THE KATES HILL PRESS, DUDLEY, ENGLAND

 

STORY OF THE WEEK, #5, AUTHOR: SYLVIA THOMAS

 

NOW AVAILABLE IN THE ANTHOLOGY “A POCKETFUL OF MEMORIES – WAR MEMORIES”

ISBN 978 1 904552 18 5. £3.00 plus 50p p&p from The Kates Hill Press.

 

MY WARTIME MEMORIES.

 

A few months ago my grandchildren were quizzing me on what happened to me and what were my experiences during the Second World War. My daughter was also listening and later suggested that I should write down all these experiences otherwise in years to come no one would ever know. Having thought it over, I decided it would not be a bad idea despite the fact that I am no author. This will not be a story of heroism or direct endurance under blitz conditions, but an ordinary recollection of an ordinary girl growing into womanhood under war conditions. Obviously I will be unable to cover the whole period in detail from 1939-1945, but will relate incidents that stand out in my memory. So here goes.

 

I was twelve and a half years old when war was declared but I can clearly recall the actual declaration. My parents, sister and Uncle Albert (a courtesy uncle) were together in the kitchen and the wireless as it was referred to then (now referred to as the radio) was on, when the announcement was made. After Mr. Chamberlain had finished, there was a stunned silence and I believe it was me who asked what would happen. I recall Uncle Albert saying that our newly acquired kitten (born the previous July) would have to go, which greatly upset my sister and I and our concern was principally about ‘Tibby’ the kitten. What Uncle Albert really meant was that there would not be enough food to feed the kitten. How wrong he was because ‘Tibby’ lived until 1951!

During the next few weeks it was rather quiet, my parents were busy preparing our cellar in readiness for any air raids, because having a cellar we did not qualify for an Anderson Air Raid Shelter. Around the cellar was a wide brick shelf in the shape of an ‘L’, standing about two feet from the floor. Dad boarded up the one end to hold the coal behind, this was nearest the street so that any further deliveries could be poured down the ‘coal hole’. Dad then cleaned the remainder of the ‘L’ shape shelf and then laid straw upon it. The ‘L’ was split which made two narrow beds and on these spaces he placed the feather beds brought down from our bedrooms. Bed linen and pillows completed the job and hey presto, two very comfy beds. The main drawback that made me detest these beds were spiders (which I loathed) and other damp loving insects. The floor of the cellar was covered with boards and placed on these were whatever rugs and mats that could be spared. There were also two chairs and a small table upon which was a supply of candles and a candleholder in the event of a cut in the electricity supply. This was to be our sanctuary for many months together with neighbours who lived in ‘cottages’ at the back of our house, who, in a very short time decided to stay in their Cottages and ignored the air raids.

Another precaution in the event of air raids was to try to prevent flying glass and this was achieved by putting sticky brown tape in patterns across the glass. Needless to say, many of these patterns took the form of the stripes in the national flag better known as the ‘Union Jack’. When the sticky tape became scarce, old lace curtains were used by immersing them in glue and then applied to the windows.

Ration books were issued for everyone, as were gas masks. I hated having to wear the latter because I felt so closed in; in fact, these were probably to blame in later years when I discovered I suffered from claustrophobia. The smell of rubber was horrible. These masks were issued in cardboard boxes which had to accompany you wherever you went and it was not long before home made covers were invented for these boxes to protect them from inclement weather and were made from whatever material was available, the most popular of which was leather with leather straps for carrying. We did not carry the gas masks around with us for the whole duration of wartime; we became rather blasé and soon left them at home.

Another result of wartime was the removal of all signposts. This was done in case of invasion to prevent invaders knowing where they were, or which way to go to any specific destination. This was very confusing to anyone unfamiliar with any district and to ask a passer-by for directions was treated with great suspicion because of the existence of what was termed ‘the Fifth Column’. This ‘Fifth Column’ apparently consisted of Nazi sympathizers (some smuggled in from Germany) who infiltrated anywhere where information could be gathered, hence the slogans that were invented ‘Careless talk costs lives’ and ‘Walls have ears

If, by any chance, you lived in a house that had spare bedrooms, you would find that the authorities would ‘billet’ people on you and you would not be able to avoid this ruling. The ‘billeted’ people could either be a member or members of the armed forces, or a member or members of Government Departments or a ‘Bevin’ boy or boys. The latter were men who were conscripted into working in the coal mines, a very worthy job which not nearly enough credit was given and many men were transferred miles away from their homes, hence the need to ‘billet’ them. Even if you were of the so-called ‘Upper class’ and owned a large house, quite often these were requisitioned for use by the armed services or as hospitals.

