The day came to move house, everything was packed into a van and off we went. On arriving at the new house in Sycamore Road Dad had to go and report to an office, here he was informed that all our possessions had to go through the huge van that was standing in the road. It was a fumigator, Dad was furious and protested loudly to the man in charge.

“My furniture is aal new an we’ve come from a well- cared for clean house. We’ve ne Blacklocks, Lice or Vermin and yer not putting my stuff in that stinking thing.”

Dad told me later that the floor of the fumigator was covered with dead vermin.

Dad won his argument and we were allowed to move in unmolested. It didn’t take long to put straight as Gran Simms and Hannah had been over a few days previous to clean the house.

The next afternoon Trixie was nowhere to be found, Ron and I looked everywhere. By tea-time she still had not turned up.

“Ah nar wher she’ll be, howie wi me.”

Ron and I got into the car and Dad drove back to the old house, and sure enough there was Trixie sitting on the step. Dad would not let us out of the car but turned down the window, called to her and drove off. Trixie barked and sped off after us.

“What are you doing, Dad?” Ron protested

“Arn’t you going to let her in?”

“Arm larnen her a lesson.”

Dad slowed down but just as Trixie caught us up he sped off again.

“Oh don’t. dad” I cried “Please don’t.”

The tears streaming down my face.

“Ah weel, it’ll larn her a lesson she winna ferget in a hurry. She win’et gan back there agin ye’ll see, she hes te larn whar she belangs.”

I was once more to change my school. Dad went to see the Headmaster Mr. Noble and made arrangements for me to start the next Monday. Ron also changed from Wellfield to Stockton and Thornaby Grammar School, he travelled by special bus as he had done to Wellfield. Dinners had now been introduced into the Grammar Schools, so this was much better for him.

Now that we had more room Gran Harriman, Mam’s mother was able to come and stay with us now and then, as she was now living on her own. Aunt Lil who had lived with her had died whilst having a baby. This was a little boy and Uncle Wilf called him Maurice. Uncle Wilf had married again and taken baby Maurice with him to his new wife. (I was told many years later that this little boy grew up to be a very fine Opera Singer). We enjoyed having Gran Harriman to stay, she was a very dear old lady and Ron and I were very fond of her.

We had broth for tea one Friday night, and it tasted very strange. Ron and I quite liked broth and stews, but this one was odd. The barley was most odd, I’d never tasted it like this before.

“Just eat it, it’s good for you” Mam snapped, so we ate it without further complaint.

Later that evening when dad’s bowl of broth was put before him and he started to eat

“Who the hells put Budgie seed in the broth?”

“Oh, Albert, is that what it is? I thought it was barley, and I’ve made the children eat it.”

We all had a good laugh at this, it obviously did us no harm. Mam had found it in a jar in the cupboard, and as Ron had always filled up the seed pot for Jacky the budgie, and also cleaned out the cage so Hannah had never seen what it looked like. Fortunately Jacky had enough seed left to last him until more could be bought. Ron was doing quite well with Jacky’s vocabulary, he would say his name and that he was a good boy, and also say hello.

He was a lively bird and loved to be allowed out of his cage. He would fly around the room landing on the curtains,

the pictures and also on our heads. He sometimes came down onto the table during a meal and pecked at Dad’s food. Hannah was cross with Dad for allowing this, but he took no notice of her and continued doing it. One day Dad commented upon the noise of birds up in the sycamore tree, which was just outside the back door in the small field.

“I can’t understand those birds, they’re going mad.” he said. Dad went over to Jackie’s cage to chirp at him as he often did when he came in. The cage was open, but Jacky was nowhere to be found. He had got out at some time without anyone noticing and he was up in the tree causing the commotion. Dad put Jackie’s cage outside on a hook on the back wall.

“Maybe when he gets hungry he’ll come down and into it” Dad said.

“Do you really think he will?” I asked.

“Well, weel just efter wait un see.”

I didn’t think that he would, now that he was free among the other birds. But he did come into his cage, and after that Dad used to often put the cage out in fine weather, and Jacky our little blue feathered friend came and went as he pleased.

