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This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Three Counties Action on behalf of Patricia Purcell and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.

The moments that stay in my mind, the sights, the sounds, the words heard from adult’s conversation. The school where the female staff married, joined up, disappeared. We had what was left.

Helping out on farms with the harvest, sleeping in the barn; the young teacher/wife who came in, singing; at last, news of her serving Husband. Warm milk straight from the cow, pea-picking, hellishly hard. The convoys of young men, whistling to us, passing singing ‘rude’ songs — we loved it! They were preparing for Arnhem, practicing on the downs, but we did not know that.

My Fathers silence about his V.II experience was kept until I was nearly 40, and I asked him if he remembered. “I stepped over the bodies, and went to find your Mother”.

So many moments rise up in my mind, like bubbles — adolescence, soldiers billeted in our suburb, we were too young, but they came to our church dances, older girls danced with them all. 15/16 we were immature, ‘stay together’ was instructed, home by 9:00 — the worry of parents if we didn’t. We assumed our homes were always going to be there. I remember my parents and neighbours dancing to ‘The Lambeth Walk’, ‘Under the Spreading Chestnut Tree’ as I looked on, amazed, mystified. I longed for the war to be over, to buy lipsticks and stockings. Looking at the map, the landing at Cassino, the news, realising it would be years if it was so difficult. Hearing of Hiroshima; not understanding at all.

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