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.
I have no real recollection of the blitz. The Luftwaffe flattened Coventry, presumably while I slept. I was only about two or three. Strangely enough I do remember the air raid sirens. Perhaps they sounded them for victory. I don't know but I do recall hearing the sound.
We used to travel home to Leeds at least once a year and stay with Grandma and Granddad. Food was always plentiful at Airedale Cliff. Granddad had his own business, plenty of money and contacts for obtaining meat etc. Grandma's grandfather had been a pork butcher in York where she lived as a girl. Consequently she could get her hands on all porker supplied food - brawn and bacon etc. Mother let her have tea from our ration books. Grandma loved her cup of tea with sugar. We kids drank cocoa then, so there was tea to spare. I remember Grandma saying you could tell people who had been brought up during the first World War, like Mother. They didn't take sugar in their tea. The same thing applies to the Second World War to some extent, I have never taken sugar in tea or coffee.
I recollect travelling to Yorkshire by train, during the blackout. All the stations were pitch dark and I don't think there were sign boards identifying them. The station staff walked along the platforms calling out the name of the station. Again, we were lucky. Father wasn't only an expert on all things railway, he was positively obsessed, so there was little chance of us getting lost. He was often called on to help, by total dumbos who hadn't a clue where they were. He could even tell them which platform to head for to make their connection.
I remember arriving at Newlay* station in the pitch dark. The porter stood at the bottom of the steps with a tiny light to check tickets, and he helped us carry the gear up Polland Lane. It was quite an expedition when we travelled - four kids, a dog, pushchair and luggage. We looked as if we were heading off to the Amazon but everything always went smoothly. We were well trained. My elder brothers looked after the dog and the smaller bags, including the packed lunch. I don't think there was much in the way of refreshments to be had during the war.
The trains were packed with soldiers, sailors and land army girls. There were few people without uniforms. On that occasion even the dog had to walk up the lane as Dad piled the heavy luggage on the pushchair. Only stuff without legs was going on that buggy. We stumbled along in the dark, counting the gateways until we arrived at number three, but the smell of pipe tobacco reached us first. Granddad knew what time the trains were due and could hear it stop at the bottom of the hill. He was standing on the front steps.
I forgot to mention the gas masks. They had to be carried everywhere. There was the big one to put the baby in and the red and blue Mickey Mouse ones for us children. They were carried in a box slung round ones person. We must have all looked like the famous picture of Isambard Kingdom Brunel, except his box contained cigars, so I understand. The Mickey Mouse gas masks were never collected up after the war, so they became our toys to play with. Our toys were mostly hand made. We had homemade stuffed toys. I had Mothers dolls house, dolls tea set and her dolls. My dolls cot was made by Dad.
There were sandbags in the front porch for dealing with incendiaries and concrete tank traps alongside roads at strategic points. I know a large garden in Clevedon today which has tank traps as ornaments. Most of those were not collected up either. Grandma used to complain about the loss of the garden railings and gate - all taken for the war effort and as I understand it, never used for anything! The churchyard at home in Bedworth, suffered a similar loss.
Everywhere one went there was bomb damage; wrecked buildings sliced in half, and there would often be W.C pedestal hanging in space. This led my eldest brother Raymond to conclude that the safest place to be in an air raid, was on the carsey!
Slum clearance began after the war. Wrecked buildings and wide open spaces were a common sight, as were the prefabs being transported on lorries. Out in the countryside at Arbury, I recall being told that men working in the fields were German prisoners of war.
It's a Sunday afternoon in Spring. We are walking up the lane to the crossroads at (?) The banks are covered with wild flowers and soldiers lolling at their ease in the sunshine. On my left, tanks are towering high above me - lots of tanks, all the way up to the crossroads. Mum and Dad call good afternoon to the soldiers and receive replies and they are all smiling. In the grove of the trees there are army lorries and masses of military vehicles. As far as I can see up the road, and in surrounding streets, tanks, lorries and jeeps line up in the roads.
Years later I asked Mum about this memory. She didn't remember it herself but thought it must have been just before D-Day, June 1944 when everything was heading South to join the invasion fleet on the coast.
By Mary Louisa Bella Fox
22nd December 1939 - 11th January 2012
Newlay* - to be researched and confirmed.
Short but sweet, I wish it was longer.
RIP Auntie Mary, God bless you.