Читать книгу Little Ann's Field of Buttercups - Ann Jacques - Страница 8

I was happy living at Grandma and Grandad’s. Auntie Betty also lived with us and often played games with me. I felt very close to her and loved her dearly. When she had free time from work and the weather was nice, she would take me to the park. Eventually, she met a young man from Wolverhampton who worked for British Thomas Houston. I still remember how thrilled she was when they met at a dance in the city. Sid became a regular visitor to our house as he began courting Betty. He was very charming and interesting.

The years that went by were full of many happy memories. Grandma would proudly bake all her own cakes on every occasion including my birthdays. On one particular occasion I remember Grandma lifted the cake out of its tin with such pride to be displayed in front of everyone. Out came her masterpiece, covered in holes round the edge of the cake, minus the little silver balls, glazed cherries and a manner of other edible decorations, all missing, obviously eaten!

‘By whom I wonder? Must be that invisible man again!’ Grandma exclaimed, looking rather embarrassed in front of my party guests and their mothers.

Whether I was punished or not I have no idea. However, after the initial shock I am sure it was the laugh of the day.

The news on the wireless was one of the highlights at dinner time. We also listened to Worker’s Playtime and a comedy show called ITMA (It’s That Man Again). The grown-ups laughed their heads off at the jokes. Of course, I didn’t understand them but I was amused listening to the laughter. This was until the one o’clock news began when there had to be no chatting. Grandma would shush us all. Sometimes we took no notice and continued chatting, but on one particular day we all fell extremely silent. What we heard was not good news. The Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, announced that Britain was at war with Germany. It was September 3 1939. The news was shocking. I was only four and didn’t really understand. Within days, young men were once again called to serve their country. By this time Betty and Sid were engaged. Sid eventually joined the RAF in 1940 and trained as a navigator.

England was no longer a safe place to live as we experienced aerial attacks from Germany. Windows were blacked out so enemy pilots could not identify any landmarks. It was very scary. Whenever a siren was heard it was a warning that enemy bombers were on their way and we had to head to an air-raid shelter. This could happen at any time, night or day. During the day we would go to the air-raid shelter in our area, however, during the night we often used the cold cellar under the house. We took some bedding, a flask and a paraffin lamp to enable us to see, drink and keep warm. People seemed to have a sixth sense about when it was safe to stay or safer to go to the shelter. In addition, an air-raid warden would tell you when it was safer to stay or go. Despite the warden’s advice to head to the shelter, it would often get very cold making people dread going out. After all, it was winter in England.

My first day of school was very traumatic—having to leave my safe environment with my gas mask in hand, saying goodbye to my mother and Grandma, meeting my teacher. Our gas masks had to be kept with us at all times. In the event of the siren going off, we would put them on and march in single file, out of the classroom, down the hall and into the cellar below the school. There we would stay until the all clear sounded and we would march back to the classroom and resume lessons. Luckily, it only happened a few times. I loved my Mickey Mouse gas mask with its red floppy nose. Looking back, it’s a bit strange that they made character gas masks. I suppose they were trying to encourage the children and lift their spirits.

One night the air-raid siren went off and we were ordered by the air-raid warden to go to the shelter. This was going to be a bad one, we were told—one that could last all night. This time they were right. I could hear very loud bangs similar to fireworks, which I don’t like. I remember every time a bomb dropped the adults would all stand up then sit down again—I never did understand why and still don’t. But despite all of this, we managed to cat nap on and off throughout the night.

Eventually they sounded the all clear and up the stairs we went to see that the street was beyond recognition. Nothing, only rubble, the house was gone. Just a load of broken bricks piled high. The whole street had suffered a direct hit. The officials reported that the enemy bombers were aiming for the railway station in the same area as our house. We were devastated. All we had left were the clothes we were wearing. I was wearing my siren suit with pyjamas underneath. Those who homes were in ruins, including us, were told by the officials to go to Bruiccianis, a restaurant in the city, where the staff and volunteers provided us with hot drinks and makeshift bedding. It truly is an amazing thing to experience the goodness of people when disasters happen. People really rally around and support each other, even strangers.

The men who worked for Grandad assumed we were all dead. Later in the day we went back to what remained of the house to see what we could salvage from under the bricks and rubble. We found a clock, a hide leather chair, a coffee table, Axminster rug, odd cups and pans, silverware and some other bits and pieces. While we were looking, one of Grandad’s workers suddenly appeared, looking bewildered. They were shocked and amazed to see us alive. We all hugged one another.

We were homeless for what seemed like forever but eventually my grandparents found a house to rent on Howard Road Leicester, not too far from where we lived before. All the family moved in and we began to rebuild our lives. The house was larger than the previous one, with a beautiful big apple tree in the middle of the lawn. Around the edge of the lawn was a border of beautiful flowers—sunflowers, lupins, wallflowers, bluebells and crocuses, to name a few. There were always birds chirping away in the tree. Nearby was the massive Victoria Park. It was really a much nicer area and nearer to the town centre. There was also a tram stop at the top of our street, which could be viewed from the front window. We settled into the new house nicely. I attended the nearby John the Baptist School where I made new friends and was very happy.

