CHAPTER EIGHT – A WAR OF TWO SIDES
My father had a good war - starting as a raw recruit and finishing as right-hand man to a top line general, travelling across continents and being a witness to some of the defining moments of the conflict.
My mother had a bad war - dragging a toddler from one temporary home to another, suffering the twin evils of rationing and racketeering and nurturing a second baby - namely me - through some of the worst bombardments that Herman Goering and his Luftwaffe could muster.
It must have been a living nightmare for her - all the more terrible as it followed the bliss of her sunshine years as a newlywed by the sea in Exmouth.
My mother wrote later in her family history notes: “I used to say to Dad during the war: ‘When you go away, I go into cold storage and when you come back the flame is alight.’ He was always able to bring me to life.”
Yet though they were separated for long months at a time, never knowing for certain when or whether they would be reunited, the love shared by my father and mother endured and deepened.
It was cemented, as from the beginning, by a constant flow of typically-intimate and unashamedly open-hearted letters carefully written on whatever paper they could find, but sadly my mother’s have not survived.
My father’s letters however were tenderly kept by my mother, never knowing these were destined to be read by generations unborn.
No feeling was kept hidden, no fear left unspoken and among the outpourings of emotion were also the mundane matters of daily life in a country at war and as well as insightful comments about the great events that were unfolding around the nations of the world.
My father had had no doubts that it was his patriotic duty as a good citizen and an agent for Winston Churchill’s Conservative party to join the fight, but one can imagine the thoughts that must have filled his mind as he headed away from his cottage home, leaving behind his tearful wife and new-born son.
His recruitment to the Royal Army Service Corps was a far cry from his days as a private in the Officer Training Corps at King’s School, Worcester, where he was a pupil for two years leaving Southlea.
It began with a medical and identification of the gum disease, which he unhelpfully passed down to me, led to the removal of all his teeth and the fitting of regulation false ones – another loss, which I’m sure he bore in typical stoic fashion.
My mother knew her man was special but she must have been delighted when this was rapidly confirmed by His Majesty’s Army.
Type written letter no date
Careys Manor,
Brockenhurst
Saturday, 3pm
My Own Lovely Darling,
I though you would like to hear that we had our final test yesterday, and I scored well over 90%. I told you I was going to work hard for Figgy and it certainly has repaid me.
This morning the Chief Instructor called me out of the class and told me that I was recommended for an immediate emergency Commission! At the most only two will be granted from this Course, so when you told me I must come out top, I have carried out your instruction!
I am afraid I have no more details at this moment as to where I am likely to be sent, but three advantages emerge quite clearly:-
1. I shall be granted a Commission without going to an Officer Training Unit.
2. I shall be placed upon what is called the Extra-Regimentally Employed List, which means I am taken out of the combatant side of the R.A.S.C. and given a specialist classification.
3. All the posts to be allotted are in the U.K.
4. Another point. If I behave myself, I am guaranteed Staff, as opposed to Regimental employment for the duration of the War, with possibilities of employment afterwards.
The only proviso is that certain appointments still have to have the official sanction of War Office, but I am given to understand that, in my case, there is little doubt but that I shall secure the post which has been chosen for me. Failing that, the Chief Instruction told me that I should be promoted immediately to 1st class Staff Sergeant-Major, and that I should be granted a Commission at the first available opportunity.
So there it is. I shall have more details for you in a few days, but I think, so far, the results and prospects are distinctly favourable. I suspect the hand of Gannon behind some of this!
I shall be thinking of you both on Monday, and be sure and get Lickle home by the following Tuesday when I arrive.
I am really rather thrilled about the whole thing, (my Commission, I mean). Not too bad to be personal private Secretary to a General!
All my love to you both, and I am counting the moments till Tuesday week.
Your very own loving,
Man
Although his path to promotion was not as rapid as had been suggested – when he received a commendation in June, 1942, he was still a sergeant - he rose to become Aide de Camp to generals and was in France when the British Expeditionary Force was routed.
He was among the thousands evacuated from Dunkirk in that desperate rescue operation, although my mother was unaware that he was back in London until given the news by her well-informed war correspondent brother, Eric.
His eventual boss, Major General Reginald Kerr, was involved in the planning of the Mulberry Harbours used in the D-Day landings and later became Commander-in-Chief, Far East Land Forces.
My father accompanied him to India, Burma and Malaya, but like many of his compatriots he rarely talked about his experiences.
