalised some cloth, the enterprising bunting makers of our terrace did not have an adequate supply. From the design and shape of some of the bunting suspended in mid air, the passing populace realised the sacrifice of undergarments made by the terrace鈥檚 matrons.
4
A victory bonfire was hastily built in a nearby field and we all went along to burn Hitler鈥檚 effigy. The fire blazed up and sparks shot out in all directions. A young lady cried out in alarm, not for her own safety, but because a spark had landed on her nylon stockings. We children wondered why she was making such a fuss. The adults, especially our mothers, were whispering that the spark on her nylons served her right because at that time nylons were available only from the American servicemen. We children, even though we pestered our mothers, were never told why it served her right.
Celebrations and the Cardboard Ticket
All the schools in our town organised a victory celebration in the local football field. There were races and games. Best of all we each had a cardboard ticket, which entitled us to a mug of hot tea and a large nondescriptive bun. The adults serving this repast were so overwhelmed by the rush of children that they were unable to keep count of children in a direct ratio to the cardboard tickets. The more enterprising, including myself, benefited from this lack of accountability by having many extra refreshments.
The Cost
The war was over. The service men and women were coming home. Well, many were. Others would lie forever in some foreign field or sleep beneath the waves. One who did not come home was my first cousin, a Flying Officer in the RAF. But that is another story.
Wor5ld Ware 2 Memories of an Ulster Childhood
World War 2 Memories of an Ulster Childhood
Setting the Scene
Northern Ireland or Ulster, as it is more commonly called, although three of Ulster's nine counties are in the Irish Republic, had a unique position during World War 2. It was the only part of the UK that had a land boundary with another country, Eire or the Irish Free State. Neither part of Ireland had conscription but young men and women from both parts flocked to join the British forces. Indeed at least three of the British Generals, later to become Field Marshals, were of Irish stock.
Northern Ireland played a very important role in the Allies鈥 cause. Londonderry was a main base for the Battle of the Atlantic with Royal Navy, US Navy and Royal Canadian Navy war ships operating from there. Lower Lough Erne in Co Fermanagh was the RAF Coastal Command base for Sunderland and Catalina flying boats that hunted the predatory German U-boats as they tried to destroy the merchant ships on convoys from the US to Britain.
The government of Eire allowed the RAF an air corridor over Co Donegal so that using a direct route to the north Atlantic saved vital fuel. RAF aircrews that made emergency landings in neutral Eire were quietly slipped back over the border to Northern Ireland.
The nights of 7 until 16 April 1941 saw Belfast and surrounding districts suffer catastrophic air raids by Luftwaffe aircraft from bases in occupied Norway. Again Eire helped the Northern Ireland war effort by sending fire brigade units from Dublin, Drogheda and Dundalk.
The Irish/Ulster Game
People in Northern Ireland were subject to the same wartime restrictions as their cousins in the rest of the UK: rationing of essential items, the black out, identity cards, travel restrictions, etc.
However, Northern Ireland had one advantage over the rest of the UK. Its land boundary or border with Eire encouraged the Irish/Ulster game of smuggling. Trains going south to Dublin from Belfast had thin female passengers who returned looking as if they were in the family way. They were encased, below their outer garments, in parcels of tea, sugar, bacon and other items in short supply north of the border. At Christmas time the same female passengers went south childless and returned carrying young babies in shawls. The babies were turkeys or sides of delicious Irish ham.
The almost non-stop frequency of funerals crossing from south to north interested the customs officials in both jurisdictions, especially as the same mourners were always at every funeral. The cort猫ge was stopped and the coffin opened. No human corpse! The contents were items in short supply in the north.
Father to the Rescue
My parents were not among the well-to-do members of Northern Ireland society. In fact at the outbreak of the war my father鈥檚 small wholesale grocery business suffered the effects of wartime restrictions and his income fell dramatically. But that did not prevent his providing for my mother and me. The weekly food ration was not sufficient for a growing child. Father鈥檚 long brown gabardine raincoat with its deep pockets was an Aladdin鈥檚 cave out of which would materialise every week extras such as country butter and grey duck eggs.
He was not a smuggler. He was a supplier of essential items to his family. On one occasion he was travelling home on the local bus. It was a cold wet winter鈥檚 evening and the newspaper parcel on his knee was falling apart as a result of the soaking it had endured. Unknown to him one duck egg was peeping into the outside world. A policeman friend sat down beside him and asked the searching question, 鈥淚s that a pair of boots you have there?鈥 Father replied in the affirmative. His friend鈥檚 next question was a request for a similar pair. The next day the policeman received a dozen duck eggs.
Cigarettes were rationed and father was a heavy smoker. He could always find a source for his craving. One of our neighbours in our terrace of four houses was a heavy smoker, even more so than father, and the lack of an adequate supply was severely affecting his nerves. He would come to father and sit on the end of the couch in our tiny kitchen, twisting and rubbing his hands. Father always got him a supply at the proper retail price to calm him down. The black market of wartime was not father鈥檚 way of helping a friend.
