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There was an army camp at Welwick, down at the Humber bank. They used to bring a lorry into the village to collect all us young girls to a dance or to concerts. We were teenagers, about 14.

There was also a camp at Weeton, the next village. There was one chap from there who used to come to my house for a bath, because they only had washbasins at their camp, not a proper bath. We got all his friends coming too, once or twice a week, maybe six or seven of them. They had to bring their own soap, because it was rationed.

They’d bring us a bit of lard from their rations, or sometimes a tin of spam.
Despite that, my mother would never teach me to bake or cook. She said if I wasted it, we wouldn’t have anything to live on for the rest of the week.

(Transcribed by Joachim Noreiko)

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