My mother’s war held none of the excitement of my father’s service and the joy of holding her new-born in the garden of her Exmouth cottage home was replaced a few years later by the nightmare of London under the onslaught of the Nazi might.
As she crouched under the dining table with a terrified child listening to the steady crump of bombs outside her rented house she must have thought back to the Devon honeymoon years and yet further to her own safe childhood in the Edmonton of the Twenties, secure in a happy home abuzz with the political and intellectual elite of the city.
Unable to stay alone in Devon, my mother had put their furniture in store and she went to stay initially with Hugh and Mim.
They had moved from their Great Comberton thatched cottage to an Art Deco-style house, Newlands, on Cumnor Hill in Botley, near Oxford, where my mother was a regular sight pushing Hugh in his pram – the locals christening her “the belle of Botley”.
My father did his best to cheer her up, but money or the lack of it, was never far from his thoughts.
13JG Handwritten letter
S/154070,
Pte J.R. Gibbs, R.A.S.C.
M.S. Branch
G.H.Q. Home Forces
C/o G.P.O.
London
27th July, 1940
My own Lovely,
I hope you will have received my last letter safely. It was a bit late when I posted it, but apparently the box had not been cleared, so it should have gone off last night.
I am sending today a parcel of clothes, and it would be a great help if you could wash them for me. I find that London laundries are so expensive, and it is really cheaper to send the stuff home. Of course, I could get it done free in the Army, but I am rather afraid of losing my nice shirts and pants, as they do not take “civvie” stuff. Also you are only allowed to send one pair of socks per week, which, in the summertime at any rate is not sufficient.
Last evening, I took the bus and went over to Richmond, and spent a long time sitting in a deck chair by the side of the River, watching the boating. There were crowds of people about, and everything seemed to be going on as usual, as if there were no war.
Afterwards, I went to a Milk Bar and had some coffee and a packet of Venetian Wafers, which everyone, even the manufacturers, will insist upon calling Italian Wafers. I got back about 10. Just in time to escape the rain. Fortunately our tent is quite waterproof, but in the humid atmosphere things are apt to get rather damp at night time.
Today is our “move”, when we all are hoping for better things. At any rate, it will be London again, and right in the heart of things. From Hammersmith, it is only 3d to Piccadilly and only 2d to Hyde Park Corner.
I think, too, there may be some rationalisation in our office hours, to allow more free time.
I must make enquiries about my accordion, and also, it might be possible to hire a radio, which I believe can be done for as little as 1/6 a week. I must close now, as we have to start shifting furniture, but I will write again tomorrow, until then, all my love and a P.W. (Piggly Wiggly) for our Lad.
Your own loving
Man
Post Card addressed to Mrs Jeffrey Gibbs at Newlands, Cumnor Hill, Oxford
date stamped 30 Jul 1940, Kensington
Saturday
30th July
Could you manage to meet me at Oxford Station at 3.20pm on Saturday next, August 3rd. My train does not leave back until 9.45, which will give us a lovely long time together.
By the way, I should like a little more money, just to make certain that I have the rail fare!
After I had phoned last evening, I went and had some supper at the station canteen. Three fried herrings, two rounds of bread and butter and a cup of tea, all for 71/2 d. The surroundings and appointments were a bit primitive, but after all, unlike the Beasts of the field, we do not usually eat our environment. Then I had a walk in Hyde Park, and afterwards telephoned to Eileen to let her know the latest news.
Apparently B’mouth and Waterhead (!) have been “copping it” Until tomorrow, all love x a P.W.
Man
14 JG – 1st August, 1940
Please note change of address ---------------------------------------------------------------------) S/154070
Pte.J.R.GIBBS, RASC
Attatched US Branch
G.H.Q.
Home Forces
1st August, 1940
My own Lovely Queen
All the various tokens of your love and devotion have arrived quite safely. Your letter, the money and my lovely clean clothes, which I shall don for my visit to Oxford.
It is a glorious day here today, and I have been thinking how glorious it would be to be on the beach at Budleigh, swimming and playing about, and then to come out to one of Figgy’s lovely teas, with the big thermos, and bikkies and sandwiches and all the other things which made life such fun.
This business is such a colossal waste of time, with the best months and years of one’s life just slipping by. The only consolation is that, as far as the War is concerned, I have as comfortable and secure a job as anyone.
