Allan Curtis
Iris Newbould nee Faulkner
Jim Hugill
Judy Gray
Maureen Chapman
Mr Lyon
Mrs Kathleen Jarvis
Muriel Berzins
Bob Freeman
We would like your contributions by email to memories@beverleycivic.co.uk
or complete this form on our VE Day Memories page
On a bright sunny morning on September 3rd 1939, at Bishop Burton,
the headmistress of the village school informed my father that we were
at war, again, with Germany. He related this to us over Sunday lunch.
I was six years old. All adults went about their business with grave
faces and spoke in hushed tones within earshot of children.
Of the many incidents I recall the spy under the guise of a tramp is
still fresh in the memory. He pushed an old pram around, hidden in the
bottom was a transmitting set. “Ginger Whiskers”, as he
became known, was eventually caught red handed and it emerged that “he”
was in fact a young woman.
During frequent air raids countless hours were spent in the cupboard
under the stairs. The game of I spy was changed to determining the identification
of the many planes that flew over head. The German bombers made a distinct
drone. As the war progressed the news bulletins became more in our favour
and I realised the end of the war was in sight.
VE Day was pronounced a national holiday, and as I went to bed that
night much singing and laughter could be heard from the Altisidora through
the open bedroom window. Not a night for sleeping!
I was 14 when war was
declared. I had left school and was working in a shop in Hull.
Over the next three years I saw many changes. Food became scarce and rationing
was introduced. I helped to pack food boxes for troops and was trained
to deal with ration books and shortages. At 16 I was searching the rubble
of our home for personal treasures. A landmine bomb had hit our street.
We then lived for a time in the local Church and slept on the floor until
a house was found for us. My mother, father and baby sister enjoyed having
a roof over our heads once again.
At 17 1⁄2 I volunteered for the Land Army to help grow food for
our country. 87,000 girls joined up to “Dig For Victory”.
We wore a uniform of corduroy breeches, green pullover, brown shoes and
a light brown felt hat. Our working gear was denim overalls and jackets,
heavy boots and gaiters, or rubber Wellingtons.
I spent 3 winters threshing with a hired team and machinery. The rest
of the time I was working on a dairy farm. We learnt to milk 12 cows by
hand every morning starting a 6am, breakfast was at 8am. We helped with
lambing, cleaning out hen huts, fold yards and stables. Harvest was done
the old way. No machinery, just horses and men. Later on a few tractors
were supplied and the steam engines which drove the threshing machines
were gradually replaced by tractors. I sometimes worked with Italian prisoners
who were billeted at Eden Camp, Malton.
We enjoyed our time off at village dances. We became very fit and strong.
We had to cycle to work, sometimes as much as 12 miles from our billet.
We washed by candle light and had a bath once a week, in a tin bath in
the garden shed. The water came in a bucket from a fire heated copper.
There was no electricity in our village until after the war.
I enjoyed my days in the Land Army and learned to be self reliant and
patient. The friends I made are still around and we enjoy reunions.
On VE Day I was in the crowd in Trafalgar Square. I remember great jubilation, a huge party and at one point we all joined in the singing of “The Red Flag”.
In 1944, prior to D-Day, we were not allowed to travel further than 15miles away, due to high security. For weeks before D-Day the sea front, the beaches and many roads, were packed with tank landing craft, transport and various boats, equipment etc. Every day we expected the lot to disappear across the Channel. We also expected to be bombed! On the night of 5th-6th June we went to bed as usual. We had been looking forward to seeing this great armada leave, but unfortunately I slept heavily, and found, to my great disappointment, that the lot had gone in the night! I couldn’t believe it.
On May 7th, the news of the cessation of hostilities in Europe was released late in the day, so many of us were in our night attire if not in bed. However, nobody could sleep, so we put on a coat and, with hundreds of others, ran down to the beach and lit an enormous bonfire for, of course, nothing like this had been allowed for six years. We danced and we sang with total strangers until the sun came up. It was a fantastic experience. Then we still had to go to work!
VJ Day was a much lower key occasion. But for me and my family it meant that hopefully my father would return to the UK. I had not seen him for seven years. He was a civilian prisoner of war in Shanghai and had been captive since Pearl Harbour. He had also been tortured badly, so we didn’t know if he was even alive. Our family lost everything, and we have never been compensated by the Japanese.
My father did return, aged 58 but looking 80, and after several operations and good food, soon recovered. He lived until he was 88. My mother left Shanghai in 1940 on the last ship to leave with only women and children, and lived until she was 89, spending her last years in Hull near to us.
At school we had a gas shed. You always had to carry your gas mask with you, ALWAYS. We often had to go into the gas shed to test the gas masks. Other schools also had to come. No sweets, no eggs, no lemons, food was very scarce; no school dinners. I left school at 14 and went straight to work at the tannery, Richard Hodgson & Sons, on Flemingate; where the transport museum was.
Night time, with no lights, was really weird until you got used to it. On a Saturday and Sunday you could not walk from Wednesday Market to St Mary’s Church with out bumping into people. Beverley was full of Army and RAF personnel. There were French, Poles, Australians, New Zealanders and Dutch, I could never name them all. Dances held at Hodgsons’ Ball Room were always full with queues 100 yds long, no beer, no cigars or cigarettes. All the cinemas were full, the Regal, the Playhouse and the Marble Arch, where Safeway was.