The Profiteer
Unfortunately not all grocers, whether retail of wholesale, were as honest. A few years after the end of the war a fellow grocer sent for father. The man had retired and was suffering the final stages of an incurable disease. His conscience was troubling him, as he knew he would soon meet his Maker. He wanted father to hear what he had done during the war.
He had sold country butter to the housewives in the little street of the Shankill and Falls roads. But he had not sold pure butter. To make an inflated profit he had mixed in lard and sold the mixture as pure country butter for which the housewives had paid the price in good faith for nourishing butter for their children. Father told him to speak with a minister of religion and left the bedside. He did not attend the funeral.
Here Come the Yanks
The war years were fascinating for a child. Near my home was a Royal artillery post with two anti-aircraft guns. My friends and I often went to the post but the soldiers would not talk to us because they were on duty. The Royal Artillery left and in came the US army. What a difference. 鈥淗i, kids. Have some candy. What do you call your sister?鈥 was the order of the day, even if you did not have a sister.
A Paratrooper Warning
To save the population from Hitler鈥檚 airborne onslaught the Government built air raid shelters in every corner of the UK. The one for our corner was in our back garden. One day the US army鈥檚 two guns opened fire. A neighbour ran into our house and proclaimed that a German plane was overhead. My mother, never one to panic in an emergency, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and dashed for the shelter, immediately followed by the neighbour and her family.
Being a committed teetotaller, mother kept a small bottle of brandy for medicinal purposes only. She had the bottle with her in the shelter and insisted on giving everyone a sip. 鈥淕ood for the heart,鈥 she coaxed. I was given a sip and my heart almost stopped.
Well, after a few minutes no more salvos were heard and all seemed quiet. Mother looked out cautiously round the shelter鈥檚 blast wall to see if any German paratroopers were in the garden. Seeing none, she informed the gathering they could resume normal life and we left the shelter. A demolition gang knocked it down in January 1946.
Wartime Schooldays
I commenced school in August 1944. One of my memories is waiting for the school bus and seeing British army canvas topped lorries driving past with German prisoners of war sitting on bench seats and being guarded by one British Tommy. They were on their way to the local brick works. On Sunday afternoons I often saw a single file of twelve or fourteen German prisoners out for a walk with one diminutive British soldier, carrying a large rifle on his shoulder, as their guard. After the war many of those prisoners did not return to the part of their homeland in Russian occupation. They remained in Northern Ireland and became first class citizens.
Celebrations and Nylons
When the war in Europe ended in May 1945, mother and the neighbours thought they would demonstrate their thanks for a safe delivery from the Nazi war machine and, in some cases from the Americans, by making patriotic bunting to hang from road to hedge along our terrace houses. Although the Government derationalised some cloth, the enterprising bunting makers of our terrace did not have an adequate supply. From the design and shape of some of the bunting suspended in mid air, the passing populace realised the sacrifice of undergarments made by the terrace's matrons.
A victory bonfire was hastily built in a nearby field and we all went along to burn Hitler鈥檚 effigy. The fire blazed up and sparks shot out in all directions. A young lady cried out in alarm, not for her own safety, but because a spark had landed on her nylon stockings. We children wondered why she was making such a fuss. The adults, especially our mothers, were whispering that the spark on her nylons served her right because at that time nylons were available only from the American servicemen. We children, even though we pestered our mothers, were never told why it served her right.
Celebrations and the Cardboard Ticket
All the schools in our town organised a victory celebration in the local football field. There were races and games. Best of all we each had a cardboard ticket, which entitled us to a mug of hot tea and a large nondescriptive bun. The adults serving this repast were so overwhelmed by the rush of children that they were unable to keep count of children in a direct ratio to the cardboard tickets. The more enterprising, including myself, benefited from this lack of accountability by having many extra refreshments.
The Cost
The war was over. The service men and women were coming home. Well, many were. Others would lie forever in some foreign field or sleep beneath the waves. One who did not come home was my first cousin, a Flying Officer in the RAF. But that is another story.
World War 2 Memories of an Ulster Childhood
Setting the Scene
Northern Ireland or Ulster, as it is more commonly called, although three of Ulster's nine counties are in the Irish Republic, had a unique position during World War 2. It was the only part of the UK that had a land boundary with another country, Eire or the Irish Free State. Neither part of Ireland had conscription but young men and women from both parts flocked to join the British forces. Indeed at least three of the British Generals, later to become Field Marshals, were of Irish stock.
Northern Ireland played a very important role in the Allies鈥 cause. Londonderry was a main base for the Battle of the Atlantic with Royal Navy, US Navy and Royal Canadian Navy war ships operating from there. Lower Lough Erne in Co Fermanagh was the RAF Coastal Command base for Sunderland and Catalina flying boats that hunted the predatory German U-boats as they tried to destroy the merchant ships on convoys from the US to Britain.
