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Chapter two WW2 When I was five

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At some point in this period the mom’s had cause for celebration which ended our playing freedom. All of us kid’s had heard too. The day of gloom drew closer. The powers that be had arranged for a large number of us kid’s to go to Silvermere Road School. A Senior school almost next to the perimeter fence of the airfield. They had found room for us. So off we went, the mom’s complaining now about how far it was to walk. (No 4+4s in them day’s) and no dinner’s. But, once again , ‘Jerry’ was on our side, the kid’s, that is.

I just cannot remember how long we went to Silvermere but it wasn’t long. During a raid one night when we were in Fred’s shelter (we had to alternate shelter’s because they flooded. Fred had made a pump so ours could be emptied while we used theirs and vise-versa). This particular raid had gone on for some time and both men, Fred and dad had gone out for a quick smoke. Eventually dad said it was time they had a ‘cuppa’, so off went Fred down the garden to the house to make a brew. (so the ‘all-clear’ would go) The mom’s complaining that he shouldn’t be in the house with a raid on, dad saying “he’s OK I’m watching the house.” The mind boggles!. After about ten minutes dad opens the doors and announces ‘tea-up’ and we peer out at the night sky. There’s a lot of banging going on, Anti-aircraft guns as well as bomb’s thudding. All of a sudden, right in front of us through the doorway a line of brilliant fires started to appear and instantly became one long line, sort of running from bottom right to upper left of the doorway. Dad exclaimed “they’ve got it Fred, that’s Elmdon done for”. Well I looked at my friend Bob and he looked at me and I think we clicked together what it was. We shouted together “it ai’nt, it’s the school”. The dad’s decided we could be right as there were no long building’s at the airport. The ‘all-clear’ siren went as soon as we’d seen the tea off, as it normally did. Dad saying “we got it right again Fred”. As the morning dawned the mom’s soon learned that indeed it was the school. Burnt to the ground it was, (what a shame us kids said) I’m telling lies again, I think we all gathered under the big Elm and shouted yippee.

No school, again, how good can it get!. I consoled Mom by saying how good it was she hadn’t got to walk all that way eight times a day, I ducked and ran. At some stage a few of us went playing along the brook in the ‘back fields’, it ran under Church Road and on towards the airfield and Marston Green. We often did this, we could see the activity on the airfield. Dad, Fred and sometimes Mr. Olding (The greengrocer) were usually not far away. They had air-rifles and used to take pot-shots at things, including birds. But the big attraction was to see the Sterling bombers which ran out of runway and sank in the soft ground, (like our boggy field). The other attraction now was the school, one long line of smouldering rubble, which meant hundreds were away from school now not just us from Stanville.

Now, also at some point, as before, I can’t remember when, but I was evacuated. I don’t think it was for long, about four or five weeks at a guess. I was collected by my Aunty Kate (They were a bit posh with a car) and, with a carrier-bag full of belongings, I was taken to their house in Mansfield. I even had to go to school there, the cheek of it. Aunt Kate had a son, Richard. (I suppose it was a good job I didn’t know at my age that it was ‘Dick’ for short. Kate would have sent me back sooner than she did). So here I am, with cousin Richard, he’s two years older than me, and in the same class at his school. Come to think of it, I think it was the only class, with a pot-belly fire to heat the place. It was much better going to his school though, his Dad was some sort of Officer in the Army and had the use of a camouflage coloured scout-car. He often took us or collected us from school, the envy of all the other kids. Sometimes we visited his barracks too. Richard just had no idea how much fun you could have playing with army trucks and big guns on trailers. It’s a good job the shells were locked up.

So much for my stay in Mansfield. Like I say, I was soon home, four or five week’s at the most. And I don’t know the reason, I can only guess; the bombing ceased, Stanville school re-opened or Mom really missed me. (those are the good reasons) Or Kate thought me a bad influence for Dick, sorry, Richard, the barracks thought eventually I would find the key to the armoury or I was eating too much of their food. Well we hardly had any at home. I lived on jam sandwiches and Dad managed to nick enough flour, lard and currants from the bakery where he worked for Mom to make a lardy-cake, and that was a real treat.

The bombing did stop, the school re-opened and we got back to normal. It was overhearing conversations a little later in life that I learnt I hadn’t really started school till I was seven and a half. A bit late I think, I was into too many bad habits by then. But it wasn’t all Adofs fault really, my parents weren’t of the same frame of mind as the Judges next door regarding education. So much so, when I went to Cockshut Hill Secondary Modern, age eleven, I came home with a page of homework to be handed in the following Monday. When Dad came in from work and saw it he through it on the fire. He was in a rage, he expected the school to teach me all I didn’t know and not send me home to do it myself. Some logic there I suppose but not really the correct thing to do. Consequently, on Monday morning when asked for homework, I said what Dad had done with it and not to send me home with any more. Mr. Jones said OK. It must have been discussed in the teachers room because from then on nobody took a great deal of notice of yours truly. I seemed to do a lot of painting in the corridors or looking after the vegetables on the school allotment or seeing to the milk ration or painting white lines on the playground for various games etc. The list is endless, anything except teach me something.

