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I came into the world at 6.30 A.M. on October 14th 1936. I was one
of a comparatively exclusive set of
babies born during the ten months that Edward Vlll was on the throne prior to the fracas caused by his
affair with his very beloved Mrs Wallis Simpson, when he had to abdicate in the
following December making his brother Bertie, King George Vl.
I suppose it was as good a time as any to be born….Things had settled down
after the holocaust of the First World War although behind the scenes the storm
clouds were gathering for an even bigger one. Most people didn’t realise it
and were living very complacent lives in a glow of what seemed to appear as
permanent sunshine before the rain. ‘‘
Any-one for tennis?’’ was the order of the day. People were recovering from
the recent economic depression of the Twenties and early Thirties, although the
working man’s pay was still pretty poor, but even they managed to have quite a
few pleasures as it didn’t cost a lot to take a pic-nic basket out into the
country during the summer and there were many parks where a young boy could take
his fishing rod to the local pool and grownups could sit and listen to a brass
band which usually entertained them on Sunday afternoons and if it hadn’t have
been for a certain illegitimate Austrian named Adolph Schicklegrubber who
happened to be Chancellor of Germany and leader of the Nazi Party under the name
of Adolph Hitler, things might have gone on very much as they were. As I said
though, the storm clouds were gathering slowly, surely and inevitably up to
September 3rd., 1939. The day
war broke out. Of course I was completely oblivious of the goings on in the
great big world, as I was only three years old at the time that these events happened. The
only memories I have of the events leading up to World War Two are of being
blanketed in a cocoon of love and happiness bestowed on me by my parents and
numerous Aunts and Uncles. Not the least of these loving relatives being my
Nanny and Grandpap Death (pronounced Deeth) .
These were my only Grandparents, as my Father had lost his Mother in March 1936, seven months before I was born and Grandad "Batch" in June 1936, three months later. This has always saddened me, because I would love to have known them, having heard numerous anecdotes from the surviving members of the family of these two completely opposite people, who between them produced five sons, one of whom died young, and one daughter, Alice. That would have been my name if my Dad had had his way but Mum put her foot down and I became Mary Josephine instead. I believe when Dad went down to the Little Park St., to register me, I was supposed to be named Josephine Mary ( to be known as Jo after the character in Louisa May Alcott’s book “ Little Women” but the registrar got it back to front on my birth certificate. This was the beginning of a whole series of misunderstandings that were to dog me for quite a few years. I grew up being called “ Jo” by my Dad’s family and my parents and “ Mary” by my Mum’s. I always preferred Jo but Nan Death always called me Mary until the day she died in 1961. However, I digress! Going back to before World War Two, as I said, I had a completely happy and sheltered life. My earliest memory is of being taken from my Mum’s friend Mrs. Cox, who lived in Brown’s Lane in Allesley back to my Nan’s. I was in my pushchair and sticking rhubarb into a bag of sugar and chewing it. Something I enjoyed enormously according to what my Mother told me later when I mentioned it to her. She told me I was only 18 months old at the time. I can recall many happy weekends spent at Norfolk St. before the war. We usually had salmon sandwiches for Sunday tea with a cake from Wimbush’s, one topped with icing sugar and coconut, or a small madeira cake with paper round the outside. This was followed by my favourite pineapple chunks and cream. We had our tea served in Nan’s best china cups that were triangular shaped with sprays of lupins on the side Nan always kept them in the cupboard at the side of the range. It was glass fronted. We also had a glass bowl full of sugar lumps on the table complete with sugar tongs. Mum’s youngest brother, Fred, who was nine years older than me, used to keep his toys in a big drawer in their back room. It was the bottom drawer of a large cupboard and chest of drawers fitted in the right hand wall beside the range (the other side of the range to the china cupboard.) This drawer was my paradise! He had lots of clockwork cars and motorbikes, a fort and lead soldiers, five-stones, whip and top, which we played with during the summer and best of all, his collection of cigarette cards. He kept them in various catalogues. There were Will’s Woodbines, John Player’s and Goldflake . There were also numerous other toys that used to fascinate me for hours. Nan had a nice back garden. It wasn’t very big, but it was very pretty. It had a brick wall at the top that was covered in rambling roses. This wall used to get covered in snails during the summer and I usually spent Saturday afternoons picking them off the wall and racing them down the path. I also used to play with the little boy next door called Jimmy Holroyd. He was about my age, and Nan had a lovely old cellar she kept the coal in. This was another paradise! When she used to buy Jersey mids in June 1939, Jimmy and I would play at shops down there and weigh out pounds of potatoes on Nan’s old weighing scales. He was the youngest of seven boys. Little did I realise then, but Jimmy and the rest of his family were to be carried out dead from that same cellar in October (14th!) the following year. They were all trapped in their own cellar during an air raid where they were sheltering, when the house took a direct hit and fractured the gas main. Nan had to have a hole knocked into her cellar wall so that the rescuers could get the bodies out. Again I was oblivious of this and didn’t find out about it until many years later. Another thing that I can't remember, was an old miniature arm chair that used to hang on the wall. Apparently, according to my second cousin, Molly, it was a tradition in the family that every new born baby had to sit in the little armchair for luck! My brother, David must have been the last one to sit in it though, as it went up in smoke when the house got bombed on the night of the big November blitz. When Dad rejoined the army in 1939, Mum would take me down to Norfolk Street, every weekend. It was a very large house with four large bedrooms, a bathroom (albeit a very small one ) and a “Top Shop”. This apparently was a former watchmaker’s shop, built in the 1800’s when watchmaking was a profitable Coventry industry. During the late 1800’s it fell into disuse, so that when my mother and the other children were small, they used it as a playroom. As they grew older I think it was used as an extra bedroom. Uncle Frank was engaged to Auntie Kath at the time and she used to stay there at weekends as well so the house used to be pretty full! Uncle Frank had a motor cycle and side car in which he would take me around the country lanes for a spin. It was great fun. Nan's insurance agent, Mr. Foulkes, had a motor bike as well, but no side car. There weren't many on the roads then. Mum's family must have been quite well off compared to Dad's, as he was born in a court in Spon Street in a tiny cottage with two bedrooms and a living room and scullery with a communal toilet in the yard. Nan had a back room, where they lived every day and a front "best room" with a piano in it, as well as a scullery (a small kitchen) with a gas stove in it and their own toilet and "wash house" outside in the yard.