I was now ten years old and I often wondered how I was going to pass my exams when I was eleven. Nobody ever mentioned it and I didn’t even get any homework as Ron did. when I asked about this Mam said

“It doesn’t matter, girls don’t need to go to Grammar School to be good housewife’s and mothers. It’s only boys who need to be educated to enable them to get good jobs, that’s if they’ve any sense. Not like Bernard who has thrown away his opportunity and gone down the rotten pit. He’ll regret it mark my words”

Oh dear, I had set Mam off again and I wished that I had not brought up the subject. I was glad it was time to go back to school, so with the usual

“Good afternoon, Mam,” off I went.

When I returned home at tea-time, there on the table were five boxes, exactly like the ones I had seen in the Welfare Hall.

“It’s a present fer each of us,” said Dad “From the government, Ah think it’s a box of chocolates.”

I only half believed him, but the man at the Welfare Hall had told us that there was to be one for everyone. There was a paper with the boxes on which were all of our Identity numbers. Our family’s numbers were:

The FHPD was issued to all people in Fishburn and the 148 was for our family and of course me being the fifth one in the family I was number five. When we were given these Identity Numbers we were told that we must remember them always. I still remember my number, even to this day.

Quickly I opened my box. What on earth was it? I took out a strange rubber thing with straps on it.

“It’s a Gas Mask!” Ron shouted out.

I remembered hearing some of the men talking about Hitler, and that if the war did start he might drop bombs on us. In the last war Gas Bombs as well as Explosive Bombs were used, so the government were preparing just in case they dropped Gas Bombs again.

“Is there going to be a war?”

“Ah hope not hinney, but if there is we’d best be riddy.”

The next day at school it was all explained to us. We were told that from now on we must not go anywhere without our Gas Masks, and would have to practice putting them on quickly, and also we would now start practicing our Air Raid Shelter Drill. Bomb Shelters had been built in the school grounds but up to now we had been ordered to keep out of them. The Shelter Drill was to be carried out every day from now on. The School whistle was no longer to be used to call us all into school, in future it was only to be used as a signal for all teachers and pupils to make their way to the Air Raid Shelters. Each day when the whistle blew we all marched in our correct order to the shelter, carrying our Gas Masks. Our teacher explained that the reason for doing this every day was to get it fixed into our minds the correct and orderly way to vacate the school without panic if there really was an Air Raid. Telling Dad about all this when I got home from school he said

“The country had been preparing for war a long time now, but everyone hoped that it wouldn’t come.”

The day did come when the Prime Minister spoke on the wireless, saying that an ultimatum had been given to Herr Hitler the German Chancellor that if by eleven ‘o’ clock on September the third Germany had not retreated from the Polish border a state of war would exist between Great Britain and Germany. I remember vividly his speech the next time he spoke.

“I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been given, consequential this country is now at war with Germany”

The mobilisation of the armed forces followed with the conscription of all men over the age of eighteen, except those that were in reserved occupations. Mining was one of these so neither Dad nor Bernard were called up. War starting also meant a lot of new regulations came into force. The blackout was first, followed by the taping up of all windows. A.R.P. Wardens were selected and Stirrup Pumps were issued to every street. There was no petrol for private cars so they had to be laid up, some of the cars were commandeered for the armed forces. Ration Books were issued for meat, eggs, butter, margarine, cheese, sugar, tea and bread. There were even coupons for clothes and sweets, there always seemed to be queues at the shops for any extras that were to be had. A new slogan was ‘Dig for Victory’ and everyone had to cultivate their garden to grow extra food to supplement their rations. It was also allowed to keep a pig and hens in your garden. A lot of women went to work in the Munition Factories to help the war effort. Children from the industrial towns were evacuated into the country for their safety. The production of arms called for more coal to be mined to keep the steel works going, this meant that the numbers of miners had to be increased. Men who were called up for the forces were offered the alternative of working in the pits. These conscripts to the pits were called ‘Bevan Boys’ after the Minister in charge of labour. These Bevan Boys were billeted with the local people.

In Sycamore Road, our new street, many more people were moving in and some of the children went to my school. None of them returned my greeting of ‘Good Morning’ they just giggled. I couldn’t understand why, perhaps because we were strangers I thought. Some of them lived just opposite and I knew who they were but they would not acknowledge me. Even when they played skipping in a group out in the street they would not let me join in. I began to think that I was so awful that they wanted nothing to do with me. Some of the other girls who did not live anywhere near me were quite friendly towards me at school.

