MEMORIES OF THE WAR 1939 – 1945 AS REMEMBERED BY A CHILD

I was but five years old when world war two was announced and only eleven when we celebrated winning it.

During those six years my young life was dictated by war and strife and I still have many memories living with me to this day.

My earliest memory is one of my mother taking me two miles every day to school across fields and being machine gunned by enemy planes, whenever my mother heard the drone of the Messerschmitt approaching us from over the sea she would race me into cover which was usually a bed of stinging nettles. I have been told that we had some very near misses as we were prime targets in the open fields.

As our house was very near an army area which had guns and search lights we were ourselves a target and had bombs dropped in almost every field surrounding our property luckily only sustaining roof tiles being blasted off and other minor damage. The soldiers commandeered local dwellings for their base but my Mum used to give them the use of our house for a bit of rest and recuperation and they were frequent visitors often bringing me candy and chocolate.

We also had several radar towers nearby manned by RAF personal mainly WAAFS who were billeted with local families. I can remember we had three at different times Audrey, Kit and Eve they were like big sisters to me and would take me out for walks in their off duty time.

When the sirens went off to warn us of approaching planes or doodle-bugs we would all dive for our air-raid shelters either the Anderson or the Morrison one indoors and one outdoors. I can remember at night when I was in bed my mum would throw herself on top of me as protection, my sister tells me her bed was often covered with pictures from off the wall as a result of the explosions.

My brother would walk miles to collect shrapnel, spent shells and bullet cases to keep as souvenirs.

As our village was so near the sea and not that many miles from the French shores there was always a big chance of invasion so we were closely protected by sentries at the end of every road and we had to carry our identification cards and gas mask with us at all times. I can still hear the familiar sound of “Halt who goes there, Friend or Foe”. The soldiers would have their rifles with bayonet attached pointed at you until they were told who we were and allowed to pass.

FACES FROM THE PAST

It was a nice sunny day and I didn’t feel like cooking lunch so I persuaded my late husband, Mac, to come with me for a drive in the country. We were both disabled but with our adapted car and wheelchairs were mobile.

 Living in a built-up area we made for the countryside and decided to find an accessible Inn for a bar meal. It wasn’t long before I realised that the village we had reached Cow Beech in East Sussex, was near Rushlake Green where my parents had started their married life some 90 years ago. As I write this I am well into my seventies and was born in another area of East Sussex so I had only heard about my Mother and Father’s early life together.

 Mac and I went into the Merry Harriers, which we now know as my Mother and Father’s “local” and ordered some refreshments. As we sat waiting for our meal we glanced around us to see many pictures on the walls of pub regulars in the 1920’s. “ “Wouldn’t it be funny” said Mac “if your Dad was up there?”. As I waited I looked down at a place mat on the table and there looking up at me was my Father and Uncle amongst a group of Gentlemen enjoying a drink outside the very pub we were then in.

 I think this incident has to be the most memorable in my life span and cannot help thinking that fate led me there.

 I was fortunate to be able to purchase the mat from the Landlord and now have a permanent reminder of my country lunch.

THE JOURNEY

The doorbell rang shrilly on opening the door an outstretched hand offered me the familiar orange envelope that was used for telegrams in the 1970’s. I watched as the young messenger boy returned to his motor cycle and rode off.

I closed the door and stared at the missive in my hand, my husband joined me and we opened it together. The message was brief “Mother very ill suggest you come as soon as possible”. It was from Muriel my husband’s sister in Scotland and here were we some 500 miles away in East Sussex.

Both of us being disabled we decided it was not a good idea to travel all the way by train as we would need transport to get around while we were in Scotland. As I was the main driver and drove a hand controlled car we decided to compromise; we would go to Carlisle on the motor Rail and drive from there to Ayr.

A visit to the local rail booking office found space available on the Euston – Carlisle train for the following day. I packed our case and after a few hours sleep we made an early start to London to catch the 8.00am train. The car was soon loaded onto the motor-rail transporter and my Mac and I were soon settled into our reserved seats, the porter having put my wheelchair in the adjacent guards van which left me unable to move from my seat! (Rail travel for people with disabilities now has improved immensely nowadays thank goodness).