Paper was in short supply too, because wood for pulping had to be brought from abroad and only essential war supplies were transported by sea, which was extremely dangerous for both our Naval forces and the gallant men of our Merchant Navy, whose ships very often were without guns or any means of defending themselves. All paper was very carefully used, one way was to use ‘economy labels’, these were sticky labels to affix to used envelopes in order to use them again, I even saw an envelope that had eight labels on top of each other, so that envelope was certainly well used. As I was in the habit of writing to local lads in the forces giving them all the local news, naturally I grabbed any note-paper that I could get. Unfortunately after the war, I disposed of all the letters I received and bitterly regret it now, they would have told a story in themselves.

The hardest to bear was food rationing, particularly when foreign goods became either scarce or unavailable, such as bananas, oranges, Spanish onions, tinned salmon, tinned South African fruit and other such luxuries.

To give you some idea of the quantities we were allowed, I am listing below the amounts we were allocated.

 

WEEKLY FOOD RATION FOR AN ADULT.

 

Bacon and ham.                                     4 ozs.

Meat                                                      To the value of ls.2d. (Metric value 6p approx.) Sausages were not rationed, but were difficult to obtain. Offal was originally unrationed but sometimes formed part of the Meat ration.

Butter.                                                   2 ozs.

Cheese.                                                 2 ozs. — Sometimes it rose to 4 ozs. and even up to 8 ozs.

Margarine.                                             4 ozs.

Cooking fat.                                           4 ozs. — often dropping to 2 ozs.

Milk.                                                      3 pints — sometimes dropping to 2 pints.

Household (skimmed, dried)

Was available about 1 packet

every 4 weeks.

Sugar.                                                    8 ozs.

Preserves — Jam.                                  1 lb.

Tea.                                                       2 ozs.

Eggs.                                                     1 real egg a week if available, But at times dropping to 1 every

Two weeks.

Dried egg.                                              1 packet every 4 weeks.

Sweets.                                                  12 ozs. every 4 weeks.

 

In addition, there was a monthly points system:

16 points allowed you to buy one can of fish or meat or 2 lbs of dried fruit or 8 lbs of split peas.

Babies and younger children, expectant and nursing mothers, had concentrated orange juice and cod liver oil from Welfare Clinics together with “Priority Milk”. This milk was also available to invalids.

RECIPES making full and creative use of the weekly ration were published regularly by the Ministry of Food: “FOOD FACTS” in newspapers and magazines; the B.B.C. also Broadcast useful information on the morning radio programme “Kitchen Front”.

As far as sweets were concerned, what my mother did was to combine Dad’s, Pam’s, mine and her own ration together and then once a month she would purchase the whole amount and then dole out so many sweets per week to each of us and then there could be no arguing. Heaven knows what today’ s children would make of sweet rationing.

It was amazing the way we ‘made do’. English grown fruit was plentiful during their season, so plums, cherries, greengages, pears etc., were bottled for use when out of season. If you had enough sugar, then jam was made and kidney beans were set in rock salt in jars. Anything that could be preserved in any way was used. Luckily vegetables were never rationed and full use was made of them.

It was surprising what meals were conjured up in order to make the meagre ration of meat go round. If I remember correctly, offal was not on ration, so if you were lucky at your butchers, this could be obtained, or if you were luckier still, you might get a wild rabbit which was not on ration. Fish was not rationed either and I take my hat off to the fishermen who risked their lives to go to sea to bring back their hauls. A very good meal could be made with fish. Because all my family liked cheese, this was grated to make it last, it would replace meat or fish when we had a salad. Recipes were often issued by the Ministry of Food but I must admit we preferred to experiment ourselves, not that I did a lot of baking my mother and sister were the experts in that department. My mother, who worked as a Credit Cheque Agent and had many customers, found that a lot of her customers were running short of sugar. Our own shortage mainly consisted of tea, so quite often she would swap sugar for tea. In those days we all helped each other, when we had more of a product than we used, it would be swapped with someone for a commodity that we needed. A regular sight would be a queue outside a shop, then the word would go round as to what they had in stock and in no time these queues would lengthen until the retailer would run out of stock. Although bread was not rationed during wartime, I remember when I was a junior clerk in an office, one of the senior members would ask me to go and queue for a Harvo loaf, which was a fruit loaf.