My Dad was stationed at Aldershot at this time as a Lance Corporal in the Tank Corps, he was able to come home on leave quite frequently and he came home one weekend to a minor emergency. We had an old fashioned gramophone in the box room of our house that I used to play with, as it was broken anyway. It had two little tubs in it. One was to hold new needles and the other one which had a lid with a hole in the top, contained old ones. I discovered that this lid fitted my “ wedding ring” finger perfectly, or so I thought! It was my third birthday, and Dad came home on leave that Saturday morning, to the sight of me struggling to get my “ ring” off. He took me down to Coventry and Warwickshire hospital to get it taken off. Apparently I was thrilled to bits until the doctor brought out his saw to relieve me of it. When I spotted it I hooted! I thought he was going to saw my finger off!
Dad also took me “ frogging”. Most available Sundays he used to take me over the Allesley fields and we’d spend hours catching frogs. Before the war, on Saturday nights, we would go to the old market and get the Sunday joint for 6d. ( 2 ½ p. )! Dad used to wait until they sold the meat off cheaply, owing to the fact that there was no way to keep the meat fresh. The butchers were always closed on Mondays anyway. This is why we had a large joint for Sunday, as it had to last for Monday as well. This was of course in the days that one could go to see a film at the cinema for 1s. (5p.) Dad’s wages from the Corporation were £4 .10 shillings( £4.50 ) and he used to spend his last penny on a Thursday night on me at the sweet shop buying me 1d. bar of chocolate at Mrs. Farmer's shop at the end of Norfolk Street. The first experience we had of bombs was on 25th August 1939, although it wasn’t a German bomb! Dad used to come home for lunch when he worked for the Corporation and when he left for work after lunch, Mum called him back to ask him if he was going to Nan’s that evening. He chatted to her for a minute or two about the evening’s arrangements and then went to work. As he reached the top of Smithford St., on his way into Broadgate, he heard an almighty bang! The windows all around him shattered. It was a bomb that had been placed in the saddle bag of a bicycle underneath the clock of H. Samuels the jewellers. It was placed there by members of the I. R. A.. The culprits were eventually tried and hanged, as it killed four people and injured quite a number of others. One of the people killed was a young lady who had gone to choose an engagement ring as she was getting engaged the next day. If Mum hadn’t by chance called my Dad back, then he would have been in the same spot! It was subsequently discovered that the culprits hatched the plot and made the bomb at No. 7, Clara St., which was a coincidence in itself as Bob, my husband was born at number 9 ! His Grandma and Grandad Saunders and Mother Marge moved there in September 1939 with Marge’s brother Uncle Alwyn. They had previously lived in Brandon. Nine days after this bombing incident, war was declared. I cannot remember the day that Neville Chamberlain, the then Prime Minister made his famous broadcast to the nation as for the first few months, apart from my Dad rejoining the army, things went on pretty much the same as they had been doing. I only gradually became aware of subtle changes. Mum was expecting my brother, David in 1939. She had told me earlier in the year that I was going to have a baby brother ( there was no question of him being a sister ! He arrived prematurely on December 19th. Dad was away and I was sleeping in the same bed as my Mum at the time. I can just remember her showing him to me , all naked and bloody. She had given birth to him all by herself. The midwife, Nurse Midgely came soon afterwards, having pedalled there on her bike. Some time after that, Nan arrived to whisk me off to Norfolk St. It was barely light when we went for the bus. The baby, who weighed in at about 41/2 lb., was called David as Mum had heard carol singing by the Salvation Army while she was in labour outside the house singing “Once in Royal David City ‘’ Francis, after my Mum’s father, and Noel after my Dad. Noel was also appropriate, as it was Christmas time. This posed a lot of problems for David in the years to come as people tended to forget his birthday, and concentrate on Jesus’s instead as Christmas day was only one week away. I promptly forgot about my new baby brother for the following two weeks. After all I was having an exciting time down at Norfolk St. It snowed! In fact it didn’t stop until it was 3 ft. deep. The tap in the kitchen froze up and I can remember Nan going outside to get a pan full of snow so that she could melt it on the gas stove to make a cup of tea.
Fred had a sledge and we had the most wonderful fun sledging down Norfolk St. with Jimmy Holroyd and his brothers. Nan gave me some bed socks to keep my feet warm in bed and she would get the hot plate out of the oven beside the fire and wrap it in a sheet to warm the bed up. The mattress was filled with feathers, as were the pillows. It was heaven! At Christmas I had a large pillowcase which I hung by the bed. It was filled to the top with presents and I was spoiled rotten! One present I can remember was a tea set in a large box. It was made of tin and enamelled with a willow plate pattern. It even had serviette rings and sugar tongues! Another one was a book of Mother Goose Nursery Rhymes. I had a unique way of escaping from the confines of Nan's back garden, using Fred's cricket bat as a tool with which to do so!
As 1940 gradually wore on, I began to feel the effects of the war. The first signs were when I used to go to Nan’s. If I wanted two spoonfuls of sugar in my tea she would chastise me by telling me “ There’s a war on!” or “ It’s rationed!” Also, the popular songs of the day had a patriotic flavour.“ There’ll always be an England” and “ London Pride ” and Flanagan and Allen singing “ We’re Gonna Hang Out the Washing On the Seigfreid Line ” My favourite song at the time was of them singing “ Run Rabbit Run” . The most awful part of 1940 came in the form of a family of four from Bootle near Liverpool who were billeted on us. They were dreadful! There were two children around my age. They were snotty nosed little horrors named Roy and June. Their mother and Father were both very fat and very common. He had a cigarette permanently drooping from the side of his mouth. On reflection though, it couldn’t have been permanently in his mouth, because Mum’s beautiful oak fire place surround bore the permanent reminders of pitted burn marks from his cigarettes until the 1950’s when Mum converted to gas and the surround was finally removed. Mum gave them both of our back rooms, living room and bedroom. They were only with us a few months but within a few weeks, the paper on the wall of the living room had a huge dirty, greasy patch by the door. They almost drove Mum insane but when Dad had his discharge from the army later in the year on medical grounds, he pulled a few strings and got rid of them. The last I knew of them, they got a council house in Beake Ave. and I never saw them again, thank goodness. I think they left Coventry after the war. Dad was discharged from the army after he came back from Dunkirk. He was extremely ill at the time with a duodenal ulcer. The same year Dad’s sister, Aunt Alice became a widow. She had married a man called Horace Lapworth and had a little boy named Bernard. Horace was in the army up in Scotland on manouvers and had a burst ulcer , he developed peritonitis and he died. I was very fond of him. A strange coincidence was that at the time Alice lived at No. 16, Brackenhurst Road, with her baby boy in Horace’s sister's house. This address was to become my own when I got married for the first time.
