This is a photo of my sister and me.
A few years ago one of her grand-daughters was given a school project on the subject of World War 2 and how it had affected ordinary people. My sister set down her memories and produced a very interesting article on the subject which of course was written with her grand-daughter in mind. This is it -
GRANDMA’S STORY
I was eleven years old when the Second World War started. Great Britain declared war on Germany on 3rd September 1939. It was a dreadful time but I was too young to fully appreciate that. In due course we were all issued with gas-masks, which we had to carry with us at all times. They were very hot and uncomfortable to wear, even for the short time when we had gas-mask practice in school. Thankfully, we never had any gas attacks. Then, we were issued with ration books, with coupons inside which had to be handed over in the shops when we bought food. This was so that everyone would get their fair share. Finally, we were given Identity Cards, each with our personal number on it. Mine was SJQA614.
Here's a photo of a family wearing their gas masks -
Soon men were having to go into the Army, Air Force or Navy, unless their job at home was important to the war effort, or their health was not good. The men from Kirkintilloch where I lived were away in other parts of the country training for war, while our town was full of soldiers from elsewhere billetted in schools, church halls, etc. Our house over-looked St. Ninian’s School playing-fields, where they had their physical training - it was called "square-bashing" - and designed to make them very fit. All this made our quiet little country town a very different place.
There was fear of German planes coming over and dropping bombs. The town of Clydebank was thought to be in danger because of the ship-yards there, so it was decided to move all the children away to safer places and Kirkintilloch was among the areas chosen. Thousands of children arrived in our town. They were brought to the Town Hall, carrying their bags of clothing, and with labels pinned on their coats showing their names and home addresses. The people of the town had to report to the Town Hall to be allocated a child or children. My mother was given a family of three - Peggy was about twelve , Jack ten, and William five years old. We had no spare beds, so my mother put a mattress in a corner of the living-room, on the floor, and all three slept there. After a week, their parents came to visit, and decided to take them back home. What I remember particularly is they had not lived in a house with a bath before. Gradually, many others went back to Clydebank, as there had been no bombing at that point, though some families stayed in Kirkintilloch permanently.
We lived in the house on the left from 1935 till the 1950s
Ours was one of six houses in a small cul-de-sac. They had all been built by Mr. Fletcher, a local builder. He lived in the largest one, built on a steep hillside, which gave him a big cellar. When war came, he decided to make this cellar into an air-raid shelter, for all the residents in the avenue, and one other lady. He fitted it out with comfortable seats, a couple of bunks, lighting, heating, tea-making facilities and even a toilet.
The air-raid siren was on the roof of the Police Station, in the centre of the town. It made a loud wailing sound, which could be heard for miles, first a warning sound, then the "all-clear" if the danger was past. So, throughout the war, we went to the shelter when the siren sounded, always at night, and having to get out of bed and get dressed.
Our house looked away over to Bishopbriggs, where there were anti-aircraft guns, which would fire at enemy planes. During air-raids it was unsafe to be out because shrapnel from the guns would rain down - great lumps of jagged metal - these would be lying about the streets the next morning. I wish I had kept some, just for interest. I never knew of anyone getting hurt by the shrapnel, but my father’s friend had a pony and trap, and a piece came through the roof of the shed and killed the pony.
In 1941 Clydebank was bombed two nights running, 439 planes came over and dropped 1000 bombs. The town was a ruin, lots of people killed. Our local Fire Brigade went to help put out the fires, some of which still burned after a fortnight. Grandpa Green’s father was a bus-driver at the time driving in that area. One bomb went down the funnel of a ship lying in the Clyde, but didn’t explode. Of course, we were lucky to be safe in our shelter, but no sleep for the noise of gun-fire.
During the war there was the "black-out" - no lights allowed to shine out of windows or doors, everywhere heavy curtains drawn at night, and no street lights. Can you imagine it? Cars had very faint lights that would not be seen from the air.
So that enemy parachutists who landed wouldn't know where they were, the names of streets and roads and signposts were removed.
This was something we didn't know about at that time. Part of the Fletcher home, where we had our shelter, was actually a secret radio station from 1940, and two Polish officers lived there. I remember them, but never seemed to wonder what they were doing there. (John comments - "Perhaps this sounds a very unlikely tale, but I can assure you that it's true.)
During the war years I used to knit scarves and socks for the Red Cross who passed them on to the Forces. Some knitters put their name and address on the finished item but I never did.
This is a photo of me and John probably in 1943. He is in the uniform of the ATC (Air Training Corps) a voluntary organisation for boys not old enough for the armed services.
This was Grandma’s war. Nothing bad happened to our family. Sadly my mother’s Canadian cousin, who was a Spitfire pilot, was killed in action.
And life would never be the same for lots of people . . .
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This final picture gives us some idea of what was happening all over the country on Evacuation Day. The photo was taken at Lime Street Station in Liverpool.
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THE NEXT POST HERE WILL BE ON SATURDAY APRIL 22nd
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