Another thing we had to get used to was the ‘black out’. This took some doing, particularly on very dark moonless nights. What we did was to leave the premises wherever we were, then stand still until our eyes became accustomed to the dark before we moved. To assist us to differentiate between the pavement and the road, the authorities painted all the kerb edges white and believe me that was very helpful, although, of course, when it snowed this aid became ineffectual, but snow lightened all the surroundings, so basically on these occasions we needed no aid.

Listening to the wireless in the early days was very disheartening with the Nazis occupying one country after another. Always my reaction was sadness and to pray that the people of that particular country would be able to bear up under the occupation. However, my reaction was rather different when Norway was occupied. Somehow and there is no explanation for it, I have always felt an affinity with Norway and when they were occupied I cried and cried. I have, in recent years, visited Norway partly to try to discover why I feel so close to that country and partly to see its gaunt, but beautiful scenery. I still do not know why I feel the way I do, perhaps, who knows (?) it may lie in ancestry because my father hailed from Durham where the Vikings landed on the North East coast close by.

Meanwhile, until 1941, I was still attending school where there was little difference in the general day-to-day life. The air raid shelters for the school were a little distance from the actual building. We had to cross over the girls’ playground and then descend steps into what was commonly referred to as ‘the shrubbery’ where shelters had been erected. We hated going into the shelter (thankfully it was not often) because it was dark and damp and quite frankly, although it was reinforced, I doubt whether it would have survived a direct or even close hit by a bomb.

When clothes rationing came into force, the school authorities had to relax their ruling on school uniform. The main beneficiaries of this rule were new entrants because they did not have to obtain any uniform at all. My uniform lasted me right through school especially as I did not appear to increase in height at all. The only time that I was unable to conform was during the summer when I wore no socks because they took up precious coupons. Clothes were continually changing hands as they were outgrown. A little later after leaving school I became the recipient of many ‘hand downs’, some of which I was thrilled to have, but others I hated.

Basically, air raids did not dominate life around here until 1940 when the Luftwaffe decided the Midlands were suitable targets. Living only nine miles from the Birmingham area and six miles from the Wolverhampton area, we became accustomed to the wail of the siren, warning us of approaching air raids. At first, we obeyed almost to the letter, to take shelter, but I must admit that eventually the feeling was ‘Oh well, if I’m to be a victim let it happen where I am than in an uncomfortable shelter’. It was quite easy to recognize the slow and steady drone of the bombers and gradually it seemed that Dudley (where I live) was the point that the bombers used to turn about and take a straight run in to bomb the Birmingham area. This happened so regularly that I am now certain that this was so. I have often wondered if they took their bearings by using our ancient Castle, which stands out, and also ‘Top Church’ which has a spire that is easily recognizable even from miles away.

In November 1940, there was an horrific concentrated bombing on Coventry that resulted in the first fatal casualty of our local Fire Brigade. Mr. Rogers who was a local hairdresser, was a member of the Dudley Fire Brigade, which responded to the call for more Brigades to attend the Coventry bombing, was killed. He was a respected member of the community and the town mourned his death. I remember going with one of my cousins to see Coventry not long after the bombing and to see the Cathedral with all the rubble around it, with only the shell of the building remaining, really upset me and left a deep impression on me which still affects me. Although the new Cathedral now exists in Coventry alongside the shell of the old one, when I visit there I feel more reverence in the remains of the old Cathedral than in the new one.

Birmingham suffered many raids and I saw quite a lot of the damage caused and goodness knows how many lives were lost. I never saw London and its damage although I have been told that it was on a much greater scale than Birmingham.