I am afraid you will not have received the letter I wrote yesterday until you get this one, but, as I asked a bloke to post it for me – and he forgot – I had to post it myself, late last night when I left work. I shall post this at tea time to make sure. This evening, I am free, so I shall go again to the Park and have a deck chair at the Band. Goodybye, my Love, until tomorrow, and only one more day to Saturday. Not forgetting a P.W. for the younger generation. Your own loving
Man
4JG
Post Card addressed to Mrs Jeffrey Gibbs at Newlands, Cumnor Hill, Oxford. Date stamped 2 Aug 1940 Hammersmith
Secret! I have a scheme usual address
for our future joint existence 2nd August, 1940
(and a lovely day, at that!)
Tomorrow TOMORROW TOMORROW!
Don’t forget the time. 3.20pm at Oxford station. I shall not have time to go back to the billet for dinner, but I will get some grub at Paddington.
Last night, for the first time for many weeks, I went to the cinema and saw a revival of “Top Hat”. You remember – “I’m Pretty”, and “for ze woman – ze kiss, for ze man – ze sword”. It was as good as ever.
I also saw a dreadful film called “Typhoon” with Dorothy (sarong) Lamour. It should have been re-named ”Sarong of Sarongs”. Everything on the desert island was perfectly arranged, from the typhoon to the sarong, which was arranged too well for my liking! I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.
All love & a P.W.
Man
After their brief reunion, it was time for my mother and Hugh to move again, this time to Chingford, Essex, where her sister-in-law, Eileen, lived with her husband, Frank Pearce.
Handwritten postcard addressed to Mrs Jeffrey Gibbs at Newlands, Cumnor Hill, Oxford. Date stamped 5 Aug 1940 West Kensington. Also written on front is 9.45 and underneath 10.15 in Christiane’s handwriting?
London,
Bank Holiday!
Inez (and a porter) will meet you at Paddington, tomorrow, (Tuesday) at 11.48 am, to escort you across London to Liverpool Street, where you get the train for Chingford.
Eileen’s address is :-
92, Mornington Road
Chingford.
Nearest phone (next door) (name of Clarry)
Silverthorne 1903
Best of luck for journey and all love to you and the Lad.
Man
No doubt to cheer my mother up after the journey, my father had written the following spoof letter sent to her new address in Chingford.
Typed letter
CONFIDENTIAL
F.W. WOOLWORTH & Co. Ltd.
High Street,
Kensington, W.8.
4th September, 1940
Mrs Figgy Duff,
at/ 92, Mornington Road,
CHINGFORD, E.4.
Dear Madam,
With reference to your esteemed telephone conversation this morning, we have, at considerable expense (and danger to life and limb), succeeded in executing your order, and we trust that you will find the goods to your satisfaction.
We also hope that the selection which we made on your behalf in regard to the ankle socks will meet with your approval. We thought (ah! how we thought!) that the shade chosen would blend with your tailor-made, and would also, if worn with your (ahem!) trousers, lend just that touch of gaiety and joie de vivre so necessary these days if we are to keep up our spirits in these trying times and help our brave boys to win this dreadful war.
The prices of the goods we are sending are reasonable, but, in accordance with our tradition, we strive at all times to maintain the motto of our House – “CHEAP – AND NASTY”.
If, by any chance, the socks supplied should not fit, and, if you will kindly return them to us, either unworn, or, alternatively, worn and washed, we shall be only too happy to replace them with others of another size, as we carry this line in all sizes, and we imagine that we should have a size large enough to fit even you, Madam.
The combs, although possibly on the flimsy side, are, nevertheless, serviceable, and possess, as you will notice upon examination, the crinkly teeth, which you will remember you ordered specifically.
Thanking you for your past favours, and assuring you of our best attention at all times.
We remain Madam,
Yours faithfully,
A. Duffins
p.p. F.W, WOOLWORTH & Co. Ltd
P.S. What the Hell do you expect for a tanner!
Stamped at base of letter with circular *ASSISTANT MILITARY SECRETARY* H.Q. HOME FORCES* 4 sep 1940
Few of his letters over the next few months have survived, but at Christmas Eve on his birthday he wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
7CG
To reverse of stuck down envelope:
Jefferies
82 Nevin Drive
E.4.
Sil.3752
To front:
Menu Anniversaire
Duffins
potage a la tomate Figgy,
Les Baked Beans
Duffins au lard
flanc aux fruits
The
becots
Dec . 24 1940
Xxxxx
xxxxxxx
xxxxx
xxxxxxx
xxxxx
xxx!
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Handwritten letter
S/154070. GIBBS. JR !
