The War-Weary Years, con't

As time went on life got harder.  We were strictly rationed as to our food, and on the ‘kitchen front’, as it was called, the shortages continued long after the war ended.  Access to sugar, eggs, cheese, margarine, tea, sweets, bread and all kinds of meat were controlled by ration books, which had to be presented before we were allowed to buy groceries of any kind.  New clothing, let alone cloth to make it, was almost unheard of until after the war.  We collected scrap metal of all kinds, glass bottles and rubber products to donate to the war effort.  Every window had to have blackout curtains, and the Home Guard wardens patrolled at night to make sure not a crack of light showed.   We were encouraged to build air-raid shelters in our gardens.  The precious space left over was devoted to growing as many vegetables as possible.  Fruit trees became even more important to harvest, for without them a supply of fresh fruit would be nonexistent.  We couldn’t go anywhere without our gas masks.  And always we listened to the wireless, in desperate need of the war news as well as encouraging messages from the prime minister.  ‘Steadfastness and Resolution’ was the motto we lived by in those years. 

         

The War-Weary Years

         By 1941 Eileen was expecting her first baby, and in Frensham we had first-row seating to watch the results of the bombings of London lighting the night sky.  We were near enough London to see the fires, but we hoped far enough away to avoid being a target of the Luftwaffe. 

         The worst time was one night in May, when over a thousand Londoners wee killed.  They said four hundred bombers crossed the channel, guided by a full moon.   The houses of Parliament were made unusable, so badly were they hit.  Waterloo Station was destroyed, as well as the Bow Church.  The British Museum lost almost a quarter of a million books.  Two thousand fires were started that night, and many of them continued burning through the next day.  On that night six firemen died and almost three hundred were injured.  London was bruised and battered.

         Prime Minister Churchill gave a wonderful speech over the wireless, and I remember some of it.  He said Hitler knows he will have to break us in this island or lose the war.  He said we must brace ourselves to our duties and bear ourselves so that if the British Empire lasts for a thousand years, men will still say that ‘This was their finest hour.’

         In late August Eileen went to Farnham to have her baby in the nursing home.  She and her new daughter stayed  there for two weeks.  That was normal in those days.  Not only that, the new mothers were given a pint of Guiness every night to help their milk production.  I was only able to make the trip to visit her once, and was only allowed to stay one hour, although the new fathers were allowed two.  Allan was away on a training exercise, but I learned they had agreed to name their daughter Eileen Jean.

         As I travelled home on the bus I couldn’t help but wonder what my granddaughter’s future would be like – I had no doubt we would defeat Hitler, but at what cost?

War and Weddings

         By the time Britain declared war on Nazi Germany on September 3, 1939, it was taken for granted all the countries of the Commonwealth would also declare war, and so it was.  Before the end of the year there were hundreds of young Canadians training in facilities near Frensham, and we saw many of them roaming our town during their leisure time.  It seemed natural our young women would be attracted to these soldiers from so far away, and my Eileen was no exception.

         She had been working for several years, and by the time war came along she was also serving as a volunteer in one of the Canadian canteens near Aldershot, on the weekends.   I wasn’t surprised when she announced she had met someone and was going to spend some time keeping him company, since he was lonely, like most of them.  When she brought him home after a few outings I could tell she was in love, and he seemed to be as well. 

I learned it was just he and his mother at home in Montreal, and that she had emigrated from Scotland at the beginning of the century.  Young Len took an instant dislike to Allan.  He went about shouting what all our young English men were saying.  “Them Canadians – over paid, over sexed, and bloody over here!”

            Meanwhile, by 1940 the war began to get serious.  After conquering Begium, Holland, Denmark and France, Hitler turned his attention on us in Britain. Although over three million people (mostly children and their caregivers) had been evacuated from the London area, it still seemed the Lutwaffe wanted everyone in the big cities dead.  Our ponds, Big Pond and Little Pond, were drained, since their reflection pointed the way directly to London. 

         My attention was only half on the war though, for at the end of June my Eileen married her Allan in a quiet wedding, in the church where she had been christened.  I had many private misgivings, but I was young enough to remember how the urgency of wartime makes young couples seize the day, for who know how long they have.  I did not tell Eileen what to expect, for in those days one didn’t, but nevertheless she glowed with happiness as she sent her husband back to war after their weekend honeymoon spent in her upstairs bedroom.  Then we settled in to deal with the war.

