chapter two

Chapter 2

Early Years

Although I don’t remember this, in 1940/41 my Father was stationed at The Sparrow’s Nest in Lowestoft Suffolk and my parents and I were apparently in lodgings there.  I was told by my Mother that it was here that I had bronchitis quite badly. Later on I inherited a striped knitted pram blanket, still used for the air bed that the Grandchildren sleep on, that was made for my Mother by the landlady of our lodgings.  The Sparrows Nest was formally called HMS Europa and was the headquarters of the Royal Naval Patrol Service (RNPS), a branch of the Royal Navy consisting of 70,000 men and 6,000 ships during the war years. It was commandeered by the Royal Navy on 3 September 1939 having previously been the Pavilion Theatre where a many great artistes such as Paul Robeson and Stanley Holloway appeared.  Apparently it is now a park which slopes down towards the sea

Later places my Father was drafted to during the war were HMS Vernon, HMS Mercury, HMS Hornet and HMS Collingwood.  All these were within reach of home but, because of the bungalow being in the vicinity of HMS Collingwood, with the subsequent fear of that establishment being a target for German bombs, my parents and I moved temporarily to a bungalow in Purbrook and here I have my earliest memories.

I must have been two or three when I remember having my own garden patch where I grew seeds, and about the same age when, with my Mother and Aunt Elsie, one of her sisters, I went walking and collecting bluebells in Stakes Hill Woods. I was told by my Mother, although of this I have no recollection, that when I was just two I one day let myself out of the front gate and toddled off down the road, crossing a main road before a neighbour spotted me and took me home.  Thank goodness for the lack of traffic in those days.

Our neighbours in Purbrook were the Scotts, later to emigrate to Rhodesia.  Maureen Scott was about a year older than I was and, after a shaky start when she was not too keen to share her swing and see-saw, we formed a friendship that lasted the two years until we left there followed by several more years when we visited prior to them emigrating.  One day playing with Maureen in the garden, and being too young to appreciate danger, we planted thin bamboo canes in the flower bed that ran two feet above the path round the bungalow.  Being four years old and wanting to impress my older friend I tried to jump over the stick down onto the path, but I slipped and the stick went down my throat.  Fortunately not a lot of damage was done, Mum panicked and my throat bled a lot and was very sore afterwards, but it could have been a lot worse.  I didn’t play that game again.

Life in Purbrook was not without incident.  Mum and I both had ‘flu together at the beginning of 1944.  One day we were in bed together when, going down the road past the window, we saw a convoy of tanks.  Such excitement!

In early 1945 we returned to our bungalow in Fareham.  A bomb had fallen in the field about a quarter of a mile away, leaving a huge crater that was to remain there until a new council housing estate was built on those fields in the sixties.  The blast had caused damage to all the paving stones on the pavements, causing them to lift at uneven angles, and, even more serious for us, it had blown all our windows out leaving the bungalow insecure.

Therefore we left Purbrook to live back in Fareham.  I can remember that my cot which we had left in the front bedroom, was full of glass from the windows.  The ceilings were also all cracked which, in retrospect, must have been upsetting for my parents, the bungalow only being six years old.  We could never get rid of those cracks so eventually they were covered up with Artex.

My memories of the war are few really, I remember going into the Anderson shelter in Purbrook, sometimes spending all night there.  That was an adventure to a three year old, with cups of cocoa and stories read by Mummy or Daddy.  I also remember one day being in Portsmouth and hearing what we thought was aircraft going over, making us run for a street shelter, until we realised that what we actually had heard was a heavy horse and cart coming down the road.  I remember seeing the ruins of bombed shops in Portsmouth, particularly in Southsea when we visited Bulpitts, one of the larger stores.  The girders and gaping basements, full of deep black water, being the images that little girls’ nightmares were made of.  And the other memory I have is of visiting the British restaurant for lunch and the all-pervading smell of cooked cabbage that greeted us as we entered the restaurant.  In fact I do remember having nightmares where I was falling down the black holes from girders in the ruins.

VE (Victory in Europe) day, May 1945, was exciting for those of us only used to the drabness of war.  We had a street party – it was held in Fairfield Avenue just around the corner from us.  It was fancy dress and I went as a fairy, wand and all.  I can remember afterwards there was a bonfire and the adults were all singing in the street.  I was four years and nine months at the time.

My maternal Grandparents, Ada and Richard Bate, lived in Jesse Road, Portsmouth and we used to travel by bus from Fareham bus station to visit them, a journey of half to three quarters of an hour.  This was not a pleasant journey as the buses, which had a large heater at the front blowing out hot air and which always smelled of fumes, used to make me feel sick.  In their house I can remember a front room, a small back room and a scullery kitchen.  In the back room there was a range and a Grandmother clock on the wall.  The table was covered in a red chenille type cloth and there was a glass fronted cupboard beside the range where my Grandmother used to keep small white peppermints to give me.  Another treat was a cup of soup with pearl barley in it.  After dinner the old couple would have a nap with their faces covered with a newspaper to keep out the light.  When I was four years old, I was taken to see Grandma for the last time when she was dying in bed.  I can remember a very tall bed with a brass head and foot, the bed was so high that I could only just see over it to Grandma.  After she died in June 1945, I used to be taken to visit the grave with Grandpa when he took flowers, I remember him crying, they were married for 56 years.  She was buried in Milton Road cemetery, Portsmouth.

In September 1945 I started school.  The school for the catchment area of St Michaels Grove was Redlands Lane Primary School. My parents had other ideas and sent me to St Peters and St Pauls Church of England School (C of E school) in Osborne Road Fareham, opposite St Peters and St Pauls Church.  It had an excellent reputation and, being a church school, I am sure my Mother approved of the Christian ethics.  Even though I was to have to learn the catechism and attend the Church of England services on Saints’ days.  You will remember both parents were Baptists.  I had no fears about starting school, my Mother told me the first thing I said to Mrs Cummins, the teacher of class one when I went in was ‘Where is Barry Taylor?’  Barry, a few months older than me, lived with his parents and sister Jean opposite us in St Michaels Grove and I considered him to be my friend.