Being unable to get to the buffet car we enjoyed a packed lunch where we were seated and after six hours arrived at Carlisle where we were soon reunited with our car ready to embark on the 100 mile journey to our final destination of Ayr.

The whole journey was a great strain both physically and mentally as we were both very anxious to see dear Mother. We had been fortunate to find an accessible hotel at such short notice with a ground floor bed-room. The bed looked so inviting as we had been travelling over 13 hours but we knew sleep would elude us until we saw Mother first.

She was conscious when we quietly entered her bed room and her lovely smile was more than enough to compensate our gruelling journey.

 

It was difficult to catch her whispered words but we understood from her daughter that she would like some ice cream as the one she liked had all gone.

I made a map of the position of the ice cream parlour and leaving Mac to sit with his Mum, I set off in the car to obtain my purchase.

It was more luck than judgement that I found the shop and was able to park my car outside opposite the entrance. Looking out through the car window I was able to calculate the distance so decided that I should be able to make 15 yards without having to get my wheelchair out of the car. I opened the car door and with a drunken lunge having no co-0rdination in my leg movements literally fell into the shop and sank into a welcoming chair.

 

Purchase in hand, I staggered out of the shop and saw with horror a uniformed police constable standing by my vehicle holding a breathalyser bag. He cautioned me and said he had reason to believe I was driving while under the influence of alcohol. My legs would no longer support me and I fell in a heap at his feet. Slowly recovering I explained that I suffered from multiple sclerosis which had affected my ability to walk unaided and that I should have used my wheelchair. When the officer saw my hand controls on the car and examined my disabled badge I also pointed out my wheelchair. The relief was indescribable as I saw him replacing the breathalyzer bag into its carton even though I did agree to take the test.

With his help I was once more back in the seat of my car and drove off as soon as I could leaving a very confused young Scottish police constable with a very red face.

I wonder to this day if he ever did enter the incident into his little black book or related the incident to his colleagues.

Mother did enjoy her ice-cream although it was a little melted and was quite unaware of the drama my mission had caused, as far as I was concerned my eventful journey was well worth all my effort and I had learned a very big lesson in the process not to try and do things that my disability no longer allows me to.

Memories of my Mother

I was listening to the Jeremy Vine Show on radio two today and the main subject was did listeners have any memories of their parents or grand-parents who were in domestic service in the early twentieth Century.This brought to mind the many stories I heard from my mother who was put into Service at the age of thirteen and worked for a rich household in Hove East Sussex. 

She started work as an under house maid and had to get up at 4.00.am every morning to clean out the fire grates on all floors and lay them ready for kindling. She also had to clean the breakfast room before the family came down for their meal. It was only when these tasks were done that she was allowed some bread and dripping for her own breakfast and tea if there was any tea leaf dust available as tea was a very expensive commodity in those days. After serving her apprenticeship as under house maid she was promoted to house maid and was then in charge of looking after the bed rooms amongst other duties.

She used to tell me how difficult it was to iron out all the creases in the pure linen sheets as all she had to do this with was a black hand iron that had to be heated on the kitchen range. The house keeper used to inspect the beds after they had been changed and remade and if a crease was found Mother had to re-iron the sheet.

Another bedroom duty was to empty the china wash bowl which stood on a stand and refill the matching china jug with water ready for the next usage. There were no en-suite rooms and often the toilet was some way from the bedrooms therefore there was a chamber pot available either under the bed or in a closet. Every time the bedroom was cleaned then the pots had to be emptied into a “slop bucket” and then taken down the back stairs to be emptied into an outside toilet.

On Sunday afternoons the maids were expected to attend Church but sometimes my mother and a couple of her friends would enter by the main door and then come out by a side door so that they could go for a walk along the Hove to Brighton promenade.
The idea was to see what handsome gentlemen were out strolling in the afternoon sun and then drop a handkerchief hoping it would be picked up to instigate an introduction.  I think the ploy of skipping the church service was scuppered one Sunday when the house keeper followed them!.

Shirley @ 77

At the age of 77 plus I have now been bitten by the family history bug!. It all started because I wanted to find out some details of my father’s army service in the 1914/18 First World War. He joined the 5th Battalion Royal Sussex Cinque Ports Regiment as a private working in the transport section with horses.

He served in France mainly transporting rations to the front line by wagon but was also involved in digging trenches for protection of provisions and forces.