Dudley, in a way, came through the bombing very lightly really. In the Oakham/Tividale area a landmine was dropped which caused extensive damage and there was loss of life although I cannot remember the figures. We believe that the target was intended to be ‘Big Bertha’ a gun emplacement situated quite close which we often heard booming out trying to bring down enemy aircraft. Whether they ever succeeded I have no knowledge. One night whilst sleeping in our cellar, I was awakened by a big bang. At the time I thought it was ‘Big Bertha’ but my father, who was a fire watcher during the night on the roof of ‘Peacocks’, a large store, informed us when he returned in the morning, that a bomb had been dropped by ‘Top Church’ and that all roads had been closed so there would be no school that day. I needed no second telling and was pleased to stay at home, but on reflection since, I am doubtful if the closed roads extended as far as my school. One remark by a neighbour upon learning of the bombing was that she knew it must have been a bomb because it nearly shook her out of bed! Considering that this lady was well endowed and that I had only thought it was ‘Big Bertha’ and that this lady slept down her cellar too, I feel there must have been some exaggeration there. The bomb actually fell on a Public House opposite the Church but luckily the occupants were with the Manager and his family at the Cinema next door. The Public House was gutted, but there was also a lot of damage to the Church, particularly the beautiful Altar window, which was an unusual one. Shrapnel chipped pieces of the stonework over a wide area of the Church and also to the Co­operative Emporium on the opposite side of the street. Naturally windows in the area suffered greatly. Bombs also fell at the rear of the ‘Workhouse’ that must have looked like a factory from the air, again little damage was done. The only other bombing that I can remember in Dudley occurred whilst I was staying with relatives in Warwick. My Uncle, who worked on the railway, came off night duty and said that he had heard that Dudley had been bombed during the night; you can imagine how I felt. Unlike today, when you can pick up the ‘phone to find out if everyone are fine, I had to wait until my mother found some way of letting me know they were all O.K. Apparently a factory in Pear Tree Lane had caught fire and by chance enemy aircraft passed over the area and took the opportunity to bomb it. If my memory serves me right, I believe that through natural curiosity, a crowd had assembled to watch the fire and the ensuing bombing which resulted in one death. I have remembered yet another instance with regards to bombing in this area, which was rather a tragedy. A Reception for a wedding was being held at ‘The Boat Inn’ in Tividale when it received a direct hit by a bomb and killed several people attending the Reception.

There was another occasion when Dudley was ‘bombed’ which caused me to feel a little apprehensive, but also caused some hilarity. The cat I referred to at the beginning always used to ignore the cellar during raids until this particular evening. The sirens had gone and as we had become so accustomed to raids, we did not go down the cellar but carried on as usual. I suddenly noticed that ‘Tibby’ was standing on the top step of the cellar and then proceeded to descend. I had heard that cats have a sixth sense where danger is concerned and it was then that I began to feel apprehensive. However, my father who had been standing in the street outside our front door suddenly came in yelling “They’re invading, there are parachutes coming down in the Eve Hill area, quick, Mum, help me to get the bath (a large zinc one) into the street and fill it with water”. How he expected a bath full of water to repel any invasion I don’t know and later when I thought it over, I had a good laugh. As it turned out, the ‘invaders with parachutes’ were incendiary bombs and water should never be used on these, sand was what was required.

I can’t recall any other incidents in the proximity of Dudley but perhaps those of my generation could recall others.

Obviously we became well acquainted with the sight of Navy, Khaki and Air Force blue uniforms. Also, sadly, we began to hear of local lads losing their lives whilst on active service. One of the earliest was while I was at school. Our History teacher, Mr. Clarke (Nobby he was affectionately known as to us children), joined the Royal Navy but lost his life at sea when his ship was torpedoed. This was a sad loss because he had been a very popular teacher. The only other teacher who did not return (at least to my knowledge) was Mr. Smith, (the Professor we called him because his whole appearance fitted the title). Miss Wilson, our Geography teacher told me in later years, when I met her in the street, that he had been attached to Intelligence, parachuted into Yugoslavia, but was never heard of again. How true this was I have never been able to discover. There were many names of killed or missing in action that were familiar to me, but only one whom I knew well because I had played with him, his sister and brother when we were younger. This was Jackie Kendall and I had only had a conversation with him a few weeks before he was killed. He was a member of the Parachute Regiment.

I left school in September 1941. Actually it was the second Anniversary of the outbreak of war. I went to work in a Solicitor’ s office as Junior Clerk and remained there until after the end of the war.

Not too long after I started work, one morning the Boss came into the Office and told us all to get our coats on and go down to the Cricket field, when we asked ‘Why?’ he told us that he had been told that the King and Queen were visiting Dudley but that it had to be kept secret. We duly made our way to the Cricket field where to our amazement there were crowds there, mostly school children. So much for it being secret! The King and Queen arrived and they came out on to the balcony of the Pavilion so that we could all see them. It certainly gave us all a boost.