New Year’s Eve, 1940
My own Lovely Darling,
I hope you will not have been terribly disappointed (as I am) that I was not able to get home for New Year’s Eve. The trouble has been that Guvnor (his general rather than his father) arrived back from leave today, and naturally has been buzzing round a good deal, so we have had to work rather late. I suppose I might have got off if I had really pressed the matter, but you will agree that it is wiser to make sacrifices at times, if the ultimate results is satisfactory, and I think that the fact of making sure of staying here is better than securing a “slight” temporary advantage. What I am trying to say is that it is a bloody nuisance.
I shall be thinking of you tonight my Sweet, and also of our lovely little chap, and I will save up all the love for when I see you Thursday night.
Until then my blessing to you, my Wonderful girl. Your own loving Man.
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The following year my mother moved into digs in Chingford and my father was still waiting for his not-so-rapid promotion.
Typed letter on headed paper
S/1254070
Cpl. J.R. GIBBS. R.A.S.C.
M.S. Branch.
GENERAL HEADQUARTERS,
HOME FORCES
5th March, 1941
My Own Sweetheart Darling,
I have just come back from the concert, and, coming back into the office, all steam-heated, and opening the door with a latchkey, it was just like letting oneself in a flat. (What an army!)
It was a most enjoyable concert, and there was really some excellent talent, particularly in the music line, but amateurs should never try and be funny, it is too difficult for them, and embarrassing for the audience.
I received the enclosed wire from Guv’nor (his father) this morning. He certainly did not waste much time as I only wrote to him yesterday. At all events, there seems to be no doubt as to the cordiality of the reception I shall receive at San Remo (Boscombe).
I wished you had been with me at the show tonight. I should have enjoyed it so much more. I never think of anything now, except in relation to you. It really is dreadful. I have just poured myself a cup of tea from the thermos, and I am using some of your lovely sugar. This is the second time I have used the little box today, and I brought it into service this morning at Lyons to eke out the single lump I received with my cup of coffee.
I don’t know if there has been a siren this evening, as we should not have heard it at the concert, but all is quiet just now, and I think I shall kip down, and treat myself to the luxury of pyjamas.
I don’t want to go to Bournemouth at all, and I am counting the hours until next Monday, when I shall come to my Fig, whatever happens, and whatever time of the night it is.
I heard today of yet another Sergeant who has been promoted, so it should put me well in the running very soon. It would be nice if I could have it before Friday, but I am afraid that is out of the question now.
Good-night, my Own Sweet, and the next few days will go very quickly and we shall be together again. I suppose Lickle is too big for Piggly Wigglies now, so just give him a big kiss for me, and an extra large corner of blanket up his nose.
Until Monday, my Own Sweet, all my love to you both.
Your very own loving,
Man
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the summer of 1942 my brother developed a health problem – I don’t know the details, but it meant a stay in hospital – just to add to my mother’s worries.
My father was obviously relieved when his son was recovering, but rather thoughtlessly still gave my mother an extra task.
10JG
Handwritten letter – probably 12th August 1942
Careys Manor
Brockenhurst
12th August, 8.30 am
My own Darling Girl,
I am so please to hear about Lickle. What a relief it must be for you. I think the hospital is being very reasonable, and it certainly is a change to hear of a public service which does function properly. You will find that Lickle will go right ahead now, and in a few weeks’ time you will hardly know him for the same fellow.
What a bore about the Birth Certificate! I felt sure I got a copy, when I was dealing with the question of Pension Fund, but possibly it is languishing among the archives at Exmouth.
Do you think you could have a little trip up to Somerset House and get a copy for me. It will make a little trip up to town for you, and with Lickle away it will help to fill in the time for you.
Somerset House is in the Strand, and you should go to Liverpool St, and then get a No. 11 bus which will drop you right outside. I should find out first of all, either by telephone or locally, whether copies of certificates may still be obtained there. The fee used to be about 2/8d.
The full details of my descent upon this planet are as follows:-
Date of Birth 24th December 1907
Place of Birth Kensington Place, Maindee, Newport (Mon)
Name of Father Percival Raymond Gibbs
Name of Mother Winifred Annie Gibbs (nee Michelmore)
I think that is all they want.
It would be such a help if you could get this and send it to me, as I am a bit isolated here.
The school bell is clanging now, so I must go to my lessons!
