蜜芽传媒

I was born in Wigan, Lancashire in September 1937, so was aged two when war was declared. We lived in Worsley Mesnes, a village on the outskirts of town, in a terraced house were my father had been born. My father had served in the First World War, and consequently was an officer in the 蜜芽传媒 Guard. He worked during the day in Westhoughton, near Bolton, manufacturing aircraft parts at Dobson and Barlow, a factory that produced textile machinery in peace time. This entailed him catching a train from Wigan at 6am and consequently he left the house about 5.30am every day. He nearly always went to bed at 9pm, even at weekends, which became the point of many family jokes. Mother .however would stay up until very late, often starting to bake well after midnight.

My first memory of the war was being awakened by my parents when a single stray bomb fell in a nearby cemetery. I don鈥檛 remember hearing the explosion, just being awakened, lifted from my bed and experiencing a general feeling of unease by my parents. We didn鈥檛 leave the house. Subsequent research puts the date as the 6th September 1940, so I was aged about 3 at the time.

We were very fortunate not to experience any further bombs for the duration of the war, despite being located midway between Liverpool and Manchester, which were both bombed on numerous occasions. The Anderson shelter, which had been provided to all local residents was erected in the rear garden, It was not reinforced or buried in the ground as, in my fathers first world war experience, this would have been a waste of time. Throughout the war and afterwards, it was only ever used to store the garden tools, as were most others. Some neighbours did excavate, as recommended, assembled the shelter and then covered the roof with soil and turf, but these shelters were invariably half full of water and would only have been used if an attack was taking place. A series of large public underground shelters were built on a nearby recreation ground, but I was not aware of these until after the war, when they became great play dens for myself and compatriots.

I started school when aged 3 1/2, which was common in those days, so that would be about 1941. This entailed a bus journey into Wigan town centre, accompanied by my older sister, which was a journey of approximately 4 miles each way.
Memories of early primary school are quite clear. Hooks for our coats were identified by small animal motifs alongside, and the same motif was used on blankets which were used as covers for a compulsory afternoon rest on green canvas camp beds.
A large wooden slide dominated the single classroom, with a canvas play-house and other toys, allocated according to how well behaved one had been in the morning!
Our teacher was named Miss Santus, the daughter of a well known local sweet manufacturer, (famous for Uncle Joe鈥檚 Mintballs) and occasionally, as a special treat, lollipops were magically produced and given to us. Lunch time meals were eaten at school. These were delivered from a town centre schools kitchen and arrived in large, aluminium coloured containers, with those containing vegetables and custard being cylindrical. The food as I remember it was good, with 鈥榤eat and two veg鈥� being the order of the day. Speculation amongst us at the time often identified the meat as coming from a horse, especially if it was cut very thin! Cottage Pie was a special favourite, along with Sago (commonly referred to as 鈥榝rogspawn鈥�). Semolina and Rice Pudding were generally disliked, but were often featured and served with a blob of strawberry jam.

Another lasting memory of school, towards the latter end of the war, was being given a large pack of drinking chocolate, pre-mixed with sugar. This was a donation from the people of Canada, as detailed on the outer wrapper. Most of us, however, started to eat it straight from the bag, long before we went home.

The main school building was Victorian and supported on Gothic arches This left an area below the school as a covered play area. At the outbreak of war, the gaps between the arches were filled in with brickwork, to provide a makeshift air raid shelter, with an external entrance covered in a slab of thick reinforced concrete and fitted with a steel door. I remember these walls being removed after the war and they were just pushed outwards by large jacks, much to the delight of us children. I suspect that a bomb exploding nearby would have blown them inwards just as easily!

My mother was actively involved with the local Methodist chapel and one of her many voluntary undertakings was to supervise and feed large numbers of refugees in transit from Liverpool. The chapel was used as a local community hall, with families sleeping on the floor for one night or so. Cooked food was provided by the local council, and was similar to that provided at school. This was served by the local ladies who were mostly members of the church, and who cleared away afterwards. I have a lasting memory of boys of my age, playing with their toys on the chapel floor. They had obviously been allowed to bring just their favourites with them and, with a sense of guilt, I recall coveting a tin plate aeroplane that one boy was pushing along the floor. A refugee from the Channel Islands stayed with us for a short time. His name (phonetically) was Herbert Lamio but, unfortunately, I can鈥檛 remember if he was from Guernsey or Jersey. Several refugees were billeted with neighbours, but only for short periods.

Throughout the war, and for several years afterwards, listening to the wireless was a ritual at home. My father always listened to the news with intense concentration and would often express an opinion to my mother concerning his interpretation. This was above my understanding, but I remember it as a ritual that was observed each evening. The comedy show ITMA (Its That Man Again) was a favourite program in the family. It featured Tommy Handley, but obviously I didn鈥檛 understand the nuance of the jokes.