When I was fifteen years old, I joined the Girls Training Corp in the hope that later I could enlist in the W.R.N.S., which sadly never materialized, principally because my parents would not sign the consent form, which was needed before I was eighteen. I thoroughly enjoyed my time with the G.T.C. and was trained in marching drill, aircraft recognition, map reading and other areas in preparation for joining the forces. All parades that were held in the town, we were invited to take part. I always enjoyed these, although on the ‘Wings for Victory’ parade, which was held on a particularly hot day, I nearly passed out. We had been lined up in Netherton for quite some time, standing in the hot sun, when I felt faint. I told my sergeant who was close by and she took me across the road in the shade where I sat on someone’s doorstep. The lady living there was watching the parade and she brought me a glass of water and after a little while I was able to rejoin the parade. We marched all the way from Netherton into Dudley, down Castle Hill to the sports ground where we were dismissed. By this time my face was a brilliant red and my fingers had swollen because of the heat.

I remember one ‘Red Letter Evening’ with the G.T.C. We were going to be inspected by the Area Commandant of the W.A.A.F.’s and other members of her entourage. Our Commanding Officer, Commandant E. Marianne Parry decided to arrange a meal at the Station Hotel for them, but also wanted to include two N.C.O’s and two ‘other ranks’ (Cadets) from our Company. The two Cadets were to be chosen by nominations and votes by the Company. I was lucky to be one of those chosen and if my memory serves me right, Margaret (whom I nicknamed ‘Pixie’ because she was so petite and had an elfin-like face) was the other Cadet chosen. This was, for me, a very big occasion as I had never been to an hotel for a seven course meal. I looked up everything I could with regards to etiquette, which piece of cutlery to pick up, when to stand and when to sit, when and when not to salute, when and when not to speak. I had to have permission to leave work early to give me time to get home and change into uniform. Although I was overawed by the occasion, I still managed to enjoy it and the meal. Later, after the inspection, the W.A.A.F. Area Commandant complimented the Company on their turn out.

I still have in my possession the shoulder flashes of the Girls Training Corps, 461, Dudley. Also the G.T.C. Service Edition book, two certificates acknowledging that I had passed the required standard for promotion to N.C.O., a one striper known as Assistant Section Leader and the Local Knowledge Test. There is also a newspaper cutting headed ‘Colours for Dudley G.T.C.’ describing the dedication and presentation of colours, and that the salute was taken by General Sir George Weir. My one regret is that I did not have a photograph taken of me in uniform, but somewhere among my collection of photos, I have a head and shoulders photo of Josie Rudd in uniform.

When I was about seventeen years old, the G.T.C. decided to devote one of their two evening meetings to social events. Originally we were supposed to invite the Sea Cadets, A.T.C. and Army Cadets, but the girls’ opinion was that they were only boys and too young! I think it was forgotten that we were only girls! As I had made the acquaintance of several members of the R.A.F. Air Crew Cadets who were receiving training at our local Technical College, many of whom were miles away from home, the decision was made that I should pass on an invitation to them. The response was tremendous, so a rendezvous was selected and as I appeared to be the only one who knew some of them, I had several Cadets with me and as the lads arrived, each Cadet would escort a party to the High School where our meetings were held, until the last one arrived. I think the greatest attraction for the R.A.F. lads was the fact that refreshments were to be provided. We all gave whatever refreshments we could manage to beg from home that proved to be quite a feast for the lads, especially as everything was free for them.

These social evenings were continued for quite a while and as each set of lads were posted elsewhere, they left information behind to let the next set of lads know. Many friendships were formed, but I only know of one that led to marriage and that was one of our Junior Officers.

Meanwhile, the war continued with its mixture of good news and bad. Air raids lessened and were taken over by the ‘Doodlebug’ and ‘Buzz bomb’ (the V1 and V2) which were pilot­less bombs. These had a limited range and it was the south of the country that suffered. The V1 and V2 must have been horrifying for those who were in their path, because they could be seen and heard, but as soon as the sound ceased, it would plummet down to earth causing havoc and destruction.

I remember an Aunt of mine who lived in Kent showing the scars on her body that was the result of a bomb being dropped in her garden, missing its target of the railway line which ran across the bottom of her garden, while she was making gravy in her kitchen. The injuries she received were due to flying glass that scarred her body and looked like veins on the leaf of a tree.

