DOING OUR BIT.

Story Contd

It was good to be back home with a flushing toilet. Gran's ancient privy in tbe back yard had a paralysing effect on my innards and whilst Californian Syrup of Figs was OK, Gran's enemas were a step too far.

As the war hotted up friends and family began to be enlisted in the forces and there was a lot of heartbreak. Occasionally the German planes bombing the city would go off piste and jettison their cargo near us, causing the sirens to start their mournful wailing. Dad would race down to the Town Hall on his trusty steed (the motorbike) and Mum would usher Evan and me down the hill to Uncle Jim's pub where Auntie Elsie would give us chocolate biscuits.

The pub was a bit of a boozer with sawdust and spitoons on its stone flags. Evan and I loved the notice in the bathroom which said 'PLEASE USE THE LAVATORY NOT THE BATH'
Before long the 'All Clear' would go - one continuous note, and back we would go up the hill to our beds.

Food rationing meant we had to eat endless quantities of spam and scrambled egg, made from a yellow powder. Sweet rationing really hurt and we used to have little flat tins filled with a mixture of cocoa and sugar which we would lick. The more knowledgable of us warned that it was dangerous to lap up too much as this would dry your blood up. Obviously.

The evacuees arrived and as they had spent countless nights underground avoiding Adolf's bombs they brought with them nits and scabies. But DDT lotion and sulphur ointment soon got rid of those.

We were brainwashed with propaganda and the world was split into goodies and baddies.
Clearly we and the Americans and the Russians were the former and the Germans and Italians were the latter. Stalin and FDR were revered as our noble Allies and Hitler and Mussolini were pilloried as ridiculous figures of fun.
'We're going to hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line,
Have you any dirty washing mother dear?'

It was only at the end of the war that - thanks to the newsreels we realised the full horror of Nazi-ism and later still when we, the common people, learnt the true
story of Joseph Stalin.

The local children formed a gang led by Jake - a boy with false legs and a fearsome stick. We decide to raise money for the Spitfire Fund and made spill holders which held tapers so that you could light your fag from the fire and save matches. The lavender bags we made were less successful as we had no lavender and made do with talcum powder. Miraculously people bought these rather messy articles and when we considered we had a reasonable amount of money we marched on the Town hall. Jake decreed that we would only hand it over to the Mayor and we ended up having tea with him in the Mayor's Parlour.

The GI's (dough boys - over paid, over sexed and over here) were a breath of fresh air and were very generous with precious items like nylons. It was always a great sadness that I was too young for them but Auntie Janet married one and they are still together in the States.

In spite of the doctor I sat the scholarship and got it. Joy all round. I could now join my big sister at the grammar school and the world would be my oyster.
Hip,Hip hooray!