In the early summer of 1940 I awoke one night and I could see a terrifying apparition in the sky. I went down stairs feeling really frightened. It turned out to be a barrage balloon with the moonlight shining on it! Of course, it was to become quite a familiar apparition in the coming months but this was my first sight of one. Another sight to be seen at night were the searchlights. These were very powerful lights that used to sweep the sky, looking out for German aeroplanes. In the last couple of weeks of August, I was down at Nan’s with the family. Grandpap was playing with David on his knee. He always nick-named him Snowy, as his hair was very blonde. I tripped over the rag rug that Nan had made and put my left elbow in the fire and burned it rather badly. Someone grabbed me and pulled me up and they cleaned it up and smothered it in Tannifax jelly that I loved the smell of, then bandaged it up. A few nights later, on 25th August, Mum was “doing” my arm when Uncle Frank and Auntie Kath walked in. They’d been out somewhere in the town and they told us that during an air raid, the Rex cinema received a direct hit and was literally “ Gone With the Wind ” which was the name of the film they were going to show the next day. This had quite eerie repercussions as nearly every major cinema, for the next few months that was showing this particular film, was bombed so the film became a jinx.
I remember several medications I received at Nan’s house. Every Friday night, she would dose Fred and I with Syrup of Figs “to keep our bowels open ” I don’t recall having any trouble with my bowels but since I quite liked the taste of it, I took my Friday night spoonful without any protest. A different kettle of fish was Uncle Frank’s “peroxide”! Something that troubled me a lot during my early childhood was earache. So much so that Dad walked the floor many a night trying to soothe me. In fact I was told that I was the cause of him missing an opportunity of taking a very important exam in Birmingham. This was his Higher Matriculation exam. I kept him up most of the previous night and when he should have been up early, he overslept, thus missing his chance. Anyway, I was quite used to having warm olive oil and cotton wool shoved in my ear and sleeping with warm flannel held to my head but this particular day Uncle Frank decided that the correct treatment would be to use peroxide. So like a lamb to the slaughter, I held my head to one side to have him spoon the peroxide into my ear . Then the world exploded! I could hear sounds like firecrackers popping off inside my head ! I was terrified. Even though everyone was telling me that it didn’t hurt, I was jolly sure that it did! After all it was my ear! After that, no-one was going to put peroxide in my ear if I could help it ! Then, the air raids started hotting up. The siren would go, then we would all go to the Anderson shelter which Dad had arranged for us to have installed in the back garden. At this time I didn’t go to Norfolk Street so often. No doubt the proximity to the City and therefore a danger area discouraged my parents from taking us children too far from Evenlode Crescent, So hereafter Norfolk St. fades into history.
It became routine for Mum to get us into our siren suits and tuck us up into the bunk in the shelter each night with our gas masks. We had to take these horrible things everywhere we went, in case of a gas attack . They were really uncomfortable to wear and it felt as though you were suffocating when breathing. Fortunately we never needed them. In October and November I don’t think we slept in our own beds. We went straight into our bunks and after listening to the bangs and whistles for a while, we would hear the continuous shriek of the All Clear and drop off to sleep. Young as I was, There was always a feeling of relief and reassurance the next morning to realise that our house was still standing. Then as the raids wore on and houses were being bombed and tiles blown off the roof and windows shattered, I began to feel a bit left out because our house was relatively unscathed and most people had at least a broken window!
Then came November 14th! I don’t remember much about that particular day, as it was much like any other. I don’t even recall the large bright moon that was shining that night but I do remember the sirens going and being bundled down into the air raid shelter. Dad used to work sometimes at night down at Central Control in the Council House but this particular night, he was off duty, all the family were in the shelter, also there were several neighbours. It was amazing how many people were able to fit into such a small space! It was the first air raid that, to me, was different, although I was too young to realise why. I do remember that the bombs were coming down all night and there was no “ all clear” I also remember the anti-aircraft guns continuously bang-banging away all night. http://www.historiccoventry.co.uk/blitz/blitz.php Every so often, a strange sound --- not a shriek like the H.E’s but almost like organ music--- then a massive Whoomph! Mum would say “That’s a landmine” ! Mr. Watts, our near neighbour in Courtland Ave., who was our local Air Raid Warden, would pop into the shelter every so often to tell Mum and Dad where this place or that place had “ got it”. The A.R.P. post was next door at the Co-op. And there was also one in Southbank Rd. school around the corner. Mr. Watt’s visits used to fascinate me as he used to have his hands over his torch and one could imagine when it shone through his fingers that the dark parts were the bones of his hand. I know that I was awake most of the night listening to the chaos going on outside the shelter and the fear of being bombed was very real , although David slept all night as he was only 10 months old at the time. I will never ever forget the continuous roar of the German aeroplanes overhead or the bombs and ack-ack guns. I suppose that is why I have never liked thunder or banger fireworks. In the morning , the wardens let people know that it was all clear, as the sirens didn’t sound because the electricity was off, as was the gas and water supply. All the mains were fractured. We went back into the house at about 6.30 A.M. The house miraculously was still standing. Then came the good part as far as I was concerned! We hadn’t a window in the front of the house! I felt quite satisfied that we had joined the rest of the street with black-out curtains billowing in the breeze! Dad got some sort of cloudy stiff cellophane (I've since been informed that it was known as "glassine" )to put over the windows until the glass could be replaced but when the wind blew it really rattled! Having no gas or electricity was quite a novelty for me! The gas wasn’t too much of a problem, as apart from the old geyser that we had in the bathroom to heat the water for our bath, the only other appliance was a small gas ring that was used mainly for boiling a kettle for making tea, or boiling a pan of milk. We had this gas ring for many years and it used to be on permanently in years to come as my Dad used to have the teapot on all the time. Having no electricity posed more of a serious problem. Before I go on with my narrative, I must tell you one thing about my Mother. She never worried! At least it seemed to everyone around her that she didn’t, although no doubt she did deep down. She was always serene and calm and even tempered, coping with the most difficult of problems with apparent ease. Her own personal motto was “Never worry worry ‘til worry worries you.” She lived by that maxim all through her life. Even when she had David, all alone except for me, I don’t remember her being anything else but quite calm, although she must have been petrified. She was always there when any of the neighbours needed help and she was the one who was always called upon when anyone died to “ lay them out ” because in those days no-one bothered with mortuaries and anyone who died was usually layed out in their best room until the day of the funeral but I will come back later on in my story to that subject.
Coming back to the morning after the blitz, as I said we had no electricity or water. Soon after we emerged from the shelter, as if by magic, Grandpap arrived with a hurricane lamp. Mum managed to boil some water from the rain water tank which most of our type of houses had on top of the coal house. She boiled it on the coal fire in the living room and thereafter, until the electricity was restored, we “ made do ” with meals and drinks cooked on the fire and for light we used the hurricane lamp and candles. Grandpap and Nan had been bombed out that night. Well, burned out to be exact as it was an incendiary bomb that did the damage. Grandpap, Nan & family were down the Rudge shelter in Spon St., and the only living creature in the house was Ginger the cat. Unfortunately he was a victim of Hitler’s wrath but that information was also with held from me at the time. The beautiful Cathedral of St. Michael's, as everyone knows was also completely destroyed except for the outer walls and spire.