The government of Eire allowed the RAF an air corridor over Co Donegal so that using a direct route to the north Atlantic saved vital fuel. RAF aircrews that made emergency landings in neutral Eire were quietly slipped back over the border to Northern Ireland.
The nights of 7 until 16 April 1941 saw Belfast and surrounding districts suffer catastrophic air raids by Luftwaffe aircraft from bases in occupied Norway. Again Eire helped the Northern Ireland war effort by sending fire brigade units from Dublin, Drogheda and Dundalk.
The Irish/Ulster Game
People in Northern Ireland were subject to the same wartime restrictions as their cousins in the rest of the UK: rationing of essential items, the black out, identity cards, travel restrictions, etc.
However, Northern Ireland had one advantage over the rest of the UK. Its land boundary or border with Eire encouraged the Irish/Ulster game of smuggling. Trains going south to Dublin from Belfast had thin female passengers who returned looking as if they were in the family way. They were encased, below their outer garments, in parcels of tea, sugar, bacon and other items in short supply north of the border. At Christmas time the same female passengers went south childless and returned carrying young babies in shawls. The babies were turkeys or sides of delicious Irish ham.
The almost non-stop frequency of funerals crossing from south to north interested the customs officials in both jurisdictions, especially as the same mourners were always at every funeral. The cort猫ge was stopped and the coffin opened. No human corpse! The contents were items in short supply in the north.
Father to the Rescue
My parents were not among the well-to-do members of Northern Ireland society. In fact at the outbreak of the war my father鈥檚 small wholesale grocery business suffered the effects of wartime restrictions and his income fell dramatically. But that did not prevent his providing for my mother and me. The weekly food ration was not sufficient for a growing child. Father鈥檚 long brown gabardine raincoat with its deep pockets was an Aladdin鈥檚 cave out of which would materialise every week extras such as country butter and grey duck eggs.
He was not a smuggler. He was a supplier of essential items to his family. On one occasion he was travelling home on the local bus. It was a cold wet winter鈥檚 evening and the newspaper parcel on his knee was falling apart as a result of the soaking it had endured. Unknown to him one duck egg was peeping into the outside world. A policeman friend sat down beside him and asked the searching question, 鈥淚s that a pair of boots you have there?鈥 Father replied in the affirmative. His friend鈥檚 next question was a request for a similar pair. The next day the policeman received a dozen duck eggs.
Cigarettes were rationed and father was a heavy smoker. He could always find a source for his craving. One of our neighbours in our terrace of four houses was a heavy smoker, even more so than father, and the lack of an adequate supply was severely affecting his nerves. He would come to father and sit on the end of the couch in our tiny kitchen, twisting and rubbing his hands. Father always got him a supply at the proper retail price to calm him down. The black market of wartime was not father鈥檚 way of helping a friend.
The Profiteer
Unfortunately not all grocers, whether retail of wholesale, were as honest. A few years after the end of the war a fellow grocer sent for father. The man had retired and was suffering the final stages of an incurable disease. His conscience was troubling him, as he knew he would soon meet his Maker. He wanted father to hear what he had done during the war.
He had sold country butter to the housewives in the little street of the Shankill and Falls roads. But he had not sold pure butter. To make an inflated profit he had mixed in lard and sold the mixture as pure country butter for which the housewives had paid the price in good faith for nourishing butter for their children. Father told him to speak with a minister of religion and left the bedside. He did not attend the funeral.
Here Come the Yanks
The war years were fascinating for a child. Near my home was a Royal artillery post with two anti-aircraft guns. My friends and I often went to the post but the soldiers would not talk to us because they were on duty. The Royal Artillery left and in came the US army. What a difference. 鈥淗i, kids. Have some candy. What do you call your sister?鈥 was the order of the day, even if you did not have a sister.
A Paratrooper Warning
To save the population from Hitler鈥檚 airborne onslaught the Government built air raid shelters in every corner of the UK. The one for our corner was in our back garden. One day the US army鈥檚 two guns opened fire. A neighbour ran into our house and proclaimed that a German plane was overhead. My mother, never one to panic in an emergency, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and dashed for the shelter, immediately followed by the neighbour and her family.
Being a committed teetotaller, mother kept a small bottle of brandy for medicinal purposes only. She had the bottle with her in the shelter and insisted on giving everyone a sip. 鈥淕ood for the heart,鈥 she coaxed. I was given a sip and my heart almost stopped.
Well, after a few minutes no more salvos were heard and all seemed quiet. Mother looked out cautiously round the shelter鈥檚 blast wall to see if any German paratroopers were in the garden. Seeing none, she informed the gathering they could resume normal life and we left the shelter. A demolition gang knocked it down in January 1946.
Wartime Schooldays
I commenced school in August 1944. One of my memories is waiting for the school bus and seeing British army canvas topped lorries driving past with German prisoners of war sitting on bench seats and being guarded by one British Tommy. They were on their way to the local brick works. On Sunday afternoons I often saw a single file of twelve or fourteen German prisoners out for a walk with one diminutive British soldier, carrying a large rifle on his shoulder, as their guard. After the war many of those prisoners did not return to the part of their homeland in Russian occupation. They remained in Northern Ireland and became first class citizens.
