In my last blog I talked mainly of the WW2 years, one aspect I did not really mention was that of food which was, like pretty well everything else, on ration. One food which wasn't was rabbit, these were sold by the green-grocer and were suspended from hooks from the top of the shop's window. At Christmas there were no turkeys but our parents did manage to get chickens (probably from a farm near to us) which we used to pluck in front of the fire. I remember one Christmas, when my mother was in a nursing home following the birth of my sister, my father won a goose in the work's raffle. Now whether it was my taste or his lack of culinary skills I don't know, but it was far too greasy for me, and I could not eat it. I cannot say who was more upset, me or my dad. It also provided us with what seemed to be a lifetime's supply of goose-grease for rubbing on our chests every time we were wheezy!
Rationing continued for years after the war, but in 1949 they first took sweets off ration, a day all us kids looked forward to with great anticipation. Unfortunately supply was nowhere near enough to meet the demand, and few of us managed to get any, I still think that the adults nicked them! So they were rapidly put back on ration until 1953 when rationing was abolished.
At the top of the road where I lived was a large field, on the right there was a cotton mill, and on the far side the Bridgewater Canal with the Royal Ordnance Factory on the other side. On this field there was a least one barrage balloon with the associated anti-aircraft guns and soldiers. Although we were not allowed on the field, great fun could be had wriggling under the wire fence and being chased off!
I spent VE celebrations at my aunty's in St. Helens where they had a big bonfire, and then for VJ day we had a street party at home. It was a great year for the kids, it was like having three Christmases in one year! After this time we started to have regular visits into Manchester, and saw the many bombsites for the first time. Often, on these were street entertainers, many of whom I suspect were ex-servicemen. In particular I remember one man who put a slab of concrete across his chest whilst a colleague smashed it with a sledgehammer.
At the time I was 12 yrs old there was still a fuel shortage and an uncle had a business providing peat for burning on house fires. On Friday evenings and Saturday mornings my father linked up with him to set up sales and delivery rounds near where we lived, and I was enlisted to help. This was my first introduction to the working life! I continued with this work until I was about fifteen when I found a part time job with more pay - although fifteen years of age was the official school leaving age, I was still a pupil. At home there was something of a strained atmosphere for a while!
In 1953 I was on a train going for a day out to Blackpool, when I read in the newspaper that the Korean War was over. Joined with the ascent of Everest and the Queen's Coronation this made for a momentous year, but what struck me most was that this was the first time since just after I was born that the UK was not involved in a major war. It is nice to say that since 1945 I have not experienced England being bombed, although since I was a regular visitor to Northern Ireland between 1971 to 1980, it was not the last time when I heard bombs going off. I do not wish to hear that noise again!
© Ron Ferguson 2011
Showing posts with label History. Show all posts
Showing posts with label History. Show all posts
Friday, 4 March 2011
Friday, 4 February 2011
Genealogy History - Now!
History is, of course, what we are taught in schools. Or is it? If I subtract my current age from that at which I was born, then the Suez Canal had not opened, boys climbed and swept chimneys, there were no telephones, Britain still had its Empire, and no compulsory schooling. Oh! And registration of births and deaths was not yet mandatory.
This is some of the history which I was taught in school, and equally it is now the case that my grand children are being taught, in history, life as it was at the time I was born (and after for that matter). Those of my age tend to forget that this is history because, to us, it is still real.
So what was it like? Well, thank goodness, Britain still had its Empire because the second world war broke out very shortly after I was born, and for some years our only support came from its constituent countries. I was too young to remember the early part of the war, only from around 1943 onwards. I lived just on the edge of Salford, not far from the major industrial centre of Trafford Park, and the sound of bombs going off was not an unusual experience.
I was fortunate in that my father was in a 'reserved occupation' being a crankshaft turner at Gardners Diesel Engines. At this time the company employed a large number of women on the factory floor, mainly for the less heavy work. He also had to become a member of the Home Guard. He used to come home for lunch, and, often, that time, first thing in the morning, and some Sundays, would be the only times I would see him. A normal working week was then 12 hours a day for six or seven days a week.
Interestingly, Gardners made the engines for the midget submarines which were responsible for many attacks on European dockyards.
Being brought up in the 'blackout', so called because nearly all street lights were off, and the few that weren't were heavily shaded, we had one benefit which today's urban children miss. We could see the stars! Admittedly, this was only in the morning as we then had double summer time - clocks were 2 hours forward from GMT., so we went to school in the dark, and to bed in daylight. Imagine trying to get a kid to bed when it's bright sunlight!