Great-Grandma ( Little Grandma), Fred and Nan moved into our house for a while but Grandpap stayed in the Rudge shelter which was in Spon Street and after a short time Nan joined him down there. Uncle Len was also there as they all served in the Civil Defence and were on duty there each night. This was as well as doing their regular job during the day for the Council. Fred and Little Gran stayed with us until they moved into a rented house in Windsor St. This must have been in 1942 or 1943. Actually Little Gran went into an old peoples home, as she’d had a stroke before the war and was very frail. The slightest bump would knock her over like a ninepin. She was a sweet little soul and always seemed to wear blue twin sets with glass buttons on the cardigans. I wasn’t very kind to her although I loved her very much as I found out that if I pushed her just a little, she would topple over! How wicked are the young! She always forgave me though and never told my Mum or Dad. We remained very close until she died in 1949. When she was at Gosford Green in a nursing home, I often used to visit her on Sunday afternoons.
Going back to 1940 though the next thing I remember was Christmas. I was sleeping in the downstairs back room then, as Mum thought it was warmer to sleep there than in the shelter and if there were any sirens we could get out to the shelter in good time. My Dad often sang me to sleep if I was restless, with different lullabies and songs. He had done this since I was a baby whenever possible. He usually sang two lullabies “ Go to Sleep My Baby” or “ With a Toora Loora Loora Loora Lye” This particular night he sang “ Silent Night” to me. I thought it was so beautiful and whenever I hear it now it always reminds me of that time. I suppose I must have been asleep before he got to the second verse as I can’t remember him singing it. That Christmas was one of the nicest that I can remember. I had my usual pillowcase full of toys. Who would ever know that there was a war on ? I had a lovely toy china tea set which was a replica of Mum’s best one. It had hand painted violets on it. I thought Father Christmas was really clever for bringing me one the same as my Mum’s! Another present which sticks in my memory is a black dolly that Grandpap bought me. She was dressed in orange and wore lovely brass hooped earings. She also had an orange scarf around her head. Of course now, one cannot get a black doll, or another well beloved toy, a golliwog. I had several of these over the years and loved them all very much but the Race Discrimination Board decided that they were an insult to coloured people, which to me is a load of old codswallop. I loved my black doll very much and after all we white people have dolls made like us don’t we? In any case I don’t think a child can discriminate about colour. The only people I didn’t like at that time were Germans! In my young mind all Germans had piercing eyes and black stumpy moustaches I dare say that if someone had bought me a little blonde haired doll dressed in Bavarian costume I would have loved her just as I loved all my dolls. We had all of the family at our house for Christmas that year. My Mother’s family, that is. There were Mum, Dad, Nan, Grandpap, Little Gran, Uncle Len, Fred, Auntie Kath, Uncle Frank, (who was in the Army by now) Auntie Laura and Uncle Austin. Uncle Austin was Auntie Laura’s first husband. I was not as fond of him as I was of my other uncles because he had a nasty habit of rattling his money in his pockets and to my young mind, there was something about this gesture that made me uncomfortable and I didn’t trust him. I don’t know why, because he was always nice to me but that’s the way it was. I always had a feeling of apprehension when Uncle Austin was around. Unfortunately he was unable to vindicate this unexplained prejudice of mine because he was to die at an early age of Bright’s Disease in February 1945 when I was still only eight years old. Still too young to assess a person’s character accurately. -
I remember that Christmas day well though. We had the usual Christmas dinner with cockerel and plum pudding. Grandpap made sure that there were silver 3d bits in the pudding and also made sure that I had the piece with the “joey” in it. The rest of the Christmas has faded into oblivion with the passing of the years as indeed have the first few months of 1941. Although I can remember little bits of it. We had no television of course in those days, but believe me, we were entertained just as much by the radio. We had Monday Night at Eight, Itma, Music While You Work and Vera Lynn sang to the forces. My Dad’s friend Tommy Hughes used to come some nights and play billiards with him as we had a small billiard table that Dad could put up in the front room. Tommy was mad on a song by Vera called “ Yours”. I used to play with Fred quite a lot, although he used to torment me sometimes. He used to make me wrestle with him and I hated it! Mum and Nan were always telling him off. He used to go out and collect shrapnel in a tin box after an air raid and we also used to find bomb craters that were partly filled with water and throw stones in them to see how deep they were.
Another friend I had was a little girl named Jean Owen. She was an only child and her Mother worked at the Co-op that was next door to our house. Mum got cross with me one day when we were watching “dog fights” between English and German planes. Jean and I were shouting for all the world to hear “ The bloody bombs are dropping---Dive you buggers!” Each time we shouted “Dive! ”--- we threw ourselves on the floor. Great game! When Mum heard us she soon dived us into the house! Especially as there was a lot of strafing going on from the German planes. I don’t think she was too impressed with the swearing either! There were still raids occurring most nights. Sometimes the sirens would sound but it would be Birmingham’s turn for the onslaught and the planes would pass right over us. Then in April in Holy Week , we were blitzed again on the 8th and 10th. Hitler came at us with almost the same ferocity and tried to finish us off completely. Once more Birmingham got it on the 9th. I can remember Dad taking me up to the bathroom in the middle of the night and putting me on his shoulders. He told me that the bright orange glow in the sky was the Daimler at Radford burning. This was during a lull in between the barrage of bombs that kept coming down in periodic waves. It would go quiet for a short while, when they were attacking another part of the city and Dad would let me out of the shelter to look at the searchlights, then back they would come to give us another hammering. It was on this night that Mrs. Watts had a bomb drop just outside her front gate, so Fred and I had another crater to throw stones into. Mum took me to Aunt Laura’s the next day. She lived at Eversleigh Rd. and we had to pass the Bablake playing fields on the bus. The craters in the field were just like mushrooms growing, there were so many. As I have already pointed out, the family were very close and our pleasures were simple. When the weather was nice, as it was during that summer, we used to go on pic-nics over the Allesley fields, now known as the Coundon Wedge. We had to pass the barrage balloon sight at the bottom of Forfield Rd. This was in the first field, and in late 1942, Sherbourne Hostel was built here for workers who were drafted into the city. There was also Brooklands Hostel up at Haynestone Rd. and the two merged with each other to make quite a large complex. At the time I’m referring to though, the balloon was there. It used to fascinate me because we had to pass within a few yards of the spot where it was moored and when it was on the ground, it looked huge ! If we didn’t go to the Allesley fields, we would go to the ones up in Coundon after calling for Auntie Laura and Uncle Austin. We spent a lot of time up at their house, especially after they had my cousin Barry .