Celebrations and Nylons
When the war in Europe ended in May 1945, mother and the neighbours thought they would demonstrate their thanks for a safe delivery from the Nazi war machine and, in some cases from the Americans, by making patriotic bunting to hang from road to hedge along our terrace houses. Although the Government derationalised some cloth, the enterprising bunting makers of our terrace did not have an adequate supply. From the design and shape of some of the bunting suspended in mid air, the passing populace realised the sacrifice of undergarments made by the terrace's matrons.
A victory bonfire was hastily built in a nearby field and we all went along to burn Hitler鈥檚 effigy. The fire blazed up and sparks shot out in all directions. A young lady cried out in alarm, not for her own safety, but because a spark had landed on her nylon stockings. We children wondered why she was making such a fuss. The adults, especially our mothers, were whispering that the spark on her nylons served her right because at that time nylons were available only from the American servicemen. We children, even though we pestered our mothers, were never told why it served her right.
Celebrations and the Cardboard Ticket
All the schools in our town organised a victory celebration in the local football field. There were races and games. Best of all we each had a cardboard ticket, which entitled us to a mug of hot tea and a large nondescriptive bun. The adults serving this repast were so overwhelmed by the rush of children that they were unable to keep count of children in a direct ratio to the cardboard tickets. The more enterprising, including myself, benefited from this lack of accountability by having many extra refreshments.
The Cost
The war was over. The service men and women were coming home. Well, many were. Others would lie forever in some foreign field or sleep beneath the waves. One who did not come home was my first cousin, a Flying Officer in the RAF. But that is another story.
World War 2 Memories of an Ulster Childhood
Setting the Scene
Northern Ireland or Ulster, as it is more commonly called, although three of Ulster's nine counties are in the Irish Republic, had a unique position during World War 2. It was the only part of the UK that had a land boundary with another country, Eire or the Irish Free State. Neither part of Ireland had conscription but young men and women from both parts flocked to join the British forces. Indeed at least three of the British Generals, later to become Field Marshals, were of Irish stock.
Northern Ireland played a very important role in the Allies鈥 cause. Londonderry was a main base for the Battle of the Atlantic with Royal Navy, US Navy and Royal Canadian Navy war ships operating from there. Lower Lough Erne in Co Fermanagh was the RAF Coastal Command base for Sunderland and Catalina flying boats that hunted the predatory German U-boats as they tried to destroy the merchant ships on convoys from the US to Britain.
The government of Eire allowed the RAF an air corridor over Co Donegal so that using a direct route to the north Atlantic saved vital fuel. RAF aircrews that made emergency landings in neutral Eire were quietly slipped back over the border to Northern Ireland.
The nights of 7 until 16 April 1941 saw Belfast and surrounding districts suffer catastrophic air raids by Luftwaffe aircraft from bases in occupied Norway. Again Eire helped the Northern Ireland war effort by sending fire brigade units from Dublin, Drogheda and Dundalk.
The Irish/Ulster Game
People in Northern Ireland were subject to the same wartime restrictions as their cousins in the rest of the UK: rationing of essential items, the black out, identity cards, travel restrictions, etc.
However, Northern Ireland had one advantage over the rest of the UK. Its land boundary or border with Eire encouraged the Irish/Ulster game of smuggling. Trains going south to Dublin from Belfast had thin female passengers who returned looking as if they were in the family way. They were encased, below their outer garments, in parcels of tea, sugar, bacon and other items in short supply north of the border. At Christmas time the same female passengers went south childless and returned carrying young babies in shawls. The babies were turkeys or sides of delicious Irish ham.
2
The almost non-stop frequency of funerals crossing from south to north interested the customs officials in both jurisdictions, especially as the same mourners were always at every funeral. The cort猫ge was stopped and the coffin opened. No human corpse! The contents were items in short supply in the north.
Father to the Rescue
My parents were not among the well-to-do members of Northern Ireland society. In fact at the outbreak of the war my father鈥檚 small wholesale grocery business suffered the effects of wartime restrictions and his income fell dramatically. But that did not prevent his providing for my mother and me. The weekly food ration was not sufficient for a growing child. Father鈥檚 long brown gabardine raincoat with its deep pockets was an Aladdin鈥檚 cave out of which would materialise every week extras such as country butter and grey duck eggs.
He was not a smuggler. He was a supplier of essential items to his family. On one occasion he was travelling home on the local bus. It was a cold wet winter鈥檚 evening and the newspaper parcel on his knee was falling apart as a result of the soaking it had endured. Unknown to him one duck egg was peeping into the outside world. A policeman friend sat down beside him and asked the searching question, 鈥淚s that a pair of boots you have there?鈥 Father replied in the affirmative. His friend鈥檚 next question was a request for a similar pair. The next day the policeman received a dozen duck eggs.