Darkening Days

         The years leading up to World War II were not all dark, I must say – my neighbours often gathered in Dougie Dadson’s shop and listened to the wireless news on the BBC.  We heard all about the doings of the Prince of Wales as he was sent around the Empire to show the flag.  He was very popular and handsome, so different from his parents, the dignified, unsmiling king and queen.  We also heard news of the Duke and Duchess of York, who also toured for the crown.  In the Illustrated London News photos the duke was a shy-looking pale reflection of his prince charming brother, but his beautiful and poised wife and little daughters made them a happy looking foursome. 

         I will never forget how shocked we were when the King abdicated so soon after his father died.   That was when we learned how he wanted to marry an American divorcee.  It seemed like such a desertion of his country then, and still does, I suppose.  However, we would not have had the bravery of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth to lead us through the war, nor the experience of having their daughter as our Queen.

         I don’t believe anyone in our county made such use of the newspapers as the people in our lane did.  We waited for the day-old paper brought home by Mrs. Ames, who charred for the town council offices, then passed it down the line.  I always asked for it last, so I could use it to line my canary’s cage after reading.  (“Dickie” was given to me by Len in a burst of generosity when we were first married, and since then I have always had a canary with me, for company.)

         The newspaper became my way of finding out what was happening in the world.  The Spanish Civil War was just the start.  Once Hitler had begun his occupations and annexing of this and that it began to become clear it wasn’t going to be easy to stop him and his Nazis.  Looking back at it all though, I think we were not told very much about what went on behind the headlines – the frustrated negotiations by various politicians were things we only had vague notions of in our little village.  I began to worry about my boy, wayward though he was.  He was just becoming old enough to go to war.  I should have worried about my daughter instead!

The next few years were hard but we managed.  I grew most of our food, made most of our clothes, and the precious money I made from sewing kept us in shoes and other necessities.  My parents took the children with them to Southsea every summer for holidays, and they came back brown and happy from their seaside trips.  I never told them about Len’s infidelities, only that he was working in London and came home when he could.

         Leonard did come home every once in a while, to see Eileen and little Len.  One year he won the award for his sales, and sent home a huge hamper, just in time for Christmas.  We feasted on ham, fruit, cheese and a huge goose that year, and had our neighbours in for a festive dinner.  My husband was not with us, and although nobody mentioned his absence, the children especially made it clear they missed their Dad.

         As Len got older he became a handful.  Perhaps if he had a normal home life he would have turned out differently, but by the time he was ten he started missing school and hanging around with some wild older boys.  They nicked sweets and cigarettes from the shops, got into fights and threw rocks at windows. 

         Eileen, bless her heart, was my angel.  She kept me company, cleaned the cottage for me when I was busy sewing, and tried to set an example to her brother, although he never listened to her.  When she was fourteen she left school to go into service for one of the families who had a villa outside of Farnham. When she was done for the day she would bicycle home, and I would walk down the lane to meet her.  She only ever kept a few shillings for herself, and I must say her salary helped us out tremendously.  Sometimes she would come home with a handful of flowers for me that she bought at a stand on her way home.  She knew I loved growing beautiful flowers but hated picking them, only to watch them die. 

         The years went by, quietly in our village, but in Britain and Europe things were changing, and not for the better.  In fact, the skies were becoming very dark indeed.

On My Own

         I don’t know how many times I was told in confidence by one seeming friend after another about Len’s affairs with local women, but always he would deny and then admit his so-called weakness.  He would beg forgiveness and swear he loved only me and the children, and I would forgive him, fool that I was.  We would be fine for a few months, then it would start again.  Finally one night he didn’t come home, and a note was placed in the mailbox.  Gone to London to seek work, he said, having got the sack as Commons Keeper.  Later I found out the husband of one of his lady friends had discovered the pair together and threatened to kill Len, after going to the Town Council to insist he be fired.

         The children and I were left with no means of support, and so I put it about that I was once more in the seamstress business.  At first a few friends came to me out of pity, but soon I developed a reputation for skilled work of excellent quality.  It was enough to keep us.

         Eventually I received a letter from Len, full of remorse, but containing some money.  He was working as a Hoover salesman in London, and he would send us money as he could.  He wasn’t all bad, but he was weak, 

Life in the Village

         Frensham is what you would call a rural village, or was in my time.  The war had not affected it very much, except for the boys and men it took away forever.  Before the gentry discovered it after the Second World War it was mostly made up of cottagers who lived as they had for generations.  They owned their own cottage and a little land, passed down from father to son.  They kept pigs and donkeys, even a few cows.  Many kept bees, made their own wine and often paid in kind for any services the neighbours might do for them.  You could imagine them stepping in from the last century, the men in their homemade smock frocks, their wives in long dresses under their coveralls.  They saved their money, were indifferent to books and newspapers and disinterested and anything that happened further than the next town.  They never took holidays, but liked to sit in the evening over a glass of beer or homemade wine, gossiping with their neighbours.  I believe they did not know what it was like to feel dull. 