Hannah had decide that I was too old to go out to play and she was going to take my speech in hand. One day she asked

“Where’s Ron?”

“Out the back doing summit.”

“What did you say?”

“Out the back doing summit.”

“What did you say?”

When I repeated my answer for the second time she replied

“Oh, I thought that was the top of a mountain,” and walked off and left me. A few seconds elapsed and then I realised that this was her way of correcting my speech. I chuckled to myself and wondered what the next one would be. She thought that the colliery dialect was appalling and was determined that Ron and I would not speak that way.

That evening I committed the dreadful sin of lolling in the armchair.

“Sit up straight, girl, or you will grow up with a hump on your back” she snapped. Ron could loll but not me, I was to sit up straight every minute her eye was on me.

“I will have to find you more to do, you can clean the bath and polish the taps,” (These were made of brass)

I was rid of black leading the fireplace, but other things quickly took its place. The windows became my responsibility, and how I hated changing the net curtains. The threads got stuck in the wires that held them up, and then I got a scolding for tearing them. The path had to be swilled every week. On washing day after my usual OXO and bread I had to wash the kitchen floor before returning to school.

Next to our house, No.28 was a field which belonged to Farmer Danby, directly across the road from this was my school. Hannah made me stand on the doorstep until she heard the bell. After bidding her ‘Good Afternoon Mam’ I had to climb the garden fence, dash across the field, over the second fence and into the school yard. I was always without exception last into school, and many times got a stroke of the cane for being late. I could not tell the teacher why I was late, and I don’t think she would have believed me.

I was not only caned for being late, but also for being left handed. A good rapping across the knuckles would soon stop me the teacher said. Then I got into more trouble for my writing being so bad, which was my best effort with my right hand. Everyone seemed to think there was something odd about a person who was left handed, being the only one in my class who was so. People sniggered and called me cuddy wifter, I never knew where this saying came from, it seemed to be of no relevance to me. I knew that a cuddy was another name for a donkey, but what was a wifter? I was checked for my left hand not only at school, but at home also. If other people only knew how hard it is for me to write with my right hand, why don’t they try writing with their left hand, then they would see what an unjust punishment it is. It was so natural for me to use my left hand, it was difficult to remember that I had been instructed to use my right hand, so the punishment continued.

I was instructed not to play in the school yard, scuffing my shoes. I was told not to go into anyone else’s home, nor had I to take anyone home with me. The result of this was I had no friends. Hannah had to pass the school yard on her way to get the bus for West Hartlepool, and it always seemed to coincide with playtime. I used to hide behind the doorway until she had passed, so she could not see me playing. It became common knowledge and other children would sometimes see her before I did and come and warn me that she was coming.

Hannah made arrangements for me to have piano lessons from a lady called Mrs. Bunting at Trimdon Colliery, as we now had a new piano. I was allowed to go by bus as this was about five miles away. I quite enjoyed this but I still had my six inch square to knit before my one hour practice each evening. Dad and Bernard now had the use of the Pit Head Baths, this meant that all their dirty pit clothes were left in their lockers. No more dusty clothes to bang on the wall, boots to be dubbined, no more water to carry or tin bath to be brought in, I was very pleased about this.

My two weak subjects at school were not improving, I could not concentrate on maths, and my spelling was no better. I just could not remember when two consonants went together, or when it was ‘ely’ or ‘ley’ or if there were two ‘l`s at the end of a word. Long words seemed to present no problem, and neither did words that were pronounced the same but spelled differently. But Oh; those double consonants, and still no one seemed to care and I was so worried. I did so want to go to Grammar School.

“You can’t go even if you do pass,” Hannah would say.

“I need you here to help me.”

This struck horror into me. Was I never to get free from her? Was I to be like Cinderella? If only Mam could be like she was when we were on holiday, wouldn’t it be different?.

I did not pass my ‘Eleven Plus’ so that sealed my fate. When the paper was put in front of me I put my name on the top, and then I just sat looking at it in a numb sort of fright. I did so little of it I didn’t have a hope. The teacher told me later that what I did was correct, but I had just not done enough. I think that out of a class of forty eight only two passed the exam. I felt such a flop, I had let the family down. It wouldn’t be long before I would be leaving school. What was I to do? I didn’t want to stay at home.