5th  Royal Sussex

I was not born until 1934 therefore the stories I heard about his First World War experiences were not really understood by me until I was about eight which was 22 years later we were all by then heavily involved with the Second World War.

Ever since I can remember we have had two brass candlesticks on the mantel piece in our front room and I learned that my father had in fact found them in France whilst digging trenches and rightly or wrongly had brought them home in his kit bag! They are now in my possession after the breakup of our family home and I hope that they remain in our family as long as possible because although not valuable they are a constant reminder of my father and all his comrades many of whom lost their lives fighting for us.

Both candle sticks are of the sliding kind to push the candle up as it burns and are dented and well worn but considering their history they deserve a place in our family and still look good after a good polish.



Dad, mum and me

After surviving the First World War as if that wasn’t enough my father volunteered to be an Auxiliary Coast Guard in the Second World War and was very heavily involved in protecting the coast line from Fairlight to Winchelsea in East Sussex.

On a clear day one can see the coast line of France hence there was a huge possibility of invasion by the enemy crossing the channel. There was a look-out built on Pett Level beach which was manned twenty four hours a day throughout the war years by the Auxiliary coast Guards who were all local men of many of whom like my father had served in World War one.

THE WEATHER

I must say that our weather this winter 2011/2012 has on the whole been good and up until the end of January my geraniums were still blooming and my shrubs had begun to produce buds and some green leaves.

Poor things they certainly had a big wake-up shock on February the first when we started winter properly!. Then the snow arrived on the Saturday and those of us with mobility problems had our freedom were well and truly curtailed for a spell.

Both paths to my front and back doors were packed with ice which made it an impossibility to go out in my electric chair because all the two motorised wheels could do were spin and slide sideways.

As I live in a crescent away from the main road we get no snow clearance from our local authorities so have to wait for a thaw to clear the highway which luckily this time was only eight days. We were marooned for over three weeks during the early fall of snow 2010/11 relying on neighbours and friends for shopping etc.

When I first moved to my bungalow in 1987 my neighbours were much younger therefore those of us needing a little help were never short of volunteers for snow clearance but now as age has progressed everyone is in the same situation.

I would like to think that other close knit communities like ours are aware of their neighbours needs and notice if their neighbours are not seen for a few days especially when the weather is so bitterly cold.

Having lived in the country side for at least half of my life with neighbours scattered over quite a wide area my family used to be very involved in helping with emergencies when and where possible. We as children were encouraged to run errands and get shopping for those folk that were too frail but nowadays the young people prefer to do other things often to the detriment of older folk.

ANOTHER DAY IN THE LIFE OF!

Realising that I only had a few months left on my passport I decided to renew it ready for when I decide to take my next holiday. I duly completed the form had my photographs taken at a reputable shop had then countersigned by a professional friend before taking all the documents to the post office to be checked for an extra charge of £8.17. I did this for what I thought would be peace of mind and save them being returned from the passport office, how wrong can you be I ask myself now?

Ten days later I Received a letter from the Passport Office in Ireland to say that my photographs were not acceptable due to the fact I was too far from the camera and they did not show enough of my face and would I please send two new ones.

It was a freezing cold day but off I set in my electric wheelchair to town to re-visit the shop and ask for replacement photos. Unfortunately for me the gentleman that took the photos before was not there and because he did not give me a receipt for my £5 fee the lady that day said I had to pay again.

Feeling a little let down by the service I had received from the post office clerk who had re-assured me that the document and photos were in order I revisited said post office for an explanation. I was asked to produce the passport application day.

receipt and notice which was given to me after full payment of handling charge and passport fee. It was then pointed out to me in very small print the following (Post Office Limited will check your passport photographs for obvious errors but this does not guarantee that the photographs will be accepted by the Identity & Passport Service IPS) this being so I was not entitled to a refund of my handling charge.

No provisos were given me at the time of purchase and as the receipt was given to me after payment there was no way of me knowing there might be a possible photographic issue with the passport office.

I was given the managers apologies for any inconvenience experienced and assured that the counter Clerks would be given better instructions for passport checking for future transactions.

I have written to the Post Office Complaints Department for a refund of the handling charge as I feel I did not get the service I purchased and also to high-light the future possibility of the happening to other customers.