Open Writing

In Britain the early months of World War II became known as a period of the ‘phoney war’, a time when nothing seemed to be happening with regard to actual fighting. The war at that period had affected other peoples, resulting in large areas of Europe lying beneath the shadow of a broken cross, the swastika, that loathsome emblem of the Nazi regime. Yet the ways of what was to become a total war were gradually to infiltrate the lives of the civilian population of Britain.

Myself, a schoolboy of those days, along with the rest of the community, became accustomed to the presence of high-piled sandbags, shields intended for the protection of considered strategic sites. One such was the Tardis-like wooden police box centrally situated on the so-called Town Green, an area which hadn’t been green within living memory, but was stone-encrusted clay, pounded hard by the passage of trampling feet. Nevertheless, the police box -- one of our rendezvous -- with its adjacent sentinel, a gas lamp, was considered an important communication centre, since a telephone resided within. Consequently the box became enveloped with sandbags, some of which we young boys relocated to form a redoubt behind which we fought off imaginary invaders.

In addition to sandbags becoming a regular feature in our lives, many windows, business and domestic, were criss-crossed with brown sticky tape -- Sellotape was unavailable at the time -- protection against shattering glass during an air raid.

When Anderson shelters appeared on the scene, then accommodating holes were dug by enthusiastic holders, holes which in our area silently filled with water as it drained from the surrounding land. Such a natural occurrence gave the would-be safety seekers the option of possible body fragmentation by an enemy bomb should they remain outside the shelter or drowning within beneath home-sprung water. Perhaps, as some might have thought, the kitchen table or the cellar was the safest bet.

So it was then that as time passed by, the ways of war encroached upon civilian lives.

One bothersome intrusion into everyone’s lifestyle was the blackout. Dark nights of winter were fully realized when street lamps and shop windows ceased to cast their accustomed illumination. Motor vehicle headlamps were shrouded with either slotted visors, or the lamp glasses were painted black, leaving a central disc the size of a florin for light to escape. Vehicle lights then were to be seen by pedestrians, not for drivers to see with.

House windows were also screened with blackout curtains, and woe betide the neglectful householder who allowed the merest chink of light to escape. They may then have been sure of receiving a visit from either a patrolling policeman or air raid warden, who would deliver threats of prosecution for contravening blackout regulations and thereby endangering the public at large.

One piece of information at the time stated that the glowing end of a cigarette could be seen from an aircraft flying at a height of 10 or 20,000 feet! Where did that nugget of intelligence come from? The tap ‘oil of some local boozer? Still ‘put that light out’ became a well-worn phrase during those enforced dark nights. That was the basic message. Quite often it became embroidered just to add colour and emphasis.

During the early blackout period some night time pedestrians resorted to carrying around candles which were contained in a jam jar suspended from a string sling. Trouble with that method of illumination came as a result of a windy night or the sooting of the jam jar’s interior.

Number 3 flash lamp batteries were most sought after, which of course created a shortage. Rejuvenation of weakening batteries was encouraged by warming them in an oven, care having to be taken not to overcook. Quickly produced batteries were encased in plain brown paper with the black sealant smearing their outer surfaces.

The war years brought many words and phrases which, though new at the time, were eventually to form part of everyday, and in some cases every night, usage.

The throb, throb of enemy aircraft engines was readily identifiable to some ears, and from those who were unable to identify the sound would come the question, ‘Is it ours?’ to which the reply would be, ‘No, it’s one of theirs!’

As food rationing deepened then more and more varieties of ration coupons made their appearance. That in turn gave rise to the epithet, ‘Curse the coupons!’ The letters BC after a date in years was accepted as meaning ‘Before Christ’, but as the war years lengthened, this came to represent ‘Before Coupons!’

Anyone who complained about conditions of the times was confronted with the questioning statement, ‘Don’t you know there’s a war on?’ A prolonged wait for anything gave rise to the prophecy, ‘Ah think ah’m ‘ere for t’duration!’

Throughout the war the wireless played a huge part in people’s lives, not only with news of the war progress -- which at one period consisted more of regress for the Allies -- but also as a morale booster, a fact of which Winston Churchill was well aware and consequently took full advantage. There was no other medium that could reach so large an audience at any one time, both at home and abroad.

Popular tunes of the day were played during ‘Music Whilst You Work’, which became a twice-weekday favourite, as did ‘Workers’ Playtime’, a dinnertime variety programme from varying munitions factories. ‘Forces Favourites’ was extremely popular being given Sunday air-time.

Many of the variety shows held their own weekly slots, either in the evenings or at weekends. ‘Garrison Theatre’ was one such. Jack Warner voiced his warning, ‘Mind my bike’, followed by his reading of a letter from his supposed brother in the navy, when we learned of the censor’s notorious ‘blue pencil’. Everyone was ‘Happy at the Hippodrome’ with Enoch Ramsbottom and Me, ‘Me’ being Harry Korris.

One of the most popular broadcasts of those times was ‘ITMA’ with Tommy Handley and Jack Train in character with ‘Dis is Funf speaking’ and Mrs. Mopp enquiring ‘Can I do you now, Sir?’ a risqué remark in those days of a straight-laced BBC.

Elsie and Doris Waters and Suzette Tarrie were regular humorous broadcasters, as were Arthur Askey and Richard Murdoch. The list of entertainers was long, and every effort was made by listeners to tune in to their favourite performances.

On the Home Front everyday familiar faces disappeared from amongst those of conscription age. Reasons for such absenteeism would be given, such as, ‘ ‘Ee’s on munitions somewhere in England.’ ‘Such-and-such ‘as failed his medical. ‘Ee’s grade C sooah ‘ee’s doin’ ’ospital waark dahn saath’ or ’Mrs. What’s-er-name’s lad is exempt, in a resaarved occipation.’ This was the new language we were to learn.

When conscripts crawled home from the army on their first brief leave, they brought with them horror stories about their basic training and 20 mile route marches. Some, it was said, retired to their own beds and slept the full 48 or 72 hours leave, having to be awakened to return to camp.

For civilians, as remarked upon already. the patterns of war formed the lifestyles. Gradually the auxiliary forces were developed -- air raid wardens, special constables, fire-fighters, Home Guard and the various women’s organisations.

At times life may have been dark, dangerous and drab, but society got on with the job in hand and made the best of what was available at the time.

The memories recounted here are merely snippets from the long war years. Everyone from that time has their own recollections. It was an occasion unforgettable to anyone who experienced it.

(Huddersfield University of the Third Age)