Child from Home (31 page)

It was well after midday on Monday 25 May 1942 and there was barely a breath of wind as we sat on the grassy banks of the purling river which sang its quiet song to the sun. Thelma, who had a great deal of nous, said, ‘We'll have to be moving, and when we get to the main road we should be able to thumb a lift.' Quite happy at that we rinsed the pan and the mugs in the water. ‘Right then,' said Jimmy, shouldering the knapsack. ‘Lets get on.'

Rounding a right-hand bend we came to the collection of old, brick farm buildings. A little further on to our right stood Manor Farm and a small cottage and there was not a soul to be seen. It was only four weeks since that German plane had dropped a bomb hereabouts injuring one of the horses.

Cattle were grazing languidly on the lush grass and flicking their tails to keep away the clegs that constantly plagued them and, having recently suffered a nasty bite from one, I was wary of them myself. The heat of the afternoon was starting to get to us and the landrail, desperate to attract a mate after his long flight from Africa, was still making his raucous croaking calls from his hiding place in the tall grasses. We, like him, were also crying out for a little love and attention.

We kept stopping to lark about or to investigate things of interest and, getting annoyed, Jimmy shouted, ‘I'll thump yer John if you don't stop chucking them Claggy Jacks on me back.' Claggy Jacks (Galium, also known as cleavers or goose grass) were plants that have tiny hooks on their stems, seed cases and the underside of the leaves, allowing them to adhere readily to any hair, fur or cloth that they come into contact with, therefore we were inadvertently helping to spread their seeds. The roadside hedges were white with mayblossom and the afternoon was slipping away by the time we reached the junction. As we turned left onto the main road that ran north through Strensall, we could see the extensive army firing ranges. Lots of army vehicles were passing to and fro but not one stopped to pick us up even though we thumbed them. There was a ramshackle wooden hut with a verandah by the side of the road that was a kind of Cafeteria and it had a sign proclaiming that it was ‘Mae West's Place'. Thelma said, ‘It must've been named after that big busty blonde in the Hollywood fillums.'

As we trudged wearily on we saw a number of soldiers coming and going and we wished we had the money to buy a cold drink and something tasty to eat, as our biscuits had all gone by this time. Nearby we could see long regimented rows of wooden huts and bell tents, and on the right a little further north we passed the guardroom that stood beside the entrance to the vast army barracks.

Strensall Road became Flaxton Road as we reached the wide-open spaces of Strensall Common where thickets of trees almost met above our heads. Near the road there were stands of silver birch but a little further back was a small forest of pine trees. The common was a tiny remnant of the vast Forest of Galtres that had once covered this area. Mr Harris had told us that the Haxby Home Guard used to come here to train with the regular soldiers from time to time. We could hear an army sergeant using choice language, not really suitable for the ears of delicate young ladies like Thelma and Dot, as he bawled out and berated his sweating underlings. Fortunately, it did not seem to bother the girls who were enjoying the refreshing shade of the luxuriant growth. The foliage was thick and freshly green and the occasional chestnut tree that we passed was covered in a mass of red ‘candles'.

The birds were quietly twittering and singing and the grass verges were full of dazzling white cow parsley, Jack-by-the-hedge and other tall wild flowers. Seeing a fallen log, we rested for a while and, as we came back into the open, it took a few seconds for our eyes to adjust to the sun's relentless glare. We plodded on placing one weary foot in front of the other trying to thumb a lift from the odd lorry or car that passed. As time passed, the shadows grew longer and the air began to cool. Jimmy and I were feeling hungry and tired and our lightheartedness had evaporated. We began to get worried and asked Thelma, ‘How far away are we now?'

‘Don't worry,' she replied. ‘We'll be there soon enough.'

Niggling doubts began to enter our minds. ‘What if we are still out on the road when it gets dark?' I whispered nervously to Jimmy.

‘Don't be such a cowardy custard,' he replied, but I think he was just trying to appear brave in front of the girls.

We had heard stories about various ghosts in this neck of the woods. A phantom on horseback was said to gallop around the area on moonless nights; and it was said that an old clergyman had been seen out in the rain one dark and stormy night, but when a van driver had stopped to pick him up he suddenly vanished. We began to have second thoughts about this running away lark.