Mum and Dad were already digging for victory, that is, growing their own vegetables in the back garden. We had lots of flowers growing over the top of the air raid shelter and in the spring and summer it looked so beautiful that Mum always said that Hitler hadn’t the heart to drop a bomb on it! Behind the shelter was the vegetable patch where they grew potatoes, cabbages, beans, peas etc. In the summer we used to get a lot of caterpillars on the cabbages and I used to have great fun collecting them in a matchbox or a Coleman’s mustard tin. Behind the vegetable patch at the top of the garden, we started to keep chickens , so all in all we were pretty self sufficient and didn’t starve. Mum used to pickle the eggs from the hens in a bucket of isinglass and they were used when the hens stopped laying. We also had dried eggs that were used in cooking. They made beautiful omelettes and were used to make cakes etc. We had dried milk but I wasn’t very keen on the taste of it. Mum made jam out of fruit that was in season, rhubarb and ginger, plum and damson and in August and September we would gather blackberries from over the fields and she would make bramble jelly. She also used to bottle a lot of fruit and vegetables in Kilner jars and store them on top of the wardrobe. I can honestly say that we never went hungry and always had a good wholesome meal on the table for dinner, complete with a pudding to follow! No kitchen scraps were wasted, as we had a pig-bin underneath the lamp post on the corner of Courtland Avenue and Evenlode Crescent. The job of emptying the scraps into it usually fell to me. I didn't mind just after the farmer came to empty it (about once a week), but by golly it stunk when it was time for him to come again!
Dad always kept a couple of cockerels. These were fattened up for Christmas as well as keeping the hens fertilised for the next batch of chicks in the spring. I loved it when we had the new chicks. Dad had an incubator to keep them warm for the first few days, and they would be kept inside the house. I hated it when they were killed off at Christmas. I used to cry when that happened. We had a hen called Biddy one year and she was a pet, as we had her for quite a while When she was too old to lay eggs though Dad decided that she had to go. Dad killed her and Mum plucked and drew her, as she normally did with the Christmas birds, cooked her to a turn on Christmas morning and dished her up for dinner. The only trouble was that none of us could eat her! Mum always saved her points up – that is the ration coupons for food—so that she could get the ingredients for our Christmas puddings. Every year she would begin to make them about three weeks before Christmas and she always made them in the evening when we were in bed. We had a stir and made a wish before we went upstairs. Then she would boil them up in the copper for several hours and the aroma would creep up the stairs. It’s a smell that I will never forget! Three weeks seemed a terrible long time in those days! In the spring of 1941, a little while after the April blitz, I awoke one morning and went downstairs. Dad had been on duty at central control all night and was not home yet so I decided that I needed a haircut. It was about 7.30 A.M. , and no-one was about. I saw Mum’s scissors on the mantle-piece, looked in the mirror and thought that my fringe was too long, so I picked up the scissors and chopped away at my fringe. By the time I’d finished trimming it about an hour later I felt quite pleased with myself. I went upstairs to show it off to my Mum. As she awoke in the half - light, she saw me and screamed "Help! A German!" I cried " Where? " and looked around. As she heard my voice, she realised who I was. " You little devil! " she shouted. That was Mum in a temper. " What the hell have you been doing?" Now I knew she was mad! She’d said "Hell ". She only swore when she was angry. I began to think that my haircut wasn’t such a good idea after all, especially when she took me up to the barbers (men’s dept.) To have it tidied up. The only thing that the poor chap could do was to cut it to about ½ an inch all over. I finished up having a boy’s crew cut. The first one in England at the time I think, as they did not come into fashion until the following decade --and that was for the men! The summer of 1941 was very hot and I used to be permanently in a swimming costume. I turned as brown as a berry. The ladies that used to queue at the Co-op greengrocery on the corner for oranges, or anything scarce that came in, such as apples or pears, used to pass the time while they were waiting, discussing whether I was a boy or a girl. One lady was heard to remark to her friend “ Well, it must be a boy because his Daddy calls him “ Joe!” when he wants him to come in.” I was rather relieved when my hair grew again.
After this, the rest of 1941 was pretty uneventful, although I kept Mum and Dad on their toes by getting up to the most awful mischief. I had always been what is described as a “ lively ” child but that really meant that I was a holy terror! Indeed I decided to do a vanishing act one afternoon while Mum was dressing David prior to taking us out. She had already dressed me in my best clothes. A neighbour in Courtland Ave. was painting their conservatory a nice shade of mint green and I thought that I would pay her a visit and discovered that she was out so I decided to finish the job. I painted the door, the paving stones, the wall and me, a beautiful green ! I must have been thus occupied for about two hours and Mum had the police out looking for me ( one of many times) . Mrs. Cure came back and saw what I had done and naturally hauled me off back home. Dad gave me a good hiding for that, one of many many good hidings that I used to earn for myself. During that summer I got quite used to going to bed straight after tea and Dad coming up to the bedroom a little later saying “ Right!-----On your side ! I’m not going to show you any mercy this time! ” He never did show me any but he always started the routine with the same words and then would come the spanking. It didn’t do me much good though but there again, it didn’t do a lot of harm either. I’d be off again a couple of days later up to more mischief such as the time I had a bath stark naked in Welgarth Ave. Mum never did find my best petticoat! Too add a bit of variety to my derring-do’s I used to go around the corner to Southbank Rd. school and pinch some child’s bike. I always took it home and Mum or Dad would always accompany back to school with it. I would often disappear for the day and they would have the police out looking for me. I really excelled myself one Sunday afternoon though. St. George’s church hall had been bombed during the blitz so they held their Sunday school in the large Infant’s class at Southbank Rd. school. It wasn’t long before I took to wandering round there to poke my nose in. I was a little too young to go to Sunday school class but I was longing to go, to school. This particular Sunday I watched the class leave the building and decided to go and have a look at the classroom. This was not to say that I had never been in one before. In fact, when I used to go to Norfolk St., Fred went to St. John’s school, around the corner in Gloucester St. It was only a tiny school with a couple of classrooms and once or twice I went round there out of curiosity and the teacher had invited me into the classroom and let me play with the chalk and slate or the plasticine. It kept me quiet for ages. So into Southbank Rd. I went. The door of the classroom was open and I went in. I emptied the cupboards out and tipped over the tadpole tank and generally had a field day. In fact, to say I wrecked the place could be an understatement. On reflection I suppose that I must have been one of the first school vandals, as that sort of thing didn’t go on very much then. People were far too busy with the war effort so it was left to people like me, who were not even five years old, to carry the rebel flag ! Fortunately there were not many of us around, otherwise Hitler might have won the war after all! Who would waste time bombing the place when there were little Jo Batchelors there, all ready to do Jerry’s work for him? The caretaker, Mr.Grainger found me thus busily occupied. Having had dealings with me before over the bike pinching incidents, he knew where I lived and hauled me off home. I didn’t want to go but he was bigger than I was! I knew that I would be facing the inevitable “ Get up those stairs!” When I’d gone to bed, a few moments pause, (which seemed like hours), Dad’s feet coming up stairs, the door opening and the inevitable “ Right!—Over on your side! Etc. etc.” It must have done some good though because the following Sunday I was a bone fide member of St. George’s Sunday school class. The youngest member ever! Thereafter for quite a number of years I attended Sunday school every week, taking my collection and receiving from our teacher, Miss Pace, a text for the week. These were pretty little cards decorated with a flower or a biblical scene and a quotation from the Bible. We used to keep them in a scrapbook . Miss Pace was what was known as a Grey Lady. She always wore a grey uniform and a black wimple, like a nun. She worked for St. George’s church for many years and was a familiar sight around Coundon, riding around on her bicycle. I may have been a little devil for six and a half days of the week but on a Sunday afternoon between the hours of three and four o’clock, I was positively angelic! I expect the tadpoles, my parents, the teachers and Mr. Grainger heaved a communal sigh of relief! All of these pranks of mine took place during the summer of 1941and continued up until I started school in September 1941. My first day at Southbank Rd. school introduced me to my first teacher, Miss Lloyd. She was really nice. I took to school like the proverbial duck to water, learning very quickly, although I could read words already and had learned the alphabet long before I got there. The only complication was that my Dad had taught me to say AY—BEE—SEE , and now the teacher was teaching me to say AAH—BUH—CUH etc. I had to learn the alphabet all over again. Luckily I was able to pick it up quite easily. English—spelling etc. always came as second nature to me. Maths though was different altogether. I was, indeed, still am, totally hopeless on the subject.
