91ÈȱŹ

This story has been submitted to the People's War site by Pam Riding of Kirklees Libraries and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions At home Mam fought her own war trying to feed and clothe us and attend to our needs. Illness was dreaded if it didn’t respond to home remedies. The doctor charged two shillings and sixpence for a visit and Mam had regular visits from the Doctor’s Man to pay her debts off at sixpence a week. I remember he came on his bike every Friday. Many of our clothes were bought second hand from a Mrs Simonds, who would arrive with about half a dozen carrier bags for Mam to choose from. Most items cost a few pennies. We rarely got new clothes except at Co-op ‘divi’ times, when Mam would collect the dividend from the shopping she had done at the Co-op over a period as a member. The Co-op was opposite our house and I would often shop there for Mam. So much so that I can still remember the check number 15815. When the ‘divi’ was collected we usually got something new to wear. It was quite an occasion. We could show off at last! The ‘divi’ didn’t always run to footwear though. This was always a problem especially in winter. During the warmer weather we could wear pumps (plimsolls) and these could be bought for a couple of shillings but were not of course weather proof. We lived very close to the school and sometimes risked wet feet, but usually we wore Wellingtons, again cheaper than shoes, but not very warm. We rarely stayed off school through lack of footwear, but we have been known to have cardboard in our footwear to cover holes in the sole.

Clothing and footwear were rationed but Mam rarely used all our coupons. She couldn’t afford to. She also would have coupons left over from the food that was rationed for the same reason. All dairy products were rationed except milk along with jam, tea, sugar, lard, eggs, meat and probably other things that I’ve forgotten. What we didn’t use from our ration book coupons Mam would sell. People were more than keen to have that bit extra and would pay well. We knew of one man who managed a grocer’s shop and also managed to stay out of the forces. He did quite well out of supplying friends with rationed goods, probably buying coupons from his poorer customers. The word ‘spiv’ came into being I think in these days. These people who did shady deals to make quick money on the ‘black market’.

Returning to sweets, I believe we were allowed four ounces a week and we all had a sweet tooth. If I managed to get pennies running errands or baby-sitting I would buy things like ‘Butter Kist’, because it didn’t weigh much or buy just one ounce of boiled sweets or toffees at a nearby shop. That was owned by a Miss Haigh and she would be quite happy to serve small amounts which she would put in a cone-shaped bag she had made herself by wrapping a square of paper around her hand.

We did see oranges very occasionally but as these and other things depended on the
merchant Navy getting the convoys through it was somewhat of a treat to taste such fruit. Bananas I can remember only once and then they were for under fives only. My youngest brother was fortunate to get one banana and in spite of all our pleadings as we sat around him watching him eat, not one of us got more than the smell! Jeff wasn’t very popular that day!

Apart from rationing other signs of restriction were around us. It was very important not to have lights showing from buildings. To make sure about this A.R.P. (air raid precautions) men were brought in. These were usually men who were too old or too unfit for duty. Some of them I’m sure enjoyed the authority it gave them when they banged on peoples doors and told them to ‘put that light out’ etc. Our local one called at our house more than once to tell us that we were showing a light. This was usually because one of us had been playing near the curtain and moved it. “You’ll get me shot”, Mam would say. “They’ll think I’m a spy trying to help the German planes find Bradford. Just keep away from those windows, will you?” Actually I don’t think she was too bothered even though she could have been fined had the offence continued. Mam knew Mr Stubbs our A.R.P. man. He lived almost opposite us on Granville Road. His wife was a dressmaker and made me my first costume (suit) when I started work at fourteen.

Cigarette card collecting was popular and an A. R. P. series I remember had a stirrup pump with directions for using one. I think that every household was issued with a stirrup pump to use with a bucket of water in the event of an incendiary bomb falling on the house. Fortunately it was never needed by us. We did have air-raids though and more than once we were awakened by wailing sirens. Usually it was a false alarm or a stray plane trying to get back to Germany. I got fed up of Mam coming to disturb my sleep and would say “Tell me when the ‘All Clear’ has sounded. I don’t want to go into the cold cellar.” But I knew I was taking a big risk as I slept in the attic, so I was always relieved to hear the continuous tone of the siren saying that things were safe once more.

