Open Writing

Mary's story

I was only seven on VE day, so my memory is not quite as clear. The first thing I remember was a sunny day and NO SCHOOL.

The result of no school was that the local dairy had gallons of milk that had to be got rid of, so word got round that children could have as much as they could drink. Betty took me round to the dairy, and we drank as much as we could. As it was fresh, I quite liked it, as I refused to drink it at school wjere it was left in uncovered mugs and was covered in dust by the time we came to drink it! (There was a shortage of glass bottles as the glass factory had been bombed).

We also heard that the owner of Foyles shop had cleaned up his ice-cream machine and put it to use for the first time in five years (milk was rationed during the war).

I remember the tea party in the garage, and looking up and seeing the light shining through small holes in the roof. These were possibly made by shrapnel or the neglect of having no repairs during the war.

I don't remember the George and the Dragon play, but if I was the page-boy, I possibly thought it boring!

I do remember us being rushed up to Sylvia and Sheila's house, as her father was serving ICE-CREAM. It was more ice than cream, but as in those days no one in the road had a refrigerator (or electricity) it was a novelty to us.

All the children were given a V for victory teaspoon to mark the occasion. There was a fuss because one couple claimed one for their unborn child! All service personnel were given a packet of cigarettes.

I have a confession to make about that photo. All my short life I was convinced that I was ugly. My mother's friends would refer to me, in my hearing, as the youngest one, and Betty, who had fair curling hair, as the pretty one.

And of course, there was Sheila and Pam with their ringlets, whilst my hair was as straight as could be. So the photo showed me scowling behind my ugly glasses.

I found the photo some years later and tore it up. Now married to a historian I wish I hadn't!

Living some 25 miles from London, although we spent hours in the shelters during air raids, we were spared most of the results of bombing. That summer I was taken to visit Aunt Emma, who lived in Barking. I was amazed at the sight. Whole blocks of terrace houses had been flattened and half the walls in my aunt's house were patched with breezeblocks.

All the roads had huge black patches in them, and when I asked what they were, I was told that was where the V.E. day bonfires had been!

The Londoners knew how to celebrate!

* * *

Betty's story.

When they knew the war in Europe was coming to an end, the women of our street began planning a celebration party for the children. We knew the war was still going on in the Pacific, and many fathers, sons and husbands were still fighting or missing or prisoners of the Japanese.

The party was to celebrate the end of air raids and blackout. The war had lasted over five years, and small children could not remember peace. They had never tasted ice cream or bananas. However, rationing went on for years after this long war which had exhausted Britain economically, and imports were strictly limited.

It was decided to collect a few pennies a week from everyone who agreed to support the party. The mothers started to save the ingredients for the cooking and to plan the party spread.

My sisters and friends and I thought about entertainment. We would perform a play, St George and the Dragon. Lily wrote the script.

I did not say much because I was St George’s horse. Lily, who was the tallest, played the desperate king whose daughter was next in line to be eaten by the dragon. Sheila played the princess. She was small and pretty with golden ringlets and not too big for a not very big St George to rescue.

Her sister Sylvie was the Dragon. Mary, the youngest, was the pageboy. Sylvie and I were also courtiers when we were not horse or dragon. St George was played by Joyce, who was light enough to sit on the horse. Joyce had large brown eyes in a classical face with neat short hair, so she looked the part.

Producing the costumes was not easy. After five years of war the rag bag was almost empty, but we found an ancient purple skirt for the king’s cloak. Sheila’s mum made her a pretty blue dress, and Joyce’s mum found clothes for St George. We polished up our old brass fireman’s helmet. I made a sword from wood I found in Dad’s shed and painted it silver.

We made the heads for the horse and dragon from cardboard boxes, with much cutting, gluing and painting. On the day we wrapped Sylvie in an old blanket to make her look more dragon-like. She could not move much and was afraid her dragon head would fall off.

When Mum worried that it might rain on the day, I pointed out that our neighbours had a huge garage and no cars in it. The idea was taken up by the neighbours, but imagine what junk can accumulate in a garage four times the usual size. On the day it was spic and span and done up with all the decorations that could be found, and festooned with flags.

We all enjoyed the party fare. We had jelly and blancmange, sandwiches and cakes with cordial to drink. It was not what modern children would like, but we loved it. After the meal we had our picture taken outside the garage, with many of us wearing our party hats.

Our little play was a success, and afterwards Sheila in her blue dress sang In My Sweet Little Alice Blue Gown. That evening I went with my elder sisters up Langdon Hill to watch the lights come on in the streets and houses for the first time since 1939. On the way home we visited other streets where people were singing and letting off fireworks around bonfires.

It was a day to remember.