The winter of 1942 was a harsh one.
We had snow fall until it was about two feet deep and my Dad had to take
me to school to get me through the deep drifts although it was only around the
corner. Dad had to clear the roads with the few other men available (most of
them were in the forces), so that the traffic could get through. Traffic
consisting mostly of the horses and carts that brought the bread and milk around
the houses. We only saw the
occasional car, as very few people had them in those days and those who did own
one could use it very rarely, as petrol was rationed. Bread
and milk was delivered daily by horse and cart.
I can remember the Christmas of 1942 because the beautiful tree-lights that I'd had since I was a baby finally gave out. It was also the last time we had a proper Christmas tree until after the war. For the next three or four years we had to make do with a large branch of holly but it was never the same. Soon after Christmas .Nan and Grandpap rented a house in Windsor St. It was a terraced house, which backed on to the Summerland public house in the Butts. The front room came off the street, the stairwell was in the centre of the house, the living room with another black-leaded range was in the back and off that was the scullery with the cooker, brick copper, and sink in it. There was a tin bath hanging on nails on the back yard wall and the toilet was outside. There were two bedrooms facing each other at the top of the stairs. Nan and Grandpap slept in the front one and Uncle Len slept in the back. There was an attic up the stairs with two beds in it. Fred slept in one and I slept in the other one whenever I stayed there. We had to pass through Uncle Len’s room to get access to it. They had a back yard with a bit of garden in it, then past the toilet to a communal entry and after that a gate which led to their back garden. They had three apple trees in the garden which are still there today, long after the house was demolished for redevelopment. Little Grandma was quite frail by now, so she moved into Exhall Lodge. This was a home for old people.
Grandpap acquired a doll’s pram for me to play with during that summer. It was a low bodied old fashioned type, which would be worth a fortune today as an antique, only at the time I was not very impressed with it, as he had painted it for me in Corporation coach colours ie., cream with red and blue lines painted around the sides. That wouldn’t have been so bad but he painted “Mary” in bright blue at the back of it and I got badly teased by my friends. Even so, I wish that I still had it! Next door but one to us lived a family called Browning. They were a nice family, with two children a bit older than myself but the daughter used to play with me. They had two lodgers who lived with them who came from London. Their names were Carol and Mary. They worked at the Standard factory on munitions and worked night shift. When they came to Coventry to work, they lived in the Brooklands hostels but the Brownings befriended them and gave them a home. I adored them! When the Brownings sold their house in early 1943, they came to live with us and became part of our family. They stayed for the duration of the war and we all loved them very much. They were such fun and Auntie Carol kept in touch until my Mum died . We lost touch with Mary eventually. Carol came from Chaucer Rd. in South London and Mary came from Brock Rd. in the East End. They both had blonde hair (bleached) and were lovely looking with bubbly personalities and a raw cockney sense of humour. Carol was engaged to “ her Ernie” who was a petty officer in the Fleet Air Arm. Mary wasn’t courting but she used to keep a photograph of her brother John, who was in the Royal Navy, on our sideboard beside Carol’s Ernie. We only saw them in the evenings and at the weekends as they worked on the night shift during the week. The war was plodding on monotonously but didn’t really affect me personally. I still went to school, played out with my friends, had weekend picnics in the summer. The only thing of any significance that happened to me was moving out of Miss Lloyd’s class into one in some temporary buildings. The teacher we had was awful. It was pure mutual hatred between her and a six year old child. She had fiery ginger hair, a temper to match and had a scar running down one side of her face and she was vicious. She would slap me for not putting my hand up high enough (I was terrified to) she didn’t slap me on my arm like the other teachers would if I was naughty but would crack her hand across my face like a whiplash. She put me off school for life and I must have some sort of mental block about her, because I cannot even remember her name although I can remember the names of all the others. I was quite bright at school at school, particularly in English. Miss Clarkson, our headmistress used to have an “Excellent” stamp and when we were very good, our teacher used to send us to her office to get our work stamped. Nearly all my dictation and compositions (essays) were stamped “ Excellent ”. I also joined the brownies at this time. Joan Watts had moved up into the girl guides, so Mrs. Watts passed her uniform on to me. I don’t recall getting a long service medal though.
