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I was 22 at the outbreak of war and in about 1940 started working at the Trustee Savings Bank in Liverpool. While working at the bank I became friendly with George Bird and his wife Edna.
As a keen knitter, I was helping the war effort by knitting socks for the troops. On one particular occasion, I was knitting with Edna. She suggested that I should knit a pair of socks for ‘our Bertie’, George’s brother: because he had such big feet it was difficult for him to get socks to fit. To knit socks you start at the open end, turn the corner of the heel and knit for as long as you think the sock should be. When I had knitted a few inches beyond the heel I turned to Edna to consult her: “Will this be long enough for Bertie?�
To which Edna replied, “Good heavens no, Bertie has hellish big feet!�
So I continued knitting, not giving much thought as to whether I would ever meet this man with hellish big feet!
On a day in August 1945 Edna phoned me up at home. “George’s brother, Bertie, is home on leave. Come over to our house and meet him. You knitted socks for him, after all!�
I didn’t realise at the time, but she was actually doing a bit of match making!
“I’m afraid I can’t tonight, Edna. I’m going to see a play at The Playhouse. I’ve already got my ticket and I’m meeting friends from the bank.�
“Oh, but you must. He only has a few hours left before he has to go back.�
Despite Edna’s insistence, I was not going to change my plans. However, to get back from the city centre to where I lived after 9 o’clock at night, I had to get the train instead of the bus. The bus would have stopped very near my house but the nearest train station was about a mile away. I decided to make a slight detour and call in at George and Edna’s. At least I could say hello to Bertie (and look at his big feet!).
So I met the man with the hellish big feet but, to me, he was not a ‘Bertie’. He was most certainly an ‘Albert’!
Not long after I’d arrived at George and Edna’s, the next door neighbour called: “There’s news on the radio you should hear!�
So we joined them around their radio. Why we didn’t listen to George and Edna’s I don’t know but at least it made more of a party! The voice on the radio was announcing that the Japanese had surrendered: it was VJ Day! Of course, we all rejoiced at the news and had a drink to celebrate. Not too much, of course, because I still had to walk home!
Albert, as I was going to call him, offered to walk me home. At first I declined. I had often walked home on my own during the black-out. In the end I relented and that was the beginning of a very long relationship. On 5th October 1946 we married and remain so happily to this day.
VJ Day is most certainly a day to remember!

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