Bombs did drop in Bradford. One hit Rawson Market and another I believe fell on Lingards store at the end of Market Street. There were quite a number of air-raid warnings and we should have used the local shelters, I suppose, but instead Mam preferred for us to go down into our cellar. This was cold and damp and we would huddle around a paraffin stove waiting for the ‘all clear’ and hoping that our beds had stayed warm. One night in our cellar I remember very well. We heard the drone of the plane and the engine sound was recognised as being German. We looked across at one another in fear, but then that fear turned to terror. We could hear the scream of a ‘whistling bomb’ descending, and we were sure that it was going to land directly on us. I think that all of our hearts stopped beating. I know that mine certainly did. And then there was a muffled thud. The bomb had landed and we were still alive. Relief could be heard as well as seen and then some of us laughed. Mam had tears in her eyes. We were safe. Next day we went to see the uprooted tree in Heaton Woods half a mile away.

The local shelters were under the school shed. Their building had left us little room for play on rainy days. But when they were being built I had all the play my heart could desire. The builders had dumped loads of bricks at the bottom of the school yard and every evening after school I was there amongst them. Playing houses with the new bricks gave scope for a lot of imagination.
My friend and I not only made a small wall for our house boundary but then built chairs and tables and cupboards, and anything else that we could think of. With all those bricks there was no limit and every evening we couldn’t wait to get back to our special play. Each time we expected the builders to have taken ‘our house’ but they never did until the very end of their work. Of course other children interfered, but not when we were around. No property was better protected!

Around this time we had a gas mask drill at school that none of us were keen on. There was a van in the yard and we were made to go in wearing our gas masks and then, when inside were asked to take them off for a few seconds. The van was full of tear gas and we all came out coughing and spluttering. I suppose they were trying to make us see the importance of having gas masks near us at all times, but we didn’t appreciate the lesson.

We were made aware of the war in other ways too. The radio would give out patriotic songs like ‘What A Surprise for the Duce’ (Mussolini) and the cinemas often had war adventure films showing. These were usually American and showed John Wayne winning the war for us, or Noel Coward commanding a ship with a stiff British upper lip. These did little for me as I never have enjoyed seeing people being killed. Mam was very much this way too. When reports came in of German deaths she would say, “They all belong to someone. They’re all somebody’s lads.”

Fortunately Hollywood, and at times, British film studios put out uplifting musicals to cheer us up a bit. These were more for me, with their Betty Grables and Rita Hayworths along with all their songs and glamour. We didn’t get these at the Saturday afternoon matinees though. Then it was more likely to be old films with Tom Mix galloping across the screen or Flash Gordon with his incredible rocket ships and screens that could show the person he was talking to, though miles away! There was also comedy of course with Harold Lloyd and Buster Keaton and my favourites, the Three Stooges. We had paid either two pence (for The Bug Hut) or three pence (for the Prinny Hall) and we made sure we got our money’s worth by shouting and yelling and stamping our feet at every opportunity. The staff must have been very relieved to see the back of us.

Most of the time though, the war didn’t affect us. As usual we played in the streets with our friends at games such as Piggy, Tin-can Squat, Tiggy relieve, Marbles, Skipping, Hop-scotch, and games we’d invented with cigarette cards. These we collected greedily, trying to make up complete sets. We would ask anyone we saw smoking if they had any to spare. All cigarette packets contained one of varying quality. Woodbines had ‘Air-raid Precautions’ with directions of what to do ‘if.’ Players had ‘Film stars.’ There were also Capstan, Craven A, and a posh expensive cigarette that I can’t remember the name of, but they actually gave black and white glossy pictures of ‘stars.’ How I longed to make up a set of those, but I never did. We would swap them of course, for ones we needed, but any spares we used for skimming games etc., especially when they became dog-eared.

In the house we became quite adept at grown-up card games and would usually play for matches or buttons. At times we’d try playing for halfpennies, like when we’d been carol singing, but most of us didn’t like losing, so that wasn’t often. We played board games when we got hold of one (jumble sales) but I don’t remember anything more special than Ludo, Snakes and Ladders and Tiddly-winks.