At that point Thelma thumbed a black car, which pulled in to the roadside a little way in front of us. Thelma shouted, ‘This is it!' and we excitedly ran towards it, but, as we reached it, a black uniformed policeman got out and waited for us by the car door. He knew who we were as it seems that Mrs Harris had wheedled the information out of Ducky. The oily creep had split on us after we failed to turn up for our dinner. It seems she had hurried round to PC Manging's house and the village policeman had telephoned headquarters to inform them of the situation.

The police constable gave us a stern ticking off and said, ‘Right you lot, into the car.' To Thelma he said, ‘You are old enough to know better', before pointing out some of the dangers that we could have put ourselves in. Thelma hung her head in shame; Dot looked bemused and we were just relieved that it was all over. On the way back he asked us, ‘What made you want to run away like that?' and we told him how much we had missed our mams and dads and how unhappy we were at being belted so often for nothing, at which he seemed kindlier towards us. It was the first time I had been in a car but I didn't enjoy it because of the guilt I felt. We were taken back to the house on Usher Lane and in a way I was glad to be back safely, despite the likelihood of more beatings to come.

When Mrs Harris came out of the house, she hugged us – a hitherto unheard of occurrence – and thanked the bobby profusely. She then took us inside and we thought we would get a real good belting, but I think she was too relieved to scold us and instead she was quite nice, saying, ‘Get yourselves cleaned up and I'll warm up your dinners.' And, surprisingly, that was the end of the matter. For a time things improved and we were not hit or belted at all; instead we were sent up to our bedroom and missed a meal whenever we misbehaved. Maybe she was worried that she might end up in trouble with the authorities if it got out that she was belting us again. Possibly she had already had a warning. I don't know what she told Gran about us running away but nothing was said about it.

As the green of spring warmed into the gold of early summer, there was a very cloudy spell and it turned wet and thundery. By the late evening of the 30th it began to clear up and conditions were ideal as the first of Bomber Harris's thousand-bomber raids took to the air. It was said to be the greatest concentration of air power that the world had ever seen, with the force made up of Wellingtons, Whitleys, Stirlings, Manchesters, Hampdens, Mosquitoes, Halifaxes and the new Lancaster bombers. It was reported that the target was the city of Cologne with its heavy industry and its ancient Rhenish cathedral. In Haxby we became aware of the gradually increasing drone of approaching aircraft, which eventually filled the sky drowning out every other sound. Many of them were from Linton and the other airfields, such as Leeming and Dishforth, just to the north of us. In fact, Harry told us later that 400 of the total force had taken off from airfields in Yorkshire. The very air and the whole house vibrated as the throaty roar of the massed aircraft reached a crescendo before it slowly faded as they streamed south.

The newspapers used the term ‘saturation bombing' for the first time, reporting that the massive raid had been an outstanding success describing epic feats of arms. They called it a turning point in the war and it was said that 1,046 aircraft from fifty-two airfields had taken part, with forty being lost.

The news bulletins said that Cologne had been set ablaze from end to end but the cathedral was left standing. The area of devastation in the city was six times larger than that at Coventry six months earlier. On 31 May Mrs Harris allowed us to stay up to listen to the news, which was now something of a national institution which folk endeavoured not to miss. As the chimes of Big Ben came to an end, John Snagge read out a glowing report on the raid, which provided a badly needed boost to the flagging morale of Bomber Command and the people of war-torn Britain. Afterwards, Churchill was to say, ‘This is only a herald of what Germany will receive, city by city, from now on … We are going to scourge the Third Reich from end to end.'

On 1 June a red-backed ration book for clothing was issued – not that I remember Mrs Harris ever buying us new clothes. Ours had been washed, patched and repaired so many times that they were now threadbare and almost unwearable. We ran around like young ragamuffins – even though Gran swore that she had been sending new clothes quite regularly. What happened to them remains a mystery to this day. Our ragged pullovers were unravelled and Thelma and Dot knitted them up again, and in this way our old clothes became ‘new' jumpers.

The bulk of the nation's poultry feed had to be imported, leading to fewer poultry and, therefore, a shortage of eggs. Powdered egg was being imported from America, thus saving on shipping space. We were allowed a packet (the equivalent of twelve eggs) each four-weekly rationing period, which cost one shilling and ninