The Phoney War

Following the outbreak of war nothing much happened and in a way it was a bit of a letdown. We stuck trellis designs of masking tape across windows, in the hope that in the event of bomb blast these bits of brown paper would stop glass from flying around causing damage and injury. We improved upon our makeshift black-out arrangements, and we stuck bits of tissue paper over the glass in our torches. People fortunate enough to own a car masked the headlights. Signposts were removed so that enemy paratroops would get lost. People were filling and siting sandbags wherever a strategic need was apparent. Barrage Balloons looking like huge leg-less elephants floated high in the sky. Although tethered to the ground occasional escapees caused great amusement. Shops were still well stocked; stockpiling of food was discouraged and was made into a punishable offence. Wondering when rationing would start was a topic for conversation.

Grovelands Park (London N21) was a lovely natural area of woods, grassland and a lake. The gates were no longer locked at night and that is where I first discovered the beauty and intensity of moonlight. Previously, the moon had just been a silvery ball, that periodically appeared in the sky and changed its shape for no useful purpose; illumination came from streetlights. During the late summer a Territorial Army searchlight battery had arrived in the Park for annual training purposes. Due to the crisis it had not been disbanded, but remained further fortified with more sandbags. It was not long before my friends, and I struck up acquaintanceships with this group of young soldiers. Actually, some appeared to be quite old, every day of 30.

The members of this group were a very mixed bunch consisting of various levels of clerical workers, civil servants, solicitors’ clerks, shop assistants, a meat porter from Smithfield Market, a butcher and others, all happily integrating with each other. In those days "knowing one’s place in society" was quite important. I did not know mine! It was a little complicated; apart from unmarried mothers, and widows and even more rarely, widowers, a single parent family was not the norm. My parents had legally separated shortly before I commenced school. My mother was the recipient of a very stingy allowance and she found herself having to budget very carefully trying to maintain what by her standards was an acceptable place in society, on a working class income.

Following The Royal Engineers, The Royal Artillery arrived with their impressively big guns. They were sited in a large field off Firs Lane, behind the Capitol Cinema. We felt very well protected and to show our gratitude kept ourselves very busy making social calls on these young soldiers. I struck up a closer friendship with one eighteen -year -old gunner and accepted a date to go with him to the local cinema. On the outbreak of war all cinemas had been closed but had now re-opened on condition that the last showing finished no later than 10.30 pm.

My mother was very protective and strict about time-keeping. Our flat was no more than five minutes walk from the cinema and, although I did not go home immediately after the programme ended, it was only 10.50 pm when I arrived home and let myself in through the front door. My mother was not at home waiting for me - I thought this a little odd but nothing to worry about. I made myself a cup of cocoa and was calmly sitting by the open fire drinking this when, my mother in a hurricane of frenzy flew in through the door. After suffering ten minutes of extreme anxiety when I failed to arrive home on the dot of 10.35 she flung on her coat and dashed off to the local police station to report me as "missing". "My daughter went to the pictures with a soldier and she has not come back!" The policemen laughed their heads off and one suggested that I was probably canoudling down the lane! In those days people were either "on the telephone" or "not on the telephone" and being in the latter category was not unusual. Ten minutes later when she returned to the Police to report my re-appearance they laughed even more. She should have sent me.

I had spent one year as a student at Hornsey Art School and my return after the summer break was being delayed by the uncertain situation. Eventually , we were informed that the school would not be reopening in Hornsey but that evacuation was planned. It was quite impossible for my mother to finance me as a separate entity on the measly allowance she received from my father, and so ended my art education.

I was very happy hanging around doing nothing but my mother worried that the inactivity would have a disastrous effect upon my character. As the result of her activity the John Lewis Partnership accepted me as an apprentice in the knitwear department of their Oxford Street store. I did not see much point in this because it was quite obvious that there would be nothing left over after paying trolley bus fares from Winchmore Hill to the Wood Green underground station, twelve shillings a week on the underground, one penny for the Daily Mirror, with the remainder just about covering subsidised lunches and teas. In those days most employees worked a five and a half day week.

Servility to customers and the John Lewis hierarchy did not come easily. After one or two warnings I was moved from the showroom to the stockroom. Shortly before Christmas 1939, I terminated my employment with the J. L. Partnership, after having obtained a job with a small local family owned drapery store. It was a bore but at least something was left over, after payment of bus fares and other expenses.

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