One bank holiday my friend and I were at the Marble Arch when there was this almighty bang. The cinema shook. On the screen flashed, “People living on Flemingate to return home”. We got to the level crossing at Flemingate; the police wouldn’t let us through, even when we said we lived there. So we went round by Priory Road and came in that way. What we saw was that my friends’ house was demolished; all the windows, tiles and doors had gone from my house. One of my aunts had a bandaged head with blood all over her. My mother was shaken and scared but OK. My other aunt, who was an invalid and couldn’t walk, was OK.
We had nowhere to sleep, then Mr Odey, who owned the tannery, and his wife, invited us to sleep in their house, the manor on Keldgate. The manor had a bathroom with a bath; we only had a tin one with five inches of water allowed.
One night, standing in the street, an aircraft came flying across. It was on fire. We all cheered. It crashed on Hull Road and we went to see it next day. It was a Spitfire and we had shot down our own plane.
There was an unexploded bomb down Spark Mill Lane, near the dam. We all went to see it.
Once, when walking across Saturday Market near the Market Cross, a German plane came over machine gunning everything. We got into the shelter in time.
When VE Day arrived we had the biggest party ever. It was in a ten foot where the chemical factory is now. Lights were on all night; there were trestle tables with food on from one end to the other. We had a small band, barrels of beer and there was dancing all night. It will always be remembered.
I was sent to Hill Top Farm, North Grimston, near Malton. I soon learned milking cows and feeding calves. It was mainly manual work resulting in plenty of blisters. The work was especially hard at hay time and harvest. I used to fall asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow. I loved the farm; it was home from home as Mrs Holnby was a lovely cook. I remember we ate well. I was very happy there even though I was a townie and had never been on a farm before in my life.
I even met my future husband there. He was a tractor driver and had been in farming ever since he left school. I will never forget my time in the Land Army. It was a great life. I am 81 years old now, living in sheltered housing, and a widow, but I still have my war time memories.
I was sent to Howden Hostel, a barrack like building and my life changed completely. After the dirt and noise of the city the country side was paradise. The never ending skyline, rows of vegetables, cows, horses, sheep and sweet smelling hay. Shifting tons of manure came later. It was a totally new experience and I soon made lots of friends, muscles and blisters. 60 years later only the friends remain.
Jobs I remember include trying to put the collar on a large horse. I stood on a box, pulled its head down by its mane, and threw the collar on. The back aching job of picking potatoes, trying to empty the basket was a problem, I was too short. I stood on the wheel of the cart, then someone would click the horse on and send me flying, basket and all. We did every job imaginable, ditching, dyking, slashing hedges, pulling sugar beet, flax, turnips, and sprouts etc. Threshing was a really dirty job, especially if you worked at the side of the machine where all the chaff came out.
You can imagine that drinks or “lowances” were most welcome, even if it was just tea made in a greasy bucket. We were not jealous of the Italian prisoners drinking coffee made by their cook. No fraternising took place, mind you.
We were taken to the farm by Army lorry, or we biked to work. Sometimes we worked near airfields and I remember counting out Lancaster bombers leaving for Germany, an obvious sign that dances would be postponed and, sadly for many girls, their sweetheart might not return.
The fun we had helped us through the dark days of the war. It helped those who were waiting, like my friend Joan who was waiting for her Bill, who was in a prison camp in Burma. We all danced for joy in Queens Gardens, Hull on VE Day. Through working in the Land Army I met a handsome Latvian displaced person, who I worked with, and with whom I have had a lovely family, but that is another story.
We sang funny songs and had great fun,
Run rabbit, run rabbit, run – run –run;
Played with our gas masks – eat bread and jam,
Sometimes we even had thin sliced spam.
At seven years old we never saw,
The troubles and heartaches of ‘our Mother’s War’,
The trip to the shelters – as sirens wailed,
Became quite fun as war prevailed.
We missed our Dad, but loved our Mum,
We’re often hungry – hadn’t a crumb;
But often seemed happy, and busy, and sang,
The meatless dishes had their own tang.
The Mickey Mouse gas mask gave us a laugh,
Eggs were in tins – that seemed pretty daft;
Condensed orange juice for a green ration book,
Fats, bread and cornflakes – coupons they took.
Mum listened to news on her cat’s whisker set,
Queued at the Butchers and Bakers – and yet;
Found time to comfort, feed and cheer,
Five small mouths and banish our fear.
Granddad promoted – wore a tin hat,
Marched round the streets in the dark – like a cat;
Reborn – with power – he hadn’t a care,
‘Get that bloody light out’ – Yes, you over there.
The Blitz and the bombing, the V ones and two,
On Sunday the Church had a shortage of pews;
Mum prayed for deliverance of children and spouse,
In the hope that the rockets would miss ‘our house’.
Mixed feelings abound as we recall the years,
Happiness – tragedy – hardship – and tears;
Of the one thing I’m certain – without any other,
The war was won – thanks to MY MOTHER.