My brother Ron was now turned fourteen and Mam thought he was old enough for us to go to the town on our own. We were instructed that we were to go to the Central Co-op Store for our teas, and to be polite to everyone. Off we went, we called in to see Gran Harriman, then went all around the shops and into the covered-in Market. Then it was time for afternoon tea. We made our way back up Musgrave Street and into the Central Stores, up in the lift and into the cafe. It was quite a smart place, with plush seats and pretty curtains. Two ladies stood by the window dressed in black, with white caps and aprons trimmed with lace. One said to Ron

“Yes, young Sir, can I help you?”

“Yes please, can we have a table for two?”

The lady smiled as she showed us to a table with a white linen cloth and napkins.

“Will this do, Sir?”

“Yes, thank you,” replied Ron.

She took a small note pad from her pocket and asked

“What would you like?”

“What have you got?”

The waitress read from the menu what was available and also told us the price. We chose to have Prunes and Custard, Bread and Butter, a Cream Cake and a cup of tea. After the Prunes and Custard which were delicious, she brought a three tier cake stand full of cakes. She left this with us, trusting us to choose alone and tell her which we had taken when we paid. We sat their grinning at each other as though we were royalty, we were quite tickled at the waitress addressing Ron as Sir, but I suppose that was correct. Hannah was always telling us that everyone should know their place. I was used to being number five and last in the family. Ron paid the lady by the door, thanking her kindly. The bill was eight pence. We caught the next bus home and told Mam all about it, she seemed to be quite pleased with us, as if we had done something wonderful.

Dad’s garden was taking shape very well, being a new garden it had to have a double dig, this was very hard work for him. He had everything set out in beds and neat rows. But best of all was the greenhouse, I loved the garden and enjoyed being able to help him. He made me a small wheelbarrow and this had a very special use. He wanted me to take it with me every time I went for a walk, and fill it horse manure which he said I would find on the roads. I felt more than a little embarrassed doing this, but Dad said he needed this so I did it. Many loads I brought back and many bruises I got with the two wheeled barrow stubbing the ground at the front whilst I kept on walking (I still carry the scars today). The other children laughed and jeered at me calling me ‘Hoss Muck Minny’ but I really didn’t care.

“Put some in your shoes,” they would shout, “it’ll mack yer grow.”

I loved to see the two horses that Farmer Danby sometimes put into the small field next to our house. One of these looked a little like our ‘Nell’, and it came to me when I called to it. This of course was manure ready at hand, or shovel should I say. Dad’s pride was his Carnations, he entered them in the local shows and often took first, second and third prizes with them. Showing leeks was a big thing in this part of the country, but Dad preferred his flowers.

Sundays after Chapel if the dinner was not ready we had to go out again for a walk. The smell of the roasting meat made me drivel with anticipation.

“At least an hour,” she would say,” and don’t come back until then.”

On our walks we were sometimes so hungry that we would eat raw turnips out of the fields, that’s when they were in season. I have even eaten ears of corn and raw mushrooms, and still enjoyed my dinner when we got back home. I remember one Sunday which was an Anniversary of the Chapel, we were all dressed up ready to say our Anniversary Piece in the afternoon. It was too soon to go back to the Chapel after we had our dinner so we were sent for a walk again. We were never allowed to sit about the house on a Sunday. Ron and I walked along the road past The Welfare Hall to a field where some other children were playing, sliding down the grassy banks, some were even rolling down the banks. I felt compelled to join in, so off I went completely forgetting about my new dress, which was the only new dress I’d had since my stepmother took charge. There was only one wet cow patt in the field, and yes, I had to roll over it. My arms, my new dress, I was covered in it and stunk like a badly kept cow byre. Ron would not walk home with me. neither would he help me try to clean it off, he just stood there laughing with everyone else. When I got back Dad was home, and Hannah to my astonishment said

“Well, you do look good, covered all over with cowshit.”

No more was said about it, I had a bath and then put on my only other suitable dress for Chapel. I think she took it well because of Dad being there. I’d expected to get a good dressing down and sent off to bed.

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