During the year of 1943, the Government had provided eating places called British Restaurants and there were two in the city centre, one in the Gas Showrooms in Hales Street and one in West Orchard on the sight of the old Market Place that Hitler had previously put paid to. During the school holidays, I used to catch the bus into town at lunchtime, paying my 1d fare from the Cedars to Corporation St. and meet Dad for lunch. We usually went to the one in West Orchard and there we would have a really good nourishing meal for 9d (41/2 p). Dinner was 6d, and a pudding was 3d. This saved Mum cooking a main meal for us during the day and saved her precious points that were the coupons used to buy food. I never went hungry during the war. Mum was a marvelous cook and always saw that we were well fed. We would have cornflakes, All Bran or porridge for breakfast, a dinner and pudding at lunchtime and bread, margarine and jam for tea. Sometimes we would have a boiled egg or an omelet made with dried eggs. We always had dinner at one o’clock on Sunday dinner times and had a joint that Mum had saved the coupons for over the week. We had a milk or fruit pudding during the summer months and a suet one in the winter. This would be a spotted dick or a treacle or jam pudding with custard. After Sunday dinner, Dad used to share our sweet ration out between David and myself. These were Horner’s Dainty Dinah toffees, or Sharp’s. Sometimes we would have Glenn’s Old Joe’s toffee that was made of liquorish or we may have fruit drops. We only had sweets on Sunday, as they were rationed to two ounces a week each person. So we always looked forward to Sundays. During the October of that year, my Dad was busy working in the shed. He was very good at woodwork. He told me that he was making a tool chest and I used to go up to the shed and watch him at work. As his work progressed, I could see that the tool chest was becoming school desk, which was something that I was desperate to have. He stuck me out that it was a tool chest though. That Christmas morning I awoke to find that Santa had delivered a school desk, full of goodies such as paints, pens, pencils, paper and even a diary for 1944, along with many other presents. It had been miraculously turned into a desk from a tool chest. Clever stuff eh ? I kept that desk for many years, I was still doing my homework on it when I attended Grammar school. It also came in handy for my snail racing occupation. Later on in the next year (1944), Dad made me a bookcase that I have to this day. At present it is in my sewing room filled with my sewing books. Uncle Austin died in 1944 from Bright’s disease, a kidney complaint. Aunt Laura was left a widow with a little son of four years old. Soon afterwards, Grandpap died of cancer of the lung . He was 59 years old. I didn’t go to his funeral but Dad and Mum took me up to London Rd. cemetery to see the flowers on his grave. Just before this happened, one of my classmates was killed. Houses were being built in Dallington Rd. at Coundon. A pile of bricks fell onto him when he was playing on them and cracked his skull. So 1944 was my first brush with tragedy and death, even though I’d lived through the blitz but I was too young then too realise the tragic drama that was being played out around me. October 14th 1944 was my eighth birthday. My Dad bought me my first hymn book. Hymns Ancient and Modern and the Book of Common Prayer. He wrote on the flyleaf Hymn no. 108, which was his favourite “ When I Survey the Wondrous Cross” He also bought me a silver cross and chain. Auntie Carol bought me a Sterling silver signet ring from Sylvesters the jewellers in Fleet St.
Christmas that year was another memorable one. We had the usual piece of holly as a tree. Aunties Carol and Mary had brought some swarf home from the factory to decorate it and it looked quite nice. I’d been over the fields with Joan and Irene Londcaulk to choose the holly about three weeks before. Auntie Carol’s sister and her daughter came to stay with us. The daughter was the same age as me and we got on well but I can’t remember her name. Santa brought me a blackboard and easel and a schoolteacher’s game. That year I had a wonderful time playing at schools. Toys like dolls and prams and such like were totally unobtainable at that time but I still had many presents from my Aunts and Uncles. These were mostly books, and I’ve been eternally grateful for them because they gave me a love of reading that has stayed with me always. Books like Jungle Book and Just So Stories, from Uncle Bert and Auntie Flo. Cousin Pearl bought me Peter Pan. I loved that book! She worked in a bookshop (W.H.Smiths?) that was situated at the end of the arcade that led to the Barrack's Market. Black Beauty and Lorna Doone. Soon after Christmas we would go to the Pantomime at the Hippodrome theatre. In January we also had lots of Christmas parties to go to. We had the Standard party, the British Legion party, the Corporation party, the Sunday school party and the Ratepayers party. This last one was held in our school hall, and finished with another pantomime on the platform. I can remember watching Snow White performed.
During 1943 and 1944, The news on the radio made much mention of Flying bombs. These were V1 bombs that flew by remote control. No one ever used to know where they were going to drop but when the engine cut out, people would just fall flat on the ground to avoid the blast, as they didn’t have time to get to the nearest shelter. After this Germany launched the V2’s which were far worse as they did a tremendous amount of damage and no-one would hear them coming. They fell mostly on London and the surrounding areas. Coventry was well out of their range. So as far as Coventry was concerned, the war was all but over. We still had rationing, , black-out, and collected salvage and put our waste food in the pig bin that was under the lamp post on the corner by the Co-op though. It was at about this time that I often used to go out selling flags on Saturday mornings for different organisations. Nan Death was responsible for all this as she used to do a lot for charity in conjunction with the British Legion. I did quite well in this department. This was my “ civic responsibility ” period. There were posters on the hoardings that warned us that “Careless talk cost lives” and warned about the dangers of venereal disease (whatever that was). Then we were told to beware of the Squander Bug. Told to “ Dig for Victory ”and many more but I was really in my element when we were told to “ Join the Bread Crusade” Henceforth I diligently ate my crusts, something that I was not inclined to do up until then. David and I used to hide them on a ledge under the table. This ruse was quite successful until Mum caught on when she moved the table and a pile of mouldy crusts dropped onto the floor! It was also around about this time that I learned a sharp lesson in how not to be nosey. Dad was not in the best of health with his ulcer at that time and he had a strong phobia about nosey people looking out of windows. He could never stand net curtains. I was standing at the window, looking out one teatime, when he yanked me away sharply. I lost my balance and cut my head on the corner of the table. Mum had to take me to Coventry and Warwickshire hospital to get seven stitches in my head. Dad was really, really sorry about it but it did have a lasting effect on me in as much as I have preferred to mind my own business ever since!
Sometime in late 1944, Nan’s sister Amy, who had recently moved to
Coundon Rd. from a cottage on the canal at Ansty with her family, invited us to
her daughter Peggy’s wedding. Peggy
was a pretty, fragile looking girl. She
was marrying a man named Cecil, who was a padre in the R.A.F.
They were married at St. John’s church, which was of course our family
church. It was a lovely wedding and
the reception was held at Aunt Amy’s house.
The weather was atrocious though.
It didn’t stop raining. It
rained a lot on their honeymoon and Peggy contracted pleurisy.
Soon afterwards this turned to TB. and Peggy died six months later. I remember going to visit her with my Mum one evening when
there was an display performed by some Russian Cossacks at the Rugby Football
ground . When it was over we went
to see her. I remember that night
because it was the night that I contracted chicken pox.
I never saw Peggy alive again and soon afterwards Aunt Amy died of the
same complaint. Although I was
quite close to their younger daughter, Brenda, we lost touch with them soon
afterwards as the rest of the family moved away soon afterwards.
Brenda eventually became a nun. I can also remember sitting in class one day in
November when a loud explosion rent the air. We thought that the bombing
had started again but found out that night, when we got home, that it was an
ammunition dump in Fauld, Burton-on-Trent, that had gone up.