In those days, living in the Midlands, we had never experienced television; we relied principally upon the ‘wireless’. Special programmes were created during this time such as ‘Music while you work’, ‘Worker’s Playtime, ‘Forces Favourites’ and such like. These programmes were relayed throughout factories and places of work and it was found that music was particularly popular because everyone could sing along with it and it helped to keep up morale. ‘Worker’s Playtime’ was broadcast during the Workers’ lunch time and consisted not only of music but also comedy and any other form of entertainment suitable to the wireless. ‘Forces Favourites’ was mainly a choice of music from the forces themselves or their families and many ‘link-ups’ were made between them. Vera Lynn (now Dame Vera Lynn) became highly popular through this programmeandwasknownas’TheForcesSweetheart’. Ifmy memory serves me right, I believe that Petula Clark, when a little girl, broadcast a message to her father who was serving in India.

My father was involved in the musical side of entertainment provided. He was a member of Harry Pelt’s Orchestra from the Dudley Hippodrome and regularly broadcast in ‘Music while you work’ and ‘Worker’s Playtime’. This often involved my mother having to get up extremely early to assist my father to transport his instruments by rail to arrive in time for early broadcasts. It later enabled him to qualify for petrol ration to run a car. I well remember accompanying him to Warley Odeon for a Sunday night concert, during which, at 9o’clock, the concert was interrupted for a relayed broadcast of one of Winston Churchill’ s famous speeches. No matter what bad press has been given to Winston Churchill in later years, at that time he epitomized the true Bull Dog British spirit and certainly gave encouragement and heart to us all during the bad times of the war. He never glossed over what we could expect, e.g., ‘Blood, sweat, toil and tears’, but he always held up the light at the end of the dark tunnel, in other words, that we would succeed.

Talking of Dudley Hippodrome brings back memories of many good shows that took place despite the threat of air raids. Tommy Handley came with his show ‘I.T.M.A.’ (Its that man again) and I was very privileged to meet him and Jack Train (a man of many voices), also Sonny Jenks and Rene Williams. One show that I saw was ‘Skirts’, an all male cast of American Servicemen, in fact I still have the sheet music of the title song. It was put over extremely well with many of the men taking very good female parts.

Half way through the war, America entered the fray after Germany declared a state of war between the two countries. We were then ‘invaded’ by the ‘Yanks’ which did not go down too well with the lads of our own forces, in fact the phrase used by them was that the Americans were ‘Over paid, over sexed and over here’. Whether that phrase was used during the First World War or was coined in the Second World War, I do not know. I’m afraid I can’t write a lot about the Americans because I never went out with one. This was due to my mother telling me she would kill me if she saw me with one. However, despite my mother’s threat, I did meet one American who was extremely pleasant and courteous. The reason that I liked him was the fact that when he asked me to go out with him, I gave all the usual excuses that I was unable to do so, but he must have felt that there was more to it and asked me to give him the real reason. When I told him the truth that my mother had threatened me, he asked if he could accompany me home so that he could ask her direct if he could take me out, but I refused. I must admit that I was very impressed by his request instead of probably laughing at me or being derisory. His name was Howard Fremyan and later on I did, with a friend, arrange to meet him and his pal, but unfortunately my friend and I were late in arriving at the meeting place so I assumed that they had got fed up with waiting and had gone elsewhere. My friend decided to go to their base and if unable to see the lads, she was going to leave our apologies. She related to me the next day, that when she got there, the sentry on duty told her that all the men had been confined to base. Within twenty-four hours the base was deserted. We learned why later, they had gone to assemble in readiness for ‘D Day’. Howard was in Company ‘C’ and I later learned that this particular Company was nearly wiped out during the landings in Normandy. I often think about Howard and hope that he was one of the survivors, but I will never know.

In early 1945 I went into Wolverhampton with a friend shopping and eventually we decided to sit on a seat in the grounds of the Church in the main centre of the town to rest our feet. Two airmen joined us on the seat and we noticed the flashes on their shoulders read ‘Nederlands’ so we asked them how long they had been in England. Unfortunately their knowledge of our language was very limited, but we did manage to glean that their country had been liberated only six weeks previously and they had immediately volunteered for the Dutch Royal Air Force. They were so pleased to be in England and were eager to know all about the local buildings, so we explained those that we knew. It was a pity that the town was Wolverhampton instead of Dudley because we could have provided much more information about our local habitat. I admired these young men because they had wasted no time in volunteering to join the forces in the fight against Nazism.

