Open Writing

Wet grey roof slates come immediately to mind, making imaginary faces at me as I lay on the settee, cosy and warm with a blanket over me and a fire flickering in the black-leaded grate.

Poorly as usual in those days and being pampered by my mother after yet another stint in the hospital. I must have been about three years old then, and all I can recollect of that time was that I always came back home to this lovely little house.

It was small too. One room downstairs and two bedrooms and a cellar, which was dry as a bone and where we played when it was raining instead of going out into the back yard. The toilet stood there, which we shared with our neighbours and which was scrubbed faithfully every few days by the people in their turn.

At the front of the house was the smallest garden you ever saw, but it did have a wall surrounding it, as did the neighbouring houses. Just like a child, I used to walk on the wall and one day tried to jump across to the next one. Unfortunately I fell into the middle and onto the steps, which resulted in my fracturing my right elbow.

Panic stations. A pushchair was borrowed from someone and I was immediately transported in it to the hospital at Batley for X-rays and plaster cast. I can remember it was extremely painful and took many weeks to heal.

Better weather came, and the street which had been cobbled up until recently had been surfaced with tarmac which melted in the strong sunshine. I was found to be playing with it, much to my mother’s disgust. She called it “gas tar”, and it took all her week’s ration of lard to get the stuff out of my hair. A very blonde child, I ended up a brunette until the tar had grown out.

In those days the families were extended, and I took much pleasure from visiting my many relatives, who all seemed to live far apart but in actual fact all lived very close to one another.

Some of my uncles and cousins were in the armed forces, and I can remember distinctly many of them visiting us when on leave, bringing with them boyfriends, girlfriends and other friends. I was quite cross at not being allowed downstairs after bedtime to see them because they all seemed to be having so much fun.

The days seemed long and sunny. I cannot remember many of the bad times, and there must have been many because the war was in full progress and times were very hard. But everyone seemed to be happy and enjoying themselves. I have since realised that they were all petrified and trying to keep up morale for their own sakes and protecting their children from the horrors as far as they could.

I distinctly remember having to wear a siren suit and gas mask and being incarcerated in the cellar for quite a long while whilst bombs were being dropped in the valley, trying to demolish the textile industry. Thankfully many of the bombs did not explode and little damage was done.

We were surrounded by mills, and the looms could be heard continually. A dull thudding that people got so used to living with that they hardly noticed the noise at all.

My father was called to work in the munitions factory because he was unable to be called up into the forces. As he was working away much of the time, I missed him very much and literally sobbed with relief when I saw him come home. I was always a very sensitive and emotional child.