Sixty-eight people lost their lives in a bang which took out the crater, (which
was some 90 feet deep and covering an area of 12 acres) in a second. A whole
farm with buildings implements and stock vanished without trace. A thousand
acres of topsoil was redistributed, some up to 11 miles away.
Of course the most memorable occasion occurred in May 1945. V.E. Day. The anticipation had built up for quite a few weeks, as the Russians and Allied forces converged on Berlin and Adolph Hitler committed suicide with his new wife Eva Braun. About three weeks before V.E.Day, it was announced on the wireless (radio) that blackout restrictions were no longer to be enforced. We waited in anticipation for ten days and Dad and Mum took David and myself into town when it was dark to see for ourselves the way things were before the war. It was amazing! It’s hard to imagine it now but for five years or more every home had to be blacked out. There were no street lamps, shop signs or anything. ……even buses and cars had to have shades over their lamps, so apart from the moonlight, when it was full moon, everything was pitch black. Of course there were many street accidents during this time but just imagine what it was like for an eight year old child, raised in this environment and the thrill of going into town and seeing not just streets lit up but real neon lighting outside the shops! Every house seemed to come to life. It was magical! The atmosphere was electric with anticipation of the end of the war. Everyone knew that it was imminent and it seemed to be a long couple of weeks waiting for V. E. Day to be officially declared, although prisoners of war had been returning for several weeks. It was lovely to go past a house that had flags and pennants flying outside because we knew someone’s long awaited husband or son had returned home at last after the long months and years of uncertainty. David’s friend lived across the road. He was only five years old and his Daddy was taken prisoner at the beginning of the war and he couldn’t remember him. I will never forget his face when he came home from school one lunchtime and saw all the flags outside his house! It lit up, and he took off like a marathon runner in his hurry to get home
When V. E. Day finally arrived, Dad and Mum took us down into town to join in the celebrations. Dad had an office in the top of an old building overlooking Broadgate, so we had a marvellous view of the large procession that paraded through the town. We went to a thanksgiving service at the Cathedral that afternoon, and then to Uncle Jack and Auntie Bertha’s who were steward and stewardess of the British Legion Club in Ford Street, at the time. We went there a lot and in fact I used to go to tap dancing lessons that were held on the top floor. This momentous day preceded a couple of weeks of celebrating. Every street had a party and somehow or other, David and I got to go to them all. Even as far afield as Lavender Ave. but by far the best party of all was the one we had in our entry with all our friends and neighbours from Evenlode Crescent, Southbank Road and Courtland Ave. We had trestle tables laid out and the food was fantastic. I’ll never forget a trifle that one of the mother’s made. It had cream on it (not real) with cherries and angelica and it looked and tasted delicious! Goodness knows how long the mothers had been saving their points up for this event but they had made a tremendous effort. After tea we had dancing and games and the grownups had a sing-song. Later still the Dads lit a big bonfire in the middle of the entry and we sat around it singing songs. We also had some home-made fireworks that Dad had made. Of course these are illegal now but way back then, anyone could make them out of some gunpowder and saltpetre. They were quite impressive at the time, although not as spectacular as the real thing.
Of course the war wasn’t over completely, because we were still at war with Japan but life was pretty good for us children. We went to fancy dress parties that were held at St. George’s church in the hall. Eunice Cure, our neighbour’s daughter, yes---- the lady whose conservatory that I had previously re-decorated!---- supplied the costumes. She was a dance instructor and did a lot of amateur theatre work. I went dressed as a gypsy and Auntie Carol made my face up and lent me her gold screw on earrings. I looked quite authentic but I didn’t win a prize. Jeanette Fisher, my best friend, was dressed as a court jester. She didn’t win either but she took it personally and threw a strop! Spoilt brat!
The following month, in June, we had our first holiday. In Stretton-on-Dunsmore !! Not exactly the Costa Brava but we had a really great time. Dad and Mum hired a very small and primitive caravan in the grounds of the owner’s home. I think there were three or four in the grounds but I can’t remember. The owners lived in a temporary wooden bungalow and supplied us with fresh bacon and new laid eggs for breakfast each morning. I never cared for bacon until then but this was home-cured and completely different from any I’d ever tasted. It was sunny all week and they had a small swimming pool that we played in every day. There was a car tyre inner tube that we used as a swimming ring. We climbed trees and ran around the fields all day long. The caravan was a four birth and had a paraffin heater on which Mum did the cooking. We had a wonderful time. Although there was a swimming pool there and we were in it every day, I could not swim as yet. We often used to go swimming to the outdoor baths that Coventry used to have in those days. There was one at Gosford Green that we went to now and again but the most popular one was the Kempas Baths that were off the Kempas Highway at Green Lane. These baths were almost my undoing. There was an island in the centre of the pool and one side of it was only four feet deep but unknown to me, the other side was six feet deep and I jumped into the wrong side! I just stood unmoving and shocked with water over my head. I had no idea what to do! Luckily for me, a man must have seen my plight, because seconds later, which seemed to me like many minutes, I felt someone’s hands grab me underneath my armpits and lifted me out of the water. I didn’t venture onto that island again until I learned to swim properly the following year. A few weeks after this, we went on an outing to Wicksteed Park with the same neighbours with whom we had the street party. My Nan came with us. We had a lovely day out and I went on the water shute for the first time. Nan bought me a sewing kit, with which I could make leather comb cases, bookmarks etc. and we sang songs all the way back to Coventry. Soon after this, in August, the Americans dropped the Atomic Bomb on Hiroshima and two days after that, on Nagasaki, so the Japanese surrendered and World War Two was officially over. Rationing carried on though for a number of years. Indeed, I was at work at the Alvis in 1954 when butter and margarine came off ration. These were the last items to come 'off ration'. About a month after this, Dad came home from work one lunchtime. He collapsed and had to be rushed to hospital with a burst ulcer. Auntie Carol took us to the Savoy picture house to get us out of the way. I remember Carmen Miranda starred in the film but I have no idea what the title was. Dad was in a serious condition and had an operation to save his life. Dr. Campbell, who was to become my G.P. in later years, performed the operation and after Dad recovered, he went down to Dawlish for three weeks to convalesce. He came back just before my ninth birthday and brought back a lovely birthday cake for me, as well as bottles of Devon violet perfume for all the ladies. It was a year for unusual presents, because Uncle Frank came back from abroad (Palestine) and brought me a beautiful hand tooled leather bag. I slept with it by my pillow all night in case it disappeared! He brought David a wallet and Mum a silver powder compact engraved with a sepulchre from Jerusalem. I don’t know what ever happened to these things but how I wish that I still had them !
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All the personal photographs on this page and more, are on my "Webshots". http://community.webshots.com/user/mjvernon36 |
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* This passage is from John Hicklin's letter http://www.burton-on-trent.org/4-School/1940s/john_hicklin.htm |