The war continued with the Allies pressing forward into Europe, liberating large areas, but here, apart from rationing and shortages, we enjoyed life, the days of air raids were over when we lived only for the moment, not knowing whether we would be alive the next day. I went dancing regularly and also went to the Cinema, in fact, all the things a teenager wanted to do and was marred only by news of casualties.

Late in the evening on the 7 May, I was at home with the family when we became conscious of singing and laughter in the street. We went to the front door and there were crowds of people coming down the street who informed us that the war was over, at least they said it would be announced the next day. Where they had their information from I do not know, but true enough, on the the 8 May 1945, Winston Churchill announced that Germany had surrendered and this day became known as V.E. Day (Victory in Europe). Celebrations were held; everyone decorated their houses and in no time at all everywhere became a mass of red, white and blue. Parades were held, street parties were organized with food appearing like magic, I think everyone had stored up their food in anticipation of Victory. Services were held in Churches and these made us stop and think about all those who had given their lives in the fight for democracy because it was not only the fighting forces that lost life but also many more were civilians.

As the weeks went on, reports started coming through about concentration camps discovered all round Europe. There were horrifying pictures in the papers that made my stomach turn at the atrocities that were committed by the Nazis. The principal sufferers were the Jews, Gypsies and, in fact, anyone who did not fit into the picture of a perfect Aryan country which Hitler was striving to achieve. How the Allied soldiers coped with these discoveries I do not know, I should imagine it affected their lives forever. It was even worse to see the newsreels at the Cinema where you could see everything in detail. The fact that there were survivors was a miracle and it made me realize how lucky I had been to be here never having even joined the lines of refugees, let alone been imprisoned in the concentration camps, or lived under the occupation.

Although the war in Europe had been won, we did not forget the forces in the Far East who were valiantly fighting the Japs. Victory here was only achieved early by the use of a terrible weapon — the Atom bomb. Two were dropped, one on Nagasaki and the other on Hiroshima. The destruction and aftermath of these bombs shocked the world and although it caused the Japs to surrender which probably saved thousands of Allied forces lives, it has left the world in dread that these weapons should ever be used again. The 15th August 1945 was referred to as V. J. Day (Victory in Japan) but celebrations for this day were rather muted in comparison to V. E. Day, possibly due to the Atom bombs. The end of this war even produced horrific details of the atrocities committed by the Japanese, principally in prison camps. There were reports and pictures of starvation and torture of our prisoners of war, also reports of the same to the native people whose countries were occupied and even mass rape of women. What horrors war can reveal.

Obviously, as I said in the beginning, I could only touch on incidents that affected me, greatly or otherwise. Having spent quite some time in writing what I have, I can appreciate any book that I read now, because it is tough going to string words together to make some meaning and how Authors can write book after book I really don’t know, it must be a gift.

Before I end, I should like to make one further point. Some years after the end of the war, I read a book entitled ‘Thine Enemy’ by Sir Philip Gibb, where he recounts personal experiences by German people, made into a story. That book had a profound effect on me and made me realize that there are always two sides to a story. The sufferings of some of the ordinary German people were also horrific, both from the Nazis and from Allied bombardment. There were horrific atrocities committed by Russians as they advanced through Germany. I always used to say during the war that we were fighting the Nazis because even then I assumed that there were Germans who did not want to fight and only wanted peace. Dictatorship does not always mean that only opponents in other countries suffer, but also their own people who do not agree with the regime. Unfortunately the end of the Second World War has not meant the end of any war, because wars are still being fought today throughout the world. I’m afraid my dream of a world at peace will never be attained, certainly not in my lifetime, but oh, if only it could be achieved, the world would then be a real Utopia. Unfortunately as long as greed and power exist, a dream like mine will only remain a dream.

To my children and grandchildren, my hope is that there will never be a Third World War, because war is not the glamourised picture that the television and Cinema would have you believe, it is soul destroying and prolifically evident by vacant places at the table replaced only by gravestones and people maimed and injured either physically or mentally. I was a lucky person during the war, I lived life almost normally and managed to have fun and enjoyment, but I would never wish those times returned. My prayer for you all is for eternal Peace.

 

Sylvia Thomas

 

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