I loved living at Grandma and Grandad’s. On wash day, Monday, I helped Grandma turn the mangle. We’d lift the clothes from the dolly tub ringing wet and the rollers squeezed all the water out of them, ready to be hung on the line. Grandma also used a ‘blue bag’ to whiten the linen sheets, and starch for the men’s detachable shirt collars. A flat iron was heated up on the fire or gas stove. It must have taken hours to iron the Monday washing.

I remember Grandad in the scullery, smoking his pipe in his favourite chair beside the fire, listening to the wireless whilst Grandma prepared the midday meal in the kitchen. After Grandma finished doing the washing up, she went upstairs and refreshed herself. She would change into her best clothes and put on her rings and lipstick for the afternoon tea at four o’clock. Grandad and I waited for her in the front room. Grandad smoked his pipe and read the Daily Express newspaper. Grandma would sit with me on the settee and knit and we would chat away until Mrs Dale’s Diary came on the wireless. Mrs Dale was a country doctor’s wife. The program was on for a quarter of an hour every weekday afternoon. We had to be quiet whilst Mrs Dale was on. Normally, I would have to return to school after our midday lunch then come home at teatime to a lovely warm fire and my tea ready to be served. The greatest thing I remember about Grandma was her lovely dinners and homemade puddings. It was a lovely, secure feeling and I was very happy. I felt my life was perfect.

Christmases were lovely. I never received a lot of presents but loved the few I did have. I usually received books like Gulliver’s Travels, The Wind in the Willows and Enid Blyton books, which I loved reading. I also received colouring books and jigsaw puzzles. One Christmas I received a doll and pram. I played with them over Christmas then once the novelty wore off I never bothered with them again. My bike was a different matter. I loved riding it. My other favourites were my whip and top. I loved playing outdoors for hours with my friends—ball games, skipping, hopscotch, tick, and my all time favourite game hide-and-seek. There was never a shortage of fun and laughter.

I remember one Christmas when someone dressed up in a Santa suit with a long beard and red coat. The fake Santa came into my bedroom accompanied by a couple of giggling grown-ups, shushing one another, trying not to wake me. Santa then filled my Christmas pillowcase with presents. But unbeknown to them I was wide awake with my head partly under the pillow in case I giggled too. It was rather funny but also a little sad. Santa didn’t really exist after all and the make-believe world of my childhood came to a sudden end.

My mother gave birth on February 1 1941 to a son, John Anthony. It seems she was in a relationship although I have no recollection of this. John only found out who his father was when he was in his fifties. I was only six years old when he was born. From what I can recall, my little brother had big rosy cheeks, a great smile, and never seemed to cry as much as other babies.

In March 1942 Betty and Sid were married at St. John the Baptist Church in Clarendon Park Road. She was dressed in a simple suit and blouse, hat, gloves and a spray of flowers on her lapel. He wore a navy suit. We all thought it was a lovely service. Once home Grandma had organised a small reception complete with the wedding cake she made especially for the happy couple, making it a perfect day.

Grandma and Grandad refurbished two rooms in the attic for the newlyweds. When they returned from the honeymoon, we fell back into a routine. Every day, we all sat down at one o’clock for dinner— even the workers came home. I remember standing on the chair in the front room and looking through the bay window, waiting for their arrival. I would watch them get off the tram at the top of the street, then I would run into Grandma excitedly shouting, ‘they’re here, they’re here’.

Uncle Sid was discharged from the RAF in 1943 because his hearing was damaged by the noise of constant gunfire and bombing. He then took a job as a chief electrician. Uncle Sid and Auntie Betty had their first and only child—a little girl named Julia. We all continued to live together until Julia was two years old and Betty and Sid decided they wanted a home of their own. Having a young child running around was not easy with all of us in the house. Space was definitely going to be a problem if we all stayed together.

When the war finally ended in 1945, the whole street held a celebration party. A feast of sandwiches, jelly blancmange and cakes was spread on long tables decorated with Union Jack flags. We all wore party hats. Everyone was just so happy that the war was all over. People could now plan their futures. Gradually, life began to get back to normal. The blackout on the windows was taken down, streets became bright again and week by week the shops started to fill up with products we had not seen for years. I was ten years old and had never seen or tasted a banana, eggs or sweets. To the delight of the female population some types of clothing such as nylon stockings also appeared on the shelves.

Britain’s servicemen who served in the war were gradually demobbed. For many, it took a while to adjust to normal family life and to resume relationships. Being apart from their menfolk for six years or more put a huge strain on some families. Some managed to work through it successfully. Sadly, many ended up divorced or separated. Most kids did not even recognise their own fathers, often seeing them as strangers, sometimes rebelling and getting into trouble with the law. Many even joined the army as soon as they were old enough. For a great many of England’s newest war veterans, being home meant nightmares and sleeping problems. The trauma of war caused post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) for some however this condition was not properly diagnosed till years later. For some veterans, coming home meant lots of dancing, late-night parties and going to the cinema. They enjoyed life to the fullest, maybe more so because they were so happy to be away from the war and living their lives on the edge for so long.

There was a new trend for migration in the national papers with employers advertising for skilled people to work abroad. The salaries allured people, being significantly higher than those offered in England. There were also other benefits such as housing, which had become short in Britain. Jobs abroad interested many people including my uncle Sid who applied for one as an electrician. In 1948 he was accepted but unfortunately the position was in Durban, South Africa. It stunned the family, but we knew it was for the best. The long trip from Southampton to Durban took them twelve weeks. We missed them terribly.