The Beginning of the War

This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Roger Marsh of the ‘Action Desk — Sheffield’ Team on behalf of Patricia Pegg, and has been added to the site with the author’s permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

The Beginning of the War
by
Patricia Pegg

Without fail every night at 6 o'clock, Dad turned on the wireless for the news forecast. Every night the plumb in the mouth voice announced, “This is the news and this is Al Barnedale reading it.” From Dad switching on to switching off we had to sit quiet as mice, which was hard to do when you are sitting on a horse hair sofa which prickled the backs of your legs every time you moved them. We were at war, so we were given to understand by our parents, each and every household was preparing for the air raids and bombings which were to rule our lives for the next five years to come. Grim despondent faces seemed to be the fashion for adults, they gathered on street corners and at garden gates, whispering and talking in hushed tones. They didn't want us to know that war was imminent, but of course we did know. While they worried about it, we played at it. Instead of ‘Cowboys and Indians’ we were suddenly authorities on warfare; we marched up and down as soldiers, brush stails over our shoulders ready to fire on anyone who looked like the enemy. We were airmen, flying planes over enemy territory, dropping bombs and machine gunning down the German planes as we had seen them do over Poland and France on the Pathe News at the pictures.

Our dad had three attempts at digging a shelter for us before he finally succeeded. The first one at the bottom of the garden provided us with hours of fun and entertainment. Mam said, "We can't have it there, it's too far away from the house," and, “I'm not being responsible for getting everybody down there if there's a raid. We could be killed before we reached it." Well, we spent hours down that hole amongst other things it became a shop. The chunks of clay Dad had dug up became joints of meat and the elderberries on the bushes were fruit selling at two shillings a pound. Gerald Gosling, the boy next door, told us we could eat the elderberries but we didn't believe him. To convince us he put one into his mouth and ate it, he didn't drop down dead, so we were convinced. That afternoon we stuffed and gorged ourselves on elderberries, we even told our mam we didn't want any tea, we were so full. She said that we must be coming down with something and hoped it wasn't going to be measles because there was an epidemic going round.

That night, the first air-raid siren sounded. We all trooped down the stairs in total darkness, with mam calling out each name to make sure she didn't lose anyone in the black out. It was instilled into us all that no lights were to be shown at all for fear of the enemy pinpointing the light and dropping his bombs on direct hits. We thought it was all very exciting; dad stood down in the shelter first to lift us down because it was very deep. I could see his face faintly in the pale moonlight as he looked up at me. "Has the war started Dad"? I asked. "Aye luv it has, one o’ them bloody jerries 'ave found their way o'er 'ere," he answered. As he spoke his arms were lifting me up horizontally and down at the same time into the shelter. The warm sun of the afternoon, the elderberries and the excitement of the air raid was too much for me, I felt myself floating just as the planes illuminated in the huge beams of the searchlights were doing. My insides were churning as the elderberries forced their way up and out of my mouth into Dads upturned face.

I came down to earth with a bang as Dad dropped me, he's always been able to swear but this time he surpassed himself. I laid still on the old mattress Nan had put down previously to soften any falls in the darkness, I knew that if I moved, I would get a good hiding. Pretending to be unconscious, I lay on the ground thinking the raid would never come to an end. When it did, I thankfully jumped to my feet only to be knocked straight back down by a backhander from my Dad, "I thought you were bloody kidding," he yelled, lifting his foot to give me a kick. Mam grabbed his arm trying to pull him away from me, Maureen was screaming, she was always screaming, her voice joined mam's imploring him to stop hitting and kicking me. "Leave her alone Dad," she shouted in between her screams, sounding like the banshees in Ireland dad was always telling us about. "Don't hit her dad she couldn't help it," Bill was shouting, in the scuffle he knocked over the one candle we had in the shelter and every one was once again in total darkness, Also Dad couldn't see me and I was able to cower in a corner away from his boots.

The air raid warden arrived, shining his torch onto the mad melee. Close behind him were the neighbours who had alerted him They thought we had been hit by a bomb. On hearing our screams and shouts issuing forth from the shelter, it didn't help matters much when the warden shone his torch onto Dad's upturned face. Seeing the regurgitated elderberries covering his head and shoulders, he let out a roar of laughter as did the neighbours when he stood aside for them all to see the sorry sight our Dad presented to them. He joined the Army two weeks after that incident; perhaps he thought it would be more peaceful and safer than being at home.

Pr-BR

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