         The old people lived quiet lives of self-reliance, lives of simple dignity.  Their children looked to the city for their excitement, and many deserted Frensham for factory jobs.   For the most part the village has an air of living in a time gone by.

         Almost directly across from Rookery Cottages was St. Mary the Virgin, dating back many centuries.  The prayer cushions were wonderfully worked by women long dead and forgotten and the windows were rich with stained glass.  Eileen, and later her brother Leonard were christened there.

         When the time came Eileen and little Len attended the village school.  Schooling had not changed since my time as a student.  A few rules of Arithmetic, a little of the geography of the British Isles, a little poetry, some nature study, penmanship, needlework for the girls, woodworking for the boys – all these were offered in the simple education offered to the children of Frensham.  When they left school at fourteen, their real education began.  Apprentiship for some, domestic service for others.

         Frensham is overseen by the Bishop’s castle, a grand building where Queen Mary once stayed while waiting for her future husband, the King of Spain to arrive in England.  It may be that the public can visit it now, but in my time the Bishop lorded over it like royalty.

         There are many lanes where one can wander into the countryside from the village, and from spring until fall they are lined with all kinds of flowering plants. In the village high street are grocery, hardware and ready-made clothing shops, as well as a bakery and a pharmacy.  When Woolworth’s opened its doors everyone was excited, for one could buy everything from greeting cards to cloth and sewing needs. 

         I loved those years living in Frensham while my husband was working as the Commons Keeper.  Our son Len was born a few years after Eileen.  Their father came home every night and we were a happy family.  Like Mrs. Maidment said, “Your Len will come right in time.”  

How could I know my Len was leading a secret life?

        

        

Mrs James

         At first I was very happy in my new role.  Len and I moved to the small village of Frensham, not more than a hop, skip and jump from my old home in Farnham. We rented a small semi-detached house in a development called Rookery Cottages, kitchen and parlour downstairs, two bedrooms up.  (I soon learned the reason for our new home’s name – the trees behind us were full of rook’s nests, and sometimes their noise was deafening.  The privy was in the back, along with a pump for fresh water.  We used my savings to furnish it, and I did have a good time setting my little home to rights.  Len was offered the job of steward at the British Legion, and his salary kept us nicely at first.

         A daughter was born to in 1922, and we called her Eileen Lucy.  On warm summer days I would set her out in the garden in her pram while I worked in our little vegetable garden.  Len loved potatoes and onions, and nights I fed him fried potatoes and onions he would declare himself a happy man, and sit by the fire with his pipe while I bathed the baby and put her to bed. 

         Leonard did not stay a happy man for long.  He sometimes became very moody and would take himself for a walk after our evening meal, often staying out until well after midnight.  Remembering the difficult times he had experienced during the war I tried to be understanding.  He was never violent, but often came home tipsy, and once in a while smelling of perfume.  When I confided my fears to my neighbour, Mrs. Maidment, she shook her head and said, “There’s a man for you.  They have all the good times, while we women slave – it’s a dreary old life for us.  Have another baby, ducks, and keep yourself busy.  Remember, there’s lots and lots of spinsters out there that’s pining for the company of a man, since the war took so many.  Your Len’ll come right in time.”          

         Mrs. Maidment had lost her husband and only son in the war, and in time we became close friends.  I came to depend on her friendship more and more.  She was one of the few people in the village I learned to trust, for the gossip I was beginning to hear in the shops did not speak well of Len.  There were whispers about money missing from the Legion.  Dougie Dadson, who owned the greengrocers, took a special interest in my daughter, slipping her little treats when we had done our shopping.  My sister Rosie came over to visit from Farnham, and once she brought Mother’s treadle sewing machine with her in a cart.  “Mother said she no longer has any use for it, and she thought you could have it to make clothes,” she told me, as she played with little Eileen, “Besides, you could always support yourself if you ever need to.”  There was something in her tone of voice that made me think she was trying to forewarn me about something I already suspected but chose not to know.  In those days women simply had to put up with their husband’s ways and hope for the best.

         It wasn’t long before Len’s light-fingered ways were discovered and he was dismissed, only to find more employment as the Commons Keeper.  There are two ponds in Frensham, Little Pond and Great Pond.  Great Pond is surrounded by a large park, where one will find a sandy beach and picnic grounds, but most of the park is given over to a wildlife preserve.  For quite a while my husband was kept so busy he was too tired to go philandering at night.