Open Writing

This morning whilst ironing, my mind began to wander, as it inevitably does, anything not to think about ironing... about all the talk recently about the 60th Anniversary of VE day.

I remember it well! But more to the point the year which preceded it.
My birthday falls on May 13th, so shortly after my 14th birthday, June 6th to be precise, I was still at school, waiting to be a school leaver at the end of the term, when on that memorable day we were told about the D Day landings.

One of the 'old girls', Mary who was serving in the Land Army, but at present home on sick leave with a broken arm, had been acting as teacher’s help. She only lived around the comer from Holywell Green School, and used to pop in to relieve her boredom, I suppose, and look after the class when the teacher popped out.

This particular day she came bursting in to announce the Allies had landed on the Normandy beaches at a place called Caen - pronounced Can't without the T. Immediately the maps came out and we all looked excitedly to see just where these now famous beaches were.

Shortly after this the term ended and I left school. My mother had planned a holiday to the Isle of Man. Along with a neighbour and my favourite Aunt, Annie, Mum and I set off on the train to catch the first ferry to Douglas in the morning. We were fortunate in that the first night ferry since the beginning of the war sailed at midnight, so we arrived early morning, quite tired and weary from our travels at the boarding house of the Misses Cubbin, just behind the Villa Marina.

On the Sunday morning, Mum said that everyone went to Kirk Braddon to the service. If there were too many people, the service was relayed by loudspeaker to the field behind, where we stood on a hill.

I was feeling quite grown up, I had left school, though not yet begun work, and was wearing my first 'grown up' type dress. It having been bought from the local dress shop 'Daintywear' where I had accompanied Auntie Annie for a few years when she visited us at Christmas to buy a new, besequined dress. My dress was turquoise crepe-de-chine very plain, with a rouched neckline.

After the service we caught the bus back to Douglas, by which time it was raining. I ran all the way from the bus stop to the boarding house, clutching the front of my lovely dress, as it was shrinking by the second having got wet. I no longer felt grown up but very embarrassed with the skirt up around my waist by the time we got back.

On returning from the holiday, I began work - filing at a local boilermaker's factory. I was never really happy there, but some of the people were very nice, and some were real 'characters' I quaked every time I saw the managing director, who by early May had decreed that even though the end of the war was in sight, that there would be no shirking, no holiday...

So on the evening of May 7th, I was still 14 going on 15; I did not want to go to bed. We all knew that Mr Churchill was going to make a speech about midnight, and I didn't want to miss it. Mum insisted I went to bed, just in case there wasn't an announcement, but they had the wireless on quite loud so I could hear upstairs. Yes, of course, came the announcement that May 8th would be a public holiday. Yippee! No going to work for me. Blow what Mr Naylor said, Mr Churchill had decreed it.

I remember walking down to see my workmate and friend who would be 16 on the 9th of May. In my hair I wore a silk flower made up of red white and blue gauze. I don't remember that there was any public celebrating in Elland that evening.

After all I was only 14 and didn't usually go out late. Later on in the August, when VJ day was announced, arrangements were made, everyone seemed more prepared, and there was dancing in the streets -or at least in the Town Hall Square.

Memories of the 40's are still very strong in my mind, as now I help out with a group of ladies, 'Credo', who do a very nice 40's programme of Glen Miller, Ivor Novello etc. I am the Munitions Worker who does a funny monologue about an airman, and 'knits a singlet for Cecil'. A far cry from the gangly, shy 14-going-on-15-year-old who was around when the real VE day happened.