Cigarettes were rationed and father was a heavy smoker. He could always find a source for his craving. One of our neighbours in our terrace of four houses was a heavy smoker, even more so than father, and the lack of an adequate supply was severely affecting his nerves. He would come to father and sit on the end of the couch in our tiny kitchen, twisting and rubbing his hands. Father always got him a supply at the proper retail price to calm him down. The black market of wartime was not father鈥檚 way of helping a friend.
The Profiteer
Unfortunately not all grocers, whether retail of wholesale, were as honest. A few years after the end of the war a fellow grocer sent for father. The man had retired and was suffering the final stages of an incurable disease. His conscience was troubling him, as he knew he would soon meet his Maker. He wanted father to hear what he had done during the war.
He had sold country butter to the housewives in the little street of the Shankill and Falls roads. But he had not sold pure butter. To make an inflated profit he had mixed in lard and sold the mixture as pure country butter for which the housewives had paid the price in good faith for nourishing butter for their children. Father told him to speak with a minister of religion and left the bedside. He did not attend the funeral.
3
Here Come the Yanks
The war years were fascinating for a child. Near my home was a Royal artillery post with two anti-aircraft guns. My friends and I often went to the post but the soldiers would not talk to us because they were on duty. The Royal Artillery left and in came the US army. What a difference. 鈥淗i, kids. Have some candy. What do you call your sister?鈥 was the order of the day, even if you did not have a sister.
A Paratrooper Warning
To save the population from Hitler鈥檚 airborne onslaught the Government built air raid shelters in every corner of the UK. The one for our corner was in our back garden. One day the US army鈥檚 two guns opened fire. A neighbour ran into our house and proclaimed that a German plane was overhead. My mother, never one to panic in an emergency, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and dashed for the shelter, immediately followed by the neighbour and her family.
Being a committed teetotaller, mother kept a small bottle of brandy for medicinal purposes only. She had the bottle with her in the shelter and insisted on giving everyone a sip. 鈥淕ood for the heart,鈥 she coaxed. I was given a sip and my heart almost stopped.
Well, after a few minutes no more salvos were heard and all seemed quiet. Mother looked out cautiously round the shelter鈥檚 blast wall to see if any German paratroopers were in the garden. Seeing none, she informed the gathering they could resume normal life and we left the shelter. A demolition gang knocked it down in January 1946.
Wartime Schooldays
I commenced school in August 1944. One of my memories is waiting for the school bus and seeing British army canvas topped lorries driving past with German prisoners of war sitting on bench seats and being guarded by one British Tommy. They were on their way to the local brick works. On Sunday afternoons I often saw a single file of twelve or fourteen German prisoners out for a walk with one diminutive British soldier, carrying a large rifle on his shoulder, as their guard. After the war many of those prisoners did not return to the part of their homeland in Russian occupation. They remained in Northern Ireland and became first class citizens.
Celebrations and Nylons
When the war in Europe ended in May 1945, mother and the neighbours thought they would demonstrate their thanks for a safe delivery from the Nazi war machine and, in some cases from the Americans, by making patriotic bunting to hang from road to hedge along our terrace houses. Although the Government derationalised some cloth, the enterprising bunting makers of our terrace did not have an adequate supply. From the design and shape of some of the bunting suspended in mid air, the passing populace realised the sacrifice of undergarments made by the terrace鈥檚 matrons.
4
A victory bonfire was hastily built in a nearby field and we all went along to burn Hitler鈥檚 effigy. The fire blazed up and sparks shot out in all directions. A young lady cried out in alarm, not for her own safety, but because a spark had landed on her nylon stockings. We children wondered why she was making such a fuss. The adults, especially our mothers, were whispering that the spark on her nylons served her right because at that time nylons were available only from the American servicemen. We children, even though we pestered our mothers, were never told why it served her right.
Celebrations and the Cardboard Ticket
All the schools in our town organised a victory celebration in the local football field. There were races and games. Best of all we each had a cardboard ticket, which entitled us to a mug of hot tea and a large nondescriptive bun. The adults serving this repast were so overwhelmed by the rush of children that they were unable to keep count of children in a direct ratio to the cardboard tickets. The more enterprising, including myself, benefited from this lack of accountability by having many extra refreshments.
The Cost
The war was over. The service men and women were coming home. Well, many were. Others would lie forever in some foreign field or sleep beneath the waves. One who did not come home was my first cousin, a Flying Officer in the RAF. But that is another story.
World War 2 Memories of an Ulster Childhood
Setting the Scene
Northern Ireland or Ulster, as it is more commonly called, although three of Ulster's nine counties are in the Irish Republic, had a unique position during World War 2. It was the only part of the UK that had a land boundary with another country, Eire or the Irish Free State. Neither part of Ireland had conscription but young men and women from both parts flocked to join the British forces. Indeed at least three of the British Generals, later to become Field Marshals, were of Irish stock.
