Sample

SUMMER 1939

    “Well done, children, you’ve worked hard today. Don’t forget to practise your lines during the holidays. I expect you all to be word perfect in September.”

    It was the end of the school year and we were a happy bunch of eight-year-olds, bubbling with excitement. We were all crazy about the very first full-length Walt Disney film ’Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs’ - the choice for the school play. I’d been taken to see it as a birthday treat, and now I was actually going to play the part of Snow White!

    “Clear up quickly, because there is to be an air raid drill before you go home. When you hear the signal, go quickly and quietly into the corridor – take your gas masks with you – and sit in your places.” An air raid drill was like a fire drill, but instead of hurrying out into the playground away from the school, we stayed inside a protected area of the corridor. There had been rumours of a war and we had all been issued with a black pig-like rubber mask, folded down into a brown cardboard box, with the instruction to carry it at all times.

    We’d had lots of fun trying the masks on – some of my friends found them a bit frightening, others thought they were fun. Some of us couldn’t stop our breath from pushing out of the sides and making raspberry noises. Imagine the amount of giggling that went on! It was quite serious, really. Apparently, it was feared that poison gas might be used against us if a war began, especially since it had been used in the First World War against our fighting men. But, being only eight years old, we didn’t take things too seriously. We had no knowledge of what was going on around us and the adults made sure we were not within hearing distance when they discussed the prospect of war.

    Miss Morris stood to one side as we bustled around clearing the props. Jenny straightened the desks. Jenny was always quick to help, which was just as well, because no sooner had we put the last chair in place than the warning bell rang. Into the corridor we filed, taking our places on the floor furthest away from the windows. Ours was the first class to take its place and we all earned an extra star for effort.

    The large panes of glass throughout the school had been criss-crossed with brown tape ’just in case the windows shatter’, we were told. We didn’t think to ask what might happen to break them. We were too anxious to get the air raid drill over with and escape to our holidays.

    We’d moved in to this beautiful, modern school in Wood Green, North London, fairly recently, with its large airy classrooms, great expanses of window and the very latest desks and chairs. Up to now our school had been the old Victorian building round the corner with its painted brick walls, high windows and cold classrooms.

    Miss Morris checked us off on her register, finishing as the final bell rang. Goody! No more school for five whole weeks.

    “Goodbye, children. Have a good holiday.” Miss Morris saw us out into the playground. A mad scramble through the gates and we were off, free to enjoy the prospect of a long, lazy summer.

    Joyce was my special friend who lived just across the road. For the first two weeks of the summer holidays we played together in Norfolk Park, where we would hang around for hours, literally, upside down on the monkey climb. We suspended ourselves, knees bent over the cold metal bars like two trapeze artistes, chatting away about nothing in particular. When we were tired of being upside down, we would lie on our stomachs over the edge of the shallow boating pond, collecting nice fat water boatmen in a jar, or go down to the muddy pool under the trees to look for newts. If it was raining we’d go into the pavilion to practise tap-dancing on the tiled floor.


    At home, my beautiful black cat Smudge, would hide behind the sofa when I was around. He was very good tempered and when he let me get hold of him I’d brush his fur until it gleamed. Then, when he was least expecting it, I would slip a baby’s nightdress over his head, fasten a bonnet under his chin and pin him down firmly in the doll’s cot with a small blanket. I’m sure he liked it because he didn’t struggle to get away and he looked so sweet in broderie anglaise!

    There was always plenty to do and it seemed as if the sun shone from dawn to dusk. But I was impatient to get to the third week of the holiday because we were going to travel to the coast by train. A steam train.

    I’d roused fairly early that morning, conscious of someone moving around in the kitchen below my bedroom, when:

    “God save our gracious King, long live our noble King…”

    I opened one eye. The radio downstairs was blasting away. Of course! It was my ninth birthday!! 21 August 1939. I was born on the same day as one of the King’s daughters – Princess Margaret. The BBC always played the National Anthem on a Royal birthday and Dad would turn the volume up high to wake me up. It was his way of saying “Happy birthday Mog,” (my nickname), “come and open your cards.”

    In five seconds flat I had raced down the stairs, almost in two leaps, to find cards and presents waiting on the sideboard. There was a beautiful Snow White doll, a toothbrush holder in the shape of Dopey, a necklace and bracelet set made up of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs charms and another slim silver bracelet with a glistening opal stone set in the middle.

    “Thanks. I don’t know which I like best. Can I take them all with me?”

    The toothbrush and holder were stuffed into my case, the necklace and bracelets fastened round my neck and wrists and we were ready for our journey. After breakfast we set off for Devon where Dad was to join his Territorial Army Regiment for summer camp. He was a part time soldier; every Friday for months Dad had been going to training evenings – he was a Reservist and his heavy anti-aircraft Regiment were to have their first training camp together.

    It took us seven or eight hours to reach Bude, but the journey was fun. We walked along the corridors from the front to the back of the train as it chugged along, the steam and smoke from the engine floating back along the top of the carriages, like a long fluffy beard. Halfway down the train there was a special ’restaurant car’ where we were treated to a delicious lunch. Back in our compartment, Mum wound the carriage window down so that I could put my head out of the window, sniff the air and watch the countryside go by. I loved the smell of the smoky, steamy engine - that is, until smut got in my eye!

    The golden sand of the Devon beaches stretched as far as I could see. The weather was fine and we spent most days at the water’s edge. Sometimes Dad joined us with men from his Regiment and their families.

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