Eventually VE day happened, in our road it was during the night. I was woken by a lot of noise coming from the front, I slept at the back of the house so went through to have a look. There in the middle of the road was a raging bonfire with the whole street milling about. I put some clothes on and went to investigate (I can spell that now I couldn’t then). Mom said the war was over and gave me a lump of lardy-cake and a mug of tea. “But“, she said, “your Dad’s in the guard-room at the barracks with a few others for chopping trees down to put on the fire“. “Mr. Olding (the Greengrocer) has gone to see if he can get them out“. They were let out and re-joined the celebrations, they were all in the ĂŰŃż´ŤĂ˝guard anyway.

So that‘s nearly all my little war with Adolf. The only other thing I can recall is one day a charabanc and two lorries pulled into the driveway at the side of our house (the driveway about 80feet wide at that point led to the back gardens) and loads of German prisoners got out. Soon other vehicles arrived with tools etc, and army type sheds which were soon erected in the field at the end where the drive turned left and right to
the backs of the houses. All the grown-ups were out trying to find out what was going on. And it was soon discovered that a load of ‘pre-fabs’ were going to be built. After the concrete bases were in place lorry-loads of pre-fab sections started arriving on a daily basis. Us kids of course were fascinated having something new to occupy our minds. We chatted with the prisoners, even knew some names and they were very clever with a penknife or sharpened down dinner knife. Any bit of scrap wood could soon be whittled into a toy of various descriptions; a table-tennis type bat with four chickens pecking, a flying eagle and other birds, a crocodile and the whole body swivelled about. And any rope or spud sacks we could find they soon turned into slippers or shopping bags. I don’t think they took money for the items it was more a case of swapping for tea, sugar and milk or something to eat.

Also, towards the later half of the war I would guess, Bob and me got ourselves into a load of trouble. On a Sunday it was. Most of our mates had gone to Sunday school, the church hut on the Radleys end of Horrel Rd. We should have gone too, we had our best jackets on. But we got left behind and played over the ‘front fields’ so we could appear back home with the others when they came out of Sunday school. One of us had some matches, (I’m sure it was Bob, always getting me into trouble) in our pocket. So we lit a fire. No reason, we did it regularly, trying to bake a spud or apple. Most times though it was in a tin-can on a wire then we’d swing it round to get it going well. Well this time it was dry grass and we lost control of it when the wind picked up. We tried scuffing it with our feet to put it out. We broke off a couple of branches and tried beating it, no good. We used our coats and got them in a terrible mess. The flames now were higher than us and racing towards the garden fences on Horrel Rd. We were losing it and really worried when we heard fire bells and looked up to see fire engines coming down Horrel Rd from Garrets Green end. We knew we were in trouble, big time. The fire engines were approaching fast so we disappeared fast too. Up the front fields, across Common Lane, up the side of our house and into the back fields. Down the ‘Dell’ (a curved dip in the field) to the brook where we tried to wash the muck of our coats. We just knew our moms would kill us and sure enough we heard the high pitched scream of a mad woman, my mom. “Timmmeeeee” she yelled, “and you” to Bob. “get up here now”. We strolled across and up the dell , mom was really mad. We tried to keep our distance but she moved like a panther from ten feet away and belted me a clout which sent me flying. Bob stayed clear but copped it when his mom found out. Mom marched us down our back garden and there by the back door was a ‘Bobby’ waiting for us. He really laid the law down and said what big trouble we were in. When dad came in from work I had another good hiding.

Some time later we had notification to attend Hay Mills police station by Holder Rd (I think it’s a pub now). Thankfully dad was at work so only the mom’s took us both. We were there ages getting a good talking to by the inspector in charge. I think they took our finger prints too, to frighten us a bit more. All done to scare the hell out of us of course. I don’t think we ever lit another fire. Strange though, when I came out of the ‘National Service’ I joined the Fire Service in Brum.

All that soon came to an end, the pre-fabs were finished and full of new neighbours. Bickley Grove that was called and Keble and Hadyn went in on the other side of the road, and Merlin grove off Church Rd. with a walk-through from Bickley. All the prisoners had now gone. Dad was still at war with the world and glad to see the back of them. He was always having a battle about something and to crown it all, when they announced the change of school leaving age from fourteen to fifteen and I just missed it, he went barmy. That announcement may not have come during war-time it just seems appropriate to point out that some people are at war with someone or something all the time. Why do they make life so difficult? Now it’s even worse.

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