Northern Ireland played a very important role in the Allies鈥 cause. Londonderry was a main base for the Battle of the Atlantic with Royal Navy, US Navy and Royal Canadian Navy war ships operating from there. Lower Lough Erne in Co Fermanagh was the RAF Coastal Command base for Sunderland and Catalina flying boats that hunted the predatory German U-boats as they tried to destroy the merchant ships on convoys from the US to Britain.
The government of Eire allowed the RAF an air corridor over Co Donegal so that using a direct route to the north Atlantic saved vital fuel. RAF aircrews that made emergency landings in neutral Eire were quietly slipped back over the border to Northern Ireland.
The nights of 7 until 16 April 1941 saw Belfast and surrounding districts suffer catastrophic air raids by Luftwaffe aircraft from bases in occupied Norway. Again Eire helped the Northern Ireland war effort by sending fire brigade units from Dublin, Drogheda and Dundalk.
The Irish/Ulster Game
People in Northern Ireland were subject to the same wartime restrictions as their cousins in the rest of the UK: rationing of essential items, the black out, identity cards, travel restrictions, etc.
However, Northern Ireland had one advantage over the rest of the UK. Its land boundary or border with Eire encouraged the Irish/Ulster game of smuggling. Trains going south to Dublin from Belfast had thin female passengers who returned looking as if they were in the family way. They were encased, below their outer garments, in parcels of tea, sugar, bacon and other items in short supply north of the border. At Christmas time the same female passengers went south childless and returned carrying young babies in shawls. The babies were turkeys or sides of delicious Irish ham.
2
The almost non-stop frequency of funerals crossing from south to north interested the customs officials in both jurisdictions, especially as the same mourners were always at every funeral. The cort猫ge was stopped and the coffin opened. No human corpse! The contents were items in short supply in the north.
Father to the Rescue
My parents were not among the well-to-do members of Northern Ireland society. In fact at the outbreak of the war my father鈥檚 small wholesale grocery business suffered the effects of wartime restrictions and his income fell dramatically. But that did not prevent his providing for my mother and me. The weekly food ration was not sufficient for a growing child. Father鈥檚 long brown gabardine raincoat with its deep pockets was an Aladdin鈥檚 cave out of which would materialise every week extras such as country butter and grey duck eggs.
He was not a smuggler. He was a supplier of essential items to his family. On one occasion he was travelling home on the local bus. It was a cold wet winter鈥檚 evening and the newspaper parcel on his knee was falling apart as a result of the soaking it had endured. Unknown to him one duck egg was peeping into the outside world. A policeman friend sat down beside him and asked the searching question, 鈥淚s that a pair of boots you have there?鈥 Father replied in the affirmative. His friend鈥檚 next question was a request for a similar pair. The next day the policeman received a dozen duck eggs.
Cigarettes were rationed and father was a heavy smoker. He could always find a source for his craving. One of our neighbours in our terrace of four houses was a heavy smoker, even more so than father, and the lack of an adequate supply was severely affecting his nerves. He would come to father and sit on the end of the couch in our tiny kitchen, twisting and rubbing his hands. Father always got him a supply at the proper retail price to calm him down. The black market of wartime was not father鈥檚 way of helping a friend.
The Profiteer
Unfortunately not all grocers, whether retail of wholesale, were as honest. A few years after the end of the war a fellow grocer sent for father. The man had retired and was suffering the final stages of an incurable disease. His conscience was troubling him, as he knew he would soon meet his Maker. He wanted father to hear what he had done during the war.
He had sold country butter to the housewives in the little street of the Shankill and Falls roads. But he had not sold pure butter. To make an inflated profit he had mixed in lard and sold the mixture as pure country butter for which the housewives had paid the price in good faith for nourishing butter for their children. Father told him to speak with a minister of religion and left the bedside. He did not attend the funeral.
3
Here Come the Yanks
The war years were fascinating for a child. Near my home was a Royal artillery post with two anti-aircraft guns. My friends and I often went to the post but the soldiers would not talk to us because they were on duty. The Royal Artillery left and in came the US army. What a difference. 鈥淗i, kids. Have some candy. What do you call your sister?鈥 was the order of the day, even if you did not have a sister.
A Paratrooper Warning
To save the population from Hitler鈥檚 airborne onslaught the Government built air raid shelters in every corner of the UK. The one for our corner was in our back garden. One day the US army鈥檚 two guns opened fire. A neighbour ran into our house and proclaimed that a German plane was overhead. My mother, never one to panic in an emergency, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and dashed for the shelter, immediately followed by the neighbour and her family.
Being a committed teetotaller, mother kept a small bottle of brandy for medicinal purposes only. She had the bottle with her in the shelter and insisted on giving everyone a sip. 鈥淕ood for the heart,鈥 she coaxed. I was given a sip and my heart almost stopped.
Well, after a few minutes no more salvos were heard and all seemed quiet. Mother looked out cautiously round the shelter鈥檚 blast wall to see if any German paratroopers were in the garden. Seeing none, she informed the gathering they could resume normal life and we left the shelter. A demolition gang knocked it down in January 1946.
