Open Writing

Amazingly, there weren't any air raids on the town during July and August 1941 - the eight weeks after I returned from evacuation. Perhaps this was due to the light nights and extended British Summertime? We had to wait until September for the next siren alert.

Fortunately, our small upstairs flat at Reed Street, where my mother and sister had continued to live during my evacuation, was undamaged during the bombings of early 1941. Their income during this time consisted of my father's irregular weekly maintenance money and Addie's wage as a laundry assistant. Like many of their neighbours, they had great difficulty making ends meet. A growing six-year-old now added to their expense and responsibilities.

After the open spaces and garden at Flimby, adjusting to our small two-roomed flat was difficult. Also I had not seen my mother for nearly a year. She was obviously pleased that I was home, but my growing up caused her problems. It was nearly twenty years since she had been involved bringing up children, and even then it was two girls and she had a husband to help her. Now she found herself with a growing, active son, no husband and limited financial means.

The result was that she was often at a loss as to how to treat me, and what standards to set. Looking back, in many ways, I think I benefited from this uncertainty. She allowed me freedom, gave me responsibility and expected me to do things that were well in advance of my years. For example, at six years of age, I must have been the youngest window cleaner in town!

My mother was a plump kind-hearted, hard working, family orientated lady of average height. She was an extremely good talker and coming from a mining family, had very strong views on politics and related topics. She did not drink or smoke and I can never remember her swearing. After my father left, she despised all men. At the same time, this seemed to stimulate new found confidence skills. If anyone talked down to her because of her circumstances, they got the sharp end of her tongue. She was not an emotional person and as a result, we were not a very demonstrative family.

Mabel Owen also had a strange belief in fortune telling, and read 'the stars' in whatever paper was available. Anybody who could read the tea-leaves was a life-long friend. She also loved markets. A distant relative by the name of Florrie Chapman had a second-hand clothes stall at the Shields market and my mother must have been her main customer. She would have first choice of items of clothing and in return often looked after the stall when Florrie went for lunch. I recall sitting on a wooden surface while customers rummaged amongst the clothing and my mother supervised any transactions.

She had strong Christian values and tried to pass them on to her family. For example, as a child, I was always taught to say my prayers before going to bed. When I was older, she was always worried about me letting my behavioural standards fall to suit other people. She had a philosophy, unknown to herself, which she unconsciously expressed by a wide range of sayings. "Waste not, want not" was perhaps her favourite, closely followed by "Look after your pennies and the pounds will look after themselves."

Throughout these lean wartime years, the main reason we always had an adequate supply of food and clothes, was due to my mother's thriftiness and good housekeeping. Being a good cook, Sunday lunch at 1 p.m. and tea at about 5 p.m. were sacrosanct. The left-overs were made to last half the following week. However, our existence was extremely basic, especially when compared to the alleged poor of the Twenty-First century.

Mabel Owen was from a generation that would rarely admit to being ill or the need for a doctor, because of the fear of unnecessary expenditure. She believed that thin people were ill and needed to be fed properly. She would say, "You have to be plump to be healthy." Her health argued against this theory during the early years of the war. Being overweight, she suffered periodic attacks of palpitations - especially when upset

My misbehaviour was occasionally the cause. Her chest would pulsate up and down and frighten me as she gasped for breath. I remember offering her a cup of water from our enamel pail as if it were some magic cure. After a few minutes rest, she would recover fairly quickly - but she always refused to see a doctor.

One of her few pleasures while living at Reed Street, was looking out of the window and watching what was going on in Frederick Street. There was always something happening and it was a bit like a modern day 'soap' as she developed possible stories about the regular behaviour patterns of various shopkeepers, neighbours and dockyard workers etc. She was never short of material for a good gossip, which she always enjoyed. It was during one such session that she uttered the words, "We only have two rooms but we do have a good view - be grateful for what we have.

On some summer evenings, especially at week-ends, she used to stand at the front door and watch the crowds go by. She was never there long before she found somebody to talk with. On this particular night, it was the lady who lived downstairs, a Mrs McGladerie. I'm told that as they talked, they saw a large glow slowly develop in the sky. As no siren had sounded they discounted an air raid. Was it a fire on one of the many ships on the River Tyne?

Time proved it couldn't be because the glow slowly developed into a multi-coloured brightness broken down into a series of arcs and rays, "I've never seen anything like it!" were my mother's words. So, alarmed, they went to the corner of Frederick Street and stopped a passing policeman. "What's that in the sky?" she asked.

"That's the Northern Lights, Love - nothing to worry about." the policeman replied.

So excited was my mother that she got me out of bed to come down to see the spectacular display in the sky. Research in later years indicated that the Northern Lights, or aurora borealis to give them their correct name, are an atmospheric phenomenon usually seen only around the North Pole. My mother never stopped talking about them for days. Me? I vaguely remember the lights in the 'sky', but have never seen them since.

About this time, I remember becoming more aware of my family circumstances. I began to understand what it meant that my father and mother didn't live together.

Also that my mother seemed much older than my friends' parents. Something else I had difficulty understanding was that Jenny was my sister. She was 21 years older than me and married. It was easier to understand about Addie; at least she lived in the same house. In truth, my two sisters were very different. Jenny was very like my mother, and although she was married, they were rarely apart. Addie was much more independent and free thinking. My older sister rarely hurried and was usually late wherever she was going. Addie was just the oppossite, always in a hurry and going somewhere different.

When the school term re-commenced in September 1941, I started at Barnes Road Junior Boys. This large rambling old school was originally built in 1850 by James Stevenson for his workers at Jarrow Chemicals. According to Hodgson (1903), it was taken over by the local authority in 1883. The long history of the school was of little interest to me or my six-year-old friends. We were much more interested in the Air Raid Wardens' Post, which shared the school site with an entrance on South Eldon Street. Although not on the official route from home to school, every morning after an air raid, we used to make a detour to see if there was any evidence of the war - like an unexploded bomb - outside the A.R.P. post.

I recollect very little about life at Barnes Road School, except for the austere classrooms, tall ceilings, stairways to the upper floors and the slates and slate pencils with which we learned to write. Many children were still evacuated, but the school still seemed overcrowded.

Something I do recall is that, soon after starting at this school, a rumour went round the class that there were 'gypies at the Ash'. I didn't know what 'gypies' were or where the Ash was, so I eagerly joined a group who went to explore immediately after school. I discovered the Ash was a flat area of open ground left over from, I think, a previous colliery at Templetown, and gypies were people who roamed the country while living in caravans pulled by horses. We stood and watched for a while before getting chased away by a funny looking man who spoke a strange language. Again, I was late home from school that night!

Something I always disliked as a child was getting my hair cut. After being taken once by my mother, I remember going to Lunds in Bertram Street at a very early age. The Barber's Shop was really a converted downstairs flat along a passage that led off the street, with the gents on the right and ladies on the left. It was always crowded and I soon learnt never to go after 5 p.m., as it was usually full of dockers who called in for a haircut on the way home from work. Did it cost 3d or 6d (l-3p) - I can't quite recall.