Memories of the Second World War

I am privileged to have in my possession a short autobiographical manuscript written by my late aunt. This is her story, not mine. They are her words, her voice, her memories.

I hope you enjoy it.

I have faint recollections of World War 2. The war began on schedule, Hitlers schedule, with the invasion of Poland in September 1939. I was born in December 1939 and five years old when it ended, so most of what I remember is the aftermath rather than the war itself. For example I remember rationing, but this went on for some years after the war ended.

    I remember that one had a green ration book until one reached five years old and school age. Then it was a blue book and at fourteen years old it was time to start work, become an adult and have a buff coloured ration book.

    How did it all work? - I hear you asking, or not as the case may be. I recall that families had to deal with the same store for groceries. The stores had their allocations for customers and you couldn't get things anywhere except where you had been registered. In our case it was Hunters Store, King Street, Bedworth (pronounced Beduth).

    Mother became best friends with Miss Fletcher, the manageress, and consequently spent hours getting served. There were chairs for the customers to sit on at the counters. Groceries were packed into a box and the delivery boy brought it on his bike in the evening. I can't think that everyone took that much time to do their shopping; they would all still be there now if they did!

    My little brother Alan, and I used to go out and wander. We'd look in shop windows, up alleyways and play in the courtyards behind the shops while this weekly ritual took place. We never crossed the road though; that would have been a crime worthy of garroting.

    Meat was bought from the butcher we had been allotted and registered with. For us, it was a shop at the bottom of the market place. It took even longer to get served there - a great queue out into the market. To this day, I still regard shopping as a necessity, not a pleasure. All this took place on Thursday afternoon. Here's the fun part, it all had to be done again on Saturday morning and we'd queue for hours to get the lard for the Sunday joint. There were no fridges so the butcher had to store it for us.

    For we children, the ration book was a status symbol. "I'm a big kid now I've got a blue ration book!"

    There were also books of coupons for clothes - not that there was much in the way of clothes to buy anyway. Our coupons were mainly used for shoes and things that had to be bought, like Dad's braces. Everything that could be made by Mum was done so - sewn or knitted. All my mates at school wore home produced clothes so we were all the same. Happy was the kid who had a trained tailor or seamstress in the family. Otherwise you could go around looking like you'd escaped from a Dickens novel or a passing jumble sale! I was lucky, I remember my little knitted skirts and jumpers - very smart! The woman next door used to copy the things Mum made me, for her daughter.

    I had knitted pixie hoods and my brothers had balaclava helmets. I remember Grandma bullying Granddad into sacrificing one of his, at least a dozen suits, and Mother cut it up and made two lumber jackets for Raymond and Roy, my big brothers. This was a new fashion which had just arrived from America, presumably with our gallant allies.

    I don't remember the Yanks much. I can't have been very impressed with them at the time and I haven't changed much since. I remember plodding home from a country walk once. We were walking through the park in Bedworth. Little brother, Alan was pushing the pushchair with the dog sitting in it. The dog, a Pekingese called Peggy, used to go on strike when she had walked far enough. She just sat down. Father had to carry her until the first baby arrived, then she travelled in the pram. This struck a couple of passing Yanks as highly hilarious. I couldn't think why, I was used to it.