All my love to you, my Sweet
Your own loving
Man
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Thousands of miles away in Edmonton, life must have been especially sad and lonely for Grandmother Gabrielle, without the towering presence of her late husband, separated from the beloved daughter she had nurtured and tutored and deprived for weeks of news of her war correspondent son.
To these burdens was then added the implacable death sentence of cancer and though she fought it with the quiet courage and unwavering resolve she had shown throughout her life, she eventually succumbed in September, 1942.
The eulogy at her funeral on October 1, 1942, showed the deep affection with which she was regarded by a wide circle of friends, many recalling how at the side of Grandfather Lionel she had been at the epicentre of “eager and bright intellectual life and of deep interest in the social welfare of men, in the righting of wrongs, and in the forward movement of society towards better and worthier living.”
The congregation were reminded how she had been left to endure her later hardships alone – “it was a steep and sore descent for anyone to take, even for one with her able mind and indomitable will, from such a home life with its warmth and promise, down to loneliness. But she had the courage, and the will needed to face the task that life then set her. To her friends she only looked for continued friendship; her battles she fought alone, and won, though at a cost not all of us would have been strong enough to pay…..”
“She won her battle because her gifts of mind enabled her to work successfully and she won it morally because her gifts of character added something of gallantry to her work, and to her success in it…..”
“The stress of her life was never allowed by her to lessen the innumerable kindnesses to friends, so generous was she towards them in thought and action always, even to the very end. Kindliness, translating itself readily into kindly thought and action, was the mother-tongue of her heart….”
“Her stoical resoluteness in facing life and death did not prevent the tempering of her philosophy with an occasional and characteristic flare of defiance, of the will not to be conquered, that spoke of the controlled, but never extinguished fire within.”
This so patently-heartfelt eulogy ended with these words: “Our friends are our best preceptors, if we will but learn to observe them with understanding, and lovingly. To one from whose life so much is to be learned of strength, courage and tenderness, we must now in unaffected friendship say: Wife, mother, sister, friend, Farewell!”
My mother, by now living in a rented house in Court Farm Road, Mottingham, SE9, must have been torn apart as she read these fulsome words, typed on two sheets of paper sent by a friend from Canada.
But with the resolve she had so decidedly inherited, she said to my father: “I have lost someone I loved deeply, I want another baby.”
My father obliged and I arrived at Eltham Hospital at 6pm on Sunday, September 26, 1943 – in later years I would dine out on the fact that Hollywood film star and comedian Bob Hope was born in the same district, if not the same hospital.
My mother said that the doctor who delivered me exclaimed: “Look at those shoulders – these wartime babies!”, but my father always said that I was her “eewee (ewe) lamb” and Sally said my shoulders tended to be rounded.
The National Health Service was still more than four years away, so my mother was presented with a bill by Dr J.D. Power of £6 15s 0d for her confinement and my circumcision – I always wondered who was responsible for that - as my walking mate, Nige Heath, would say – “Too much detail!”
My arrival meant my brother became Pig No 1 and I became Pig No 2.
In later years, Hugh would mischievously replace my middle name of Raymond – after my grandfather – with Ivor, giving me the initials of PIG, which was always calculated to enrage me.
As the following letter shows, my mother occasionally went to stay back with Hugh and Mim, which must have some welcome relief from the hardships in London.
_______________________________________________________________
15JG – NO DATE ON THIS LETTER – BUT MENTIONS BOTH SONS AND BABY MILK
typed on letter headed paper – with emblem of National Scheme for Disabled Men
Tel. no. – Whitehall 9400 THE WAR OFFICE
Any further communication on this LONDON, S.2.1.
subject should be addressed to:-
The Under-Secretary of State,
The War Office,
London, S.W.1. Sunday 12. noon
and the following number quoted
My Own Lovely Darling,
I am so sorry I have not been able to phone or write for the last few days, but I left London on Thursday evening and did not return until late last night, when, or course there was an alert on. I will, however try and phone this evening. Meanwhile, here is a cheque for the wages of sin. I think I shall just be able to make out this month, and, if next month things get a bit quieter in London, I shall move my quarters to somewhere a little cheaper, as keeping up three establishments is a bit of a strain!