Wartime Schooldays
I commenced school in August 1944. One of my memories is waiting for the school bus and seeing British army canvas topped lorries driving past with German prisoners of war sitting on bench seats and being guarded by one British Tommy. They were on their way to the local brick works. On Sunday afternoons I often saw a single file of twelve or fourteen German prisoners out for a walk with one diminutive British soldier, carrying a large rifle on his shoulder, as their guard. After the war many of those prisoners did not return to the part of their homeland in Russian occupation. They remained in Northern Ireland and became first class citizens.
Celebrations and Nylons
When the war in Europe ended in May 1945, mother and the neighbours thought they would demonstrate their thanks for a safe delivery from the Nazi war machine and, in some cases from the Americans, by making patriotic bunting to hang from road to hedge along our terrace houses. Although the Government derationalised some cloth, the enterprising bunting makers of our terrace did not have an adequate supply. From the design and shape of some of the bunting suspended in mid air, the passing populace realised the sacrifice of undergarments made by the terrace鈥檚 matrons.
4
A victory bonfire was hastily built in a nearby field and we all went along to burn Hitler鈥檚 effigy. The fire blazed up and sparks shot out in all directions. A young lady cried out in alarm, not for her own safety, but because a spark had landed on her nylon stockings. We children wondered why she was making such a fuss. The adults, especially our mothers, were whispering that the spark on her nylons served her right because at that time nylons were available only from the American servicemen. We children, even though we pestered our mothers, were never told why it served her right.
Celebrations and the Cardboard Ticket
All the schools in our town organised a victory celebration in the local football field. There were races and games. Best of all we each had a cardboard ticket, which entitled us to a mug of hot tea and a large nondescriptive bun. The adults serving this repast were so overwhelmed by the rush of children that they were unable to keep count of children in a direct ratio to the cardboard tickets. The more enterprising, including myself, benefited from this lack of accountability by having many extra refreshments.
The Cost
The war was over. The service men and women were coming home. Well, many were. Others would lie forever in some foreign field or sleep beneath the waves. One who did not come home was my first cousin, a Flying Officer in the RAF. But that is another story.
World War 2 Memories of an Ulster Childhood
Setting the Scene
Northern Ireland or Ulster, as it is more commonly called, although three of Ulster's nine counties are in the Irish Republic, had a unique position during World War 2. It was the only part of the UK that had a land boundary with another country, Eire or the Irish Free State. Neither part of Ireland had conscription but young men and women from both parts flocked to join the British forces. Indeed at least three of the British Generals, later to become Field Marshals, were of Irish stock.
Northern Ireland played a very important role in the Allies鈥 cause. Londonderry was a main base for the Battle of the Atlantic with Royal Navy, US Navy and Royal Canadian Navy war ships operating from there. Lower Lough Erne in Co Fermanagh was the RAF Coastal Command base for Sunderland and Catalina flying boats that hunted the predatory German U-boats as they tried to destroy the merchant ships on convoys from the US to Britain.
The government of Eire allowed the RAF an air corridor over Co Donegal so that using a direct route to the north Atlantic saved vital fuel. RAF aircrews that made emergency landings in neutral Eire were quietly slipped back over the border to Northern Ireland.
The nights of 7 until 16 April 1941 saw Belfast and surrounding districts suffer catastrophic air raids by Luftwaffe aircraft from bases in occupied Norway. Again Eire helped the Northern Ireland war effort by sending fire brigade units from Dublin, Drogheda and Dundalk.
The Irish/Ulster Game
People in Northern Ireland were subject to the same wartime restrictions as their cousins in the rest of the UK: rationing of essential items, the black out, identity cards, travel restrictions, etc.
However, Northern Ireland had one advantage over the rest of the UK. Its land boundary or border with Eire encouraged the Irish/Ulster game of smuggling. Trains going south to Dublin from Belfast had thin female passengers who returned looking as if they were in the family way. They were encased, below their outer garments, in parcels of tea, sugar, bacon and other items in short supply north of the border. At Christmas time the same female passengers went south childless and returned carrying young babies in shawls. The babies were turkeys or sides of delicious Irish ham.
2
The almost non-stop frequency of funerals crossing from south to north interested the customs officials in both jurisdictions, especially as the same mourners were always at every funeral. The cort猫ge was stopped and the coffin opened. No human corpse! The contents were items in short supply in the north.
Father to the Rescue
My parents were not among the well-to-do members of Northern Ireland society. In fact at the outbreak of the war my father鈥檚 small wholesale grocery business suffered the effects of wartime restrictions and his income fell dramatically. But that did not prevent his providing for my mother and me. The weekly food ration was not sufficient for a growing child. Father鈥檚 long brown gabardine raincoat with its deep pockets was an Aladdin鈥檚 cave out of which would materialise every week extras such as country butter and grey duck eggs.