In about 1943, at almost every street corner, new, shiny galvanised dustbins were placed. They had the word SWILL painted in black on their side and were used to deposit household food waste, vegetable peelings etc, which was then transported daily to the local farms for pig food. Living near a small farm, I knew that all farm livestock had to be registered with the Government, or at least was supposed to be! Permission had to be obtained to slaughter any farm animal and most were then taken by the government for redistribution. The farmer was allowed to keep a small portion for personal use. Because of this, an occasional pig or sheep was never registered and reared in secret. I vividly remember an illegal pig being slaughtered in our bath, with fingers inserted into its nostrils to prevent it squealing too loudly.

Being an officer in the 蜜芽传媒 Guard, my father was the Defence Officer at work, and was in charge of a team of men who manned an anti-aircraft gun on the works premises. To speed him to the post during an air raid, when away from work, he was entitled to draw a petrol ration and thus this permitted him to own a car. This made the family quite unique in the village.

He had shooting rights at a farm in the country, often bringing home partridge and rabbits to supplement our meat ration. Eventually he managed to obtain 鈥榖lack market鈥� eggs from the farmer for distribution among our family and also for sale to friends. The car was used to transport the eggs and I remember these clandestine trips were very exciting. Each egg was meticulously wrapped in newspaper and placed in an old leather case which would fit snugly out of sight under the rear seat of the car. I was always sternly told to say nothing if we were stopped by the police when returning home with the eggs, but this never happened. The subsequent distribution, of the eggs was also conducted in a similar, secretive manner.

Rationing did not seem to affect us greatly.
Having experienced the First World War, both parents were very well prepared for the second. All our store cupboards were filled with items that they knew would be in short supply. These included pepper, nutmeg, gelatine, tea and jam. The latter was in the form of dozens of huge 3lb tins of marmalade, which my father ate in sandwiches, every lunch time, through out the war. As explained, eggs and bacon were not a problem and mother baked continually to produce wonderful meals. I remember that tins of stewed steak were a prized item. They were very both difficult to buy and were exchanged by the grocer for a very large number of 鈥榩oints鈥� from the ration book.
Sugar, lard, butter, cheese, meat and sweets were all rationed, with a meagre amount allowed for each family member per week.
On his daily rail journey to work, in the time immediately prior to the outbreak of war, my father had purchased each day bars of chocolate from the vending machines on the railway station. These was stored in the locked bottom draw of his wardrobe and, all through the war, a bar was produced every Saturday evening for a special treat. To make it go further, it was sometimes grated on to a slice of buttered bread to make a delicious chocolate sandwich.
Off ration sweets could be purchased and these, as I remember, were made from honey in place of sugar; an acquired taste! Sugar from the ration could also be exchanged for sweets at the local shop, but whether this was an officially approved transaction or otherwise I do not know. Liquorice root was available from the local chemists shop and this was chewed into a fibrous lump at the end of the stick. A quick trim with the kitchen knife brought a further section into use. No wonder we were never constipated! Coloured bars of candle wax were also chewed when the sweet ration had been consumed.
American airmen, travelling to and from Burtonwood airfield near Warrington often passed through the village. A ritual was taught to us by the older children which entailed shouting 鈥淎ny Gum Chum鈥�,as the trucks passed by. Our cheek was often rewarded with sticks of American chewing gum being thrown to us from the passing vehicles.

Living in a coal mining area meant there were several 鈥榩erks鈥� available. All miners were given extra rations of certain foods, and one of these was cheese. The local mining families, however, didn鈥檛 take up this extra ration, resulting in a huge surplus at the local shop. Therefore, it was possible to purchase unlimited amounts of cheese in our area, which my mother made good use of. The most readily available was processed cheese from America and, unlike the present day products of this type, it dissolved readily in milk. The resulting thick cheese sauce was poured over toast to make a most nourishing and tasty addition to the rationed food. Omelettes made from dried egg powder and milk also featured in our diet. Potatoes were always available and I am sure were not rationed. In consequence, chips and mashed potato were used as a 鈥榮tomach filler鈥� when other food was short.

Excitement had been building as people realised that the war was drawing to an end. I was in bed when peace in Europe was announced on the wireless and my father woke me to tell me the news. I will never forget looking out of the front bedroom window and seeing most of our neighbours carrying large jugs to the 鈥榩ub鈥� across the road, then returning with them filled to the brim with beer. Being a tea-total family, since both my grandfathers had died from alcohol related illness, my parents never entered the public house and beer was looked upon as the drink from the Devil. I suppose seeing all these people with large jugs of beer and yet being very happy caused some confusion in my mind; hence the clear memory.

Memory does however blur after a while for the less important things, and I cannot remember what luxuries became available immediately after the war. Ice cream I think was the first, and I remember queuing outside Pablo鈥檚 factory in Blackpool to get a free ice cream on the first day they recommenced manufacture after the war. Sweets remained on ration for quite a while, and demand was such when rationing was finally lifted, that it had to be immediately reintroduced for several months, until sufficient stocks had been accumulated. Some commodities remained scarce for several years and I know that ration books were still in use for some items in late 1953.

In general, my early childhood during wartime and immediately afterwards was very happy. We had complete freedom to roam, within reason, and spent many happy days playing in the surrounding countryside without any fear of harm. I wish that children today could experience this same freedom that we took so much for granted. Sadly, for many reasons, this cannot be.

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