We had a wonderful time in the country, D.S.T. and I travelled down by car on Thursday evening and got to Cricklade, which is between Swindon and Gloucester at about 7.45 pm. He was staying in the White Hart Hotel and I was accommodated in a private house in a little village called Latton about a mile away. After dinner at the hotel I went back to my billet, where I found that they had a perfectly good swimming pool, and, as it was a fairly warm evening, you can imagine my reaction! Within ten minutes I had borrowed a pair of trunks and was in the pool, which was very clean and quite deep. The water was beautifully warm and I stayed in about twenty minutes. I found that I had lost none of my old prowess and that the passage of time has not affected my lissom grace! After the swim there was a cup of tea waiting for me and I sat by a log fire, chatting with the people of the house until midnight. By an amazing coincidence, the daughter of the house (rather a hag!) was a close friend of Miss Sweetland of Colyton and had been to school with her. The whole family were a perfect example of an establishment which has been completely untouched and unscathed by the war. They have a beautiful house, with every conceivable modern convenience. A well stocked garden with milk, dairy produce and vegetables ad lib. They still run a car. No member of their family is even remotely connected with any of the Fighting Services. No bomb has dropped within fifty miles of their house. In spite of this, they were bored, disgruntled, complaining and in all things generally disaffected.
However, they were very kind to me, so I kept my tongue in check and my thoughts were left unsaid.
I was called in the morning at 7 with a cup of tea, and then went to the hotel for breakfast, where the waitress actually asked us whether we would prefer a boiled egg or Spam! She apologised for the fact that as were having an early breakfast, only boiled eggs were available!
The whole day was spent attending an Exercise on Supply by Air, where we saw all sorts of things being dropped by parachute from hundreds of aircraft. It is an extremely pretty sight to see the chutes coming down, as they are made in a variety of colours – red, blue, green, yellow, white, purple and brown, and when they reach the ground the chutes spread their folds gracefully, like a ballet dancer, executing her final curtsey. We had a lot of fun with the chutes on the ground, pulling them against the wind and being dragged up in the air.
D.S.T. managed to get hold of a horse and spent the day galloping round from point to point, encouraging the troops engaged in the Exercise. I had a terrific amount of running about, which did me a whole lot of good, and also a lot of fun charging about in the jeeps.
I got back to the billet and ten o’clock, but it was too late and too cold for another swim, so, after another cup of tea I went to bed. In the morning the lady of the house presented me with three huge duck eggs, which I dutifully passed to my Master, as it would not be easy for me to cope with them at the hotel.
As you will have seen in the papers, things have been rather more “sticky” in London of late, due to the cloudy weather, but I am glad to say that I have lost no sleep over it, and I have heard no news that our house has received any more damage. As you say, if we all get out of this with whole skins and with our furniture untouched, it is all we can expect and we shall be damned lucky at that.
As you know, I had hoped to be able to get down to Oxford on Tuesday, but I am afraid that will not now be possible, as I have to go away to North and South Wales on Tuesday or Wednesday. There is just a chance that I may be able to get down on the following Friday, but I will give you notice of this.
I am glad to know that you are all well and that the Pigs are still behaving themselves. I don’t think you will have to stick it out very much longer, but, as I have always said, I think things will get worse before they get better, so it would be madness to think about coming home just now.
I will send off your Ostermilk tomorrow and will bring the linen with me when I come down.
Meanwhile, all my love to you My Sweet and to Pig No. 1 and Pig No. 2.
Your very own loving,
Man
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Back in London our house was next to some playing fields where there were barrage balloons tethered and on one occasion my mother was outside with Hugh when several aircraft flew over.
Thinking these were RAF planes, she waved to the pilots, who she could clearly see in their cockpits, but then realised that there were Iron Crosses on the side of the aircraft and these were Germans on their way to bomb central London.
My memories of the war are very few, but I can remember being put under a table or in a cupboard under the stairs during an air raid alert.
My mother rarely talked later of the privations that she and so many others suffered at this time, but she had harsh words for those who profited from the misery of the besieged population.
She remembered one local butcher who sold her some meat as her weekly ration, which turned out to be rotten when she opened the wrapping at home. She went back to the shop and he told her to throw the smelly mess onto a pile in the corner – “It’s all been condemned,” he said casually. There was no apology and no replacement of her meagre ration.
My brother had known nothing but wartime and accepted the daily hardships with the calm good-naturedness that was to characterise him in adulthood, even once exclaiming: “Lovely Christmas dinner!” when a portion of whalemeat was placed in front of him.
How he put up with the arrival of a demanding, pushy little brother I will never know, but my early life was bolstered by the certain knowledge that he would always be there as a willing playmate, a patient guide and a staunch defender.
The long-awaited end of the war promised so much to a battered nation and to my parents, but if they had expected to resume their Exmouth idyll they were to be sadly disappointed.