It must have been 1946 before I first saw the streets lit up. My parents took me into their bedroom which looked across the fields to a main road where I could see the lights come on for the first time. It was like our personal Blackpool Illuminations - which didn't exist then, by the way! It was about this time that I met my first banana, I knew it must be food, but had to ask my mother what to do with it.
During the blackout it was not allowed for any house light to be visible from the outside, and the ARP (Air Raid Precaution) patrols would have very stiff words, or even take to court, any householder who committed such an offence. We had black roller blinds to cover all our windows, and care had to be taken to ensure that no light escaped from the edges. At that time most houses had coal fires, and it was also an offence to allow sparks to be emitted from the chimney. These lessons were drilled into us virtually from birth.
On going to school we had to ensure that we all took our gas masks in their brown boxes. Now and again there were collections for the soldiers of things like knitted goods, and books, which we also took to school for forwarding. In our early years paper and pencils were not available; we did our work using chalk on a slate! From time to time the air-raid sirens would go off , sometimes for practice, at others for real, and we would march in an orderly fashion to the shelter at the top of the school road, with absolute, but no doubt misplaced, confidence in its security.
Our leisure time was filled with the usual street games, not only football and cricket (skipping and rounders for the girls!), but hopscotch, hide and seek, and a variety of catching games. Instead of cowboys and Indians, which we really didn't come across until later, we had war games of goodies versus baddies. It had to be so named because nobody would play at being a German! Holidays were pretty well non-existent, mainly comprising day trips to more distant relatives.
In my next blog I will concentrate on life in the post war years.
© Ron Ferguson 2011
This is some of the history which I was taught in school, and equally it is now the case that my grand children are being taught, in history, life as it was at the time I was born (and after for that matter). Those of my age tend to forget that this is history because, to us, it is still real.
So what was it like? Well, thank goodness, Britain still had its Empire because the second world war broke out very shortly after I was born, and for some years our only support came from its constituent countries. I was too young to remember the early part of the war, only from around 1943 onwards. I lived just on the edge of Salford, not far from the major industrial centre of Trafford Park, and the sound of bombs going off was not an unusual experience.
I was fortunate in that my father was in a 'reserved occupation' being a crankshaft turner at Gardners Diesel Engines. At this time the company employed a large number of women on the factory floor, mainly for the less heavy work. He also had to become a member of the Home Guard. He used to come home for lunch, and, often, that time, first thing in the morning, and some Sundays, would be the only times I would see him. A normal working week was then 12 hours a day for six or seven days a week.
Interestingly, Gardners made the engines for the midget submarines which were responsible for many attacks on European dockyards.
Being brought up in the 'blackout', so called because nearly all street lights were off, and the few that weren't were heavily shaded, we had one benefit which today's urban children miss. We could see the stars! Admittedly, this was only in the morning as we then had double summer time - clocks were 2 hours forward from GMT., so we went to school in the dark, and to bed in daylight. Imagine trying to get a kid to bed when it's bright sunlight!
It must have been 1946 before I first saw the streets lit up. My parents took me into their bedroom which looked across the fields to a main road where I could see the lights come on for the first time. It was like our personal Blackpool Illuminations - which didn't exist then, by the way! It was about this time that I met my first banana, I knew it must be food, but had to ask my mother what to do with it.
During the blackout it was not allowed for any house light to be visible from the outside, and the ARP (Air Raid Precaution) patrols would have very stiff words, or even take to court, any householder who committed such an offence. We had black roller blinds to cover all our windows, and care had to be taken to ensure that no light escaped from the edges. At that time most houses had coal fires, and it was also an offence to allow sparks to be emitted from the chimney. These lessons were drilled into us virtually from birth.
On going to school we had to ensure that we all took our gas masks in their brown boxes. Now and again there were collections for the soldiers of things like knitted goods, and books, which we also took to school for forwarding. In our early years paper and pencils were not available; we did our work using chalk on a slate! From time to time the air-raid sirens would go off , sometimes for practice, at others for real, and we would march in an orderly fashion to the shelter at the top of the school road, with absolute, but no doubt misplaced, confidence in its security.
Our leisure time was filled with the usual street games, not only football and cricket (skipping and rounders for the girls!), but hopscotch, hide and seek, and a variety of catching games. Instead of cowboys and Indians, which we really didn't come across until later, we had war games of goodies versus baddies. It had to be so named because nobody would play at being a German! Holidays were pretty well non-existent, mainly comprising day trips to more distant relatives.
In my next blog I will concentrate on life in the post war years.
© Ron Ferguson 2011
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