He was not a smuggler. He was a supplier of essential items to his family. On one occasion he was travelling home on the local bus. It was a cold wet winter鈥檚 evening and the newspaper parcel on his knee was falling apart as a result of the soaking it had endured. Unknown to him one duck egg was peeping into the outside world. A policeman friend sat down beside him and asked the searching question, 鈥淚s that a pair of boots you have there?鈥 Father replied in the affirmative. His friend鈥檚 next question was a request for a similar pair. The next day the policeman received a dozen duck eggs.
Cigarettes were rationed and father was a heavy smoker. He could always find a source for his craving. One of our neighbours in our terrace of four houses was a heavy smoker, even more so than father, and the lack of an adequate supply was severely affecting his nerves. He would come to father and sit on the end of the couch in our tiny kitchen, twisting and rubbing his hands. Father always got him a supply at the proper retail price to calm him down. The black market of wartime was not father鈥檚 way of helping a friend.
The Profiteer
Unfortunately not all grocers, whether retail of wholesale, were as honest. A few years after the end of the war a fellow grocer sent for father. The man had retired and was suffering the final stages of an incurable disease. His conscience was troubling him, as he knew he would soon meet his Maker. He wanted father to hear what he had done during the war.
He had sold country butter to the housewives in the little street of the Shankill and Falls roads. But he had not sold pure butter. To make an inflated profit he had mixed in lard and sold the mixture as pure country butter for which the housewives had paid the price in good faith for nourishing butter for their children. Father told him to speak with a minister of religion and left the bedside. He did not attend the funeral.
3
Here Come the Yanks
The war years were fascinating for a child. Near my home was a Royal artillery post with two anti-aircraft guns. My friends and I often went to the post but the soldiers would not talk to us because they were on duty. The Royal Artillery left and in came the US army. What a difference. 鈥淗i, kids. Have some candy. What do you call your sister?鈥 was the order of the day, even if you did not have a sister.
A Paratrooper Warning
To save the population from Hitler鈥檚 airborne onslaught the Government built air raid shelters in every corner of the UK. The one for our corner was in our back garden. One day the US army鈥檚 two guns opened fire. A neighbour ran into our house and proclaimed that a German plane was overhead. My mother, never one to panic in an emergency, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and dashed for the shelter, immediately followed by the neighbour and her family.
Being a committed teetotaller, mother kept a small bottle of brandy for medicinal purposes only. She had the bottle with her in the shelter and insisted on giving everyone a sip. 鈥淕ood for the heart,鈥 she coaxed. I was given a sip and my heart almost stopped.
Well, after a few minutes no more salvos were heard and all seemed quiet. Mother looked out cautiously round the shelter鈥檚 blast wall to see if any German paratroopers were in the garden. Seeing none, she informed the gathering they could resume normal life and we left the shelter. A demolition gang knocked it down in January 1946.
Wartime Schooldays
I commenced school in August 1944. One of my memories is waiting for the school bus and seeing British army canvas topped lorries driving past with German prisoners of war sitting on bench seats and being guarded by one British Tommy. They were on their way to the local brick works. On Sunday afternoons I often saw a single file of twelve or fourteen German prisoners out for a walk with one diminutive British soldier, carrying a large rifle on his shoulder, as their guard. After the war many of those prisoners did not return to the part of their homeland in Russian occupation. They remained in Northern Ireland and became first class citizens.
Celebrations and Nylons
When the war in Europe ended in May 1945, mother and the neighbours thought they would demonstrate their thanks for a safe delivery from the Nazi war machine and, in some cases from the Americans, by making patriotic bunting to hang from road to hedge along our terrace houses. Although the Government derationalised some cloth, the enterprising bunting makers of our terrace did not have an adequate supply. From the design and shape of some of the bunting suspended in mid air, the passing populace realised the sacrifice of undergarments made by the terrace鈥檚 matrons.
4
A victory bonfire was hastily built in a nearby field and we all went along to burn Hitler鈥檚 effigy. The fire blazed up and sparks shot out in all directions. A young lady cried out in alarm, not for her own safety, but because a spark had landed on her nylon stockings. We children wondered why she was making such a fuss. The adults, especially our mothers, were whispering that the spark on her nylons served her right because at that time nylons were available only from the American servicemen. We children, even though we pestered our mothers, were never told why it served her right.
Celebrations and the Cardboard Ticket
All the schools in our town organised a victory celebration in the local football field. There were races and games. Best of all we each had a cardboard ticket, which entitled us to a mug of hot tea and a large nondescriptive bun. The adults serving this repast were so overwhelmed by the rush of children that they were unable to keep count of children in a direct ratio to the cardboard tickets. The more enterprising, including myself, benefited from this lack of accountability by having many extra refreshments.
The Cost
The war was over. The service men and women were coming home. Well, many were. Others would lie forever in some foreign field or sleep beneath the waves. One who did not come home was my first cousin, a Flying Officer in the RAF. But that is another story.
Wor5ld Ware 2 Memories of an Ulster Childhood
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