Out of doors we’d play marbles in the dirt in front of a row of sheds opposite. We also played climbing and jumping about in the Co-op yard. Football and cricket were sometimes played on the street itself, but if we could get in the school yard unnoticed by the caretaker, that was much better. Quite a lot of climbing
Took place here too, as one would challenge another. I did once manage to climb up on the school roof one evening with others and then heard my mother calling, so hid behind the belfry. As if that hadn’t been enough to frighten me I then had the task of climbing down the drainpipe. I was terrified and wondered why I’d been daft enough to take on what the boys had managed pretty easily. I never took up the challenge again. It was a long way down and I would not have bounced had I fallen!

In the school yard we also played in the air-raid shelters. These were never locked and had benches for people to sleep on if necessary. They were dry and dusty with builders’ left over cement. But still dark enough to play ‘True of Dare’ in. I would now be ten or eleven and beginning to be interested in boys. I’m drawing a veil over what went on in those shelters!

As I’ve written, the shelters were dark inside but they were wired up for lighting when needed. How experienced the electrician was, I do not know. He had slung the wire across from the school and onto the flat roof of the shelter in the yard where we played. From here the wire went into the shelter. My brother Maurice one time had climbed onto the flat roof. He reached for the wire at the same time as clutching a nearby iron pole. I could be minus a brother now. He was very lucky to survive the very bad electric shock he received. I don’t think he bothered climbing the shelter roof again and I hope he warned the others not to do so either.

During the war we were encouraged to stay at home for holidays. The coast was not the safest of places. Local Councils complied by putting on entertainment for us. I remember Northcliffe Playing Fields having a stage set up and concerts being given in the open air during ‘Shipley Tide Week’ (the one week for the annual holiday). The artistes were amateur but well received none-the-less. In Lister Park, a fair arrived in the summer and stayed for a month; fairs were busy in those days as there were few places where anyone could enjoy a little excitement. I loved going there even though I rarely had anything to spend. I hung around so much that a lady who ran a ‘Roll-a-Penny’ stall asked me if I’d like a job looking after her four year old. That year I spent most of my school holiday in Lister Park and was very pleased to be able to run the stall when the lady was making meals in their immaculate caravan.

Some of us children wanted to help ‘the war effort’ too. We had seen the iron railings being removed from around buildings. Our school railings had gone (making it easier for us to get in) and so had those in front of our house. Lister Park nearly lost its Prince’ gates but managed to convince the powers that be that they were irreplaceable. The iron was for making tanks. A lorry came round collecting aluminium items and Mam gave a pan she could ill afford. The aluminium was for making planes. I was interested to read not many years ago that all this collected metal was never used. It was just the Government being on the safe side.

My cousins and I hit on the idea of making things to raise money for the Red Cross. The reason for this was because the ‘Telegraph and Argus’ every Saturday published names of people who had helped in this way. The only stipulation was that the cash had to be at least half-a-crown (2/6d). We set to work making flowers to sell to neighbours. Our flowers consisted of twigs with ‘Glitter wax’ wrapped around them in the form of blooms. They were pretty amateur but these were days of shortages. People were ‘Digging for Victory’ and growing veg not flowers. We charged tender hearted neighbours one penny per flower and knocked on many doors. At last we had a half-a-crown and were standing in front of the desk at the ‘Telegraph and Argus’ office giving our names. We could hardly wait for the Saturday publication and then, there it was! ‘Donations to the Red Cross 2/6d followed by about six names. We were famous!

The other thing we did to try to raise money was put on back yard concerts. We would practise for weeks with songs like ‘Who Do You Think You’re Kidding Mr Hitler’ and ‘The Sailor With The Navy Blue Eyes.’ I knew a few dance steps because a friend of mine attended classes and like showing off. As singers we had our limits, but we did our best and soon we were considering ourselves ready for the show. Then came the difficult bit. In spite of having set our chairs in Aunt Margaret’s yard facing a pair of bed sheets hanging on a washing line for curtains, there was little interest in our show. We had advertised with a poster on the back gate and we were only charging a halfpenny, but the resulting audience was pathetic. We even went out and ‘shanghaied’ a few small kids to sit with our own brothers and sisters but it still didn’t add up to a decent audience. We did our best with our singing and dancing but it was mostly to jeers and laughter in the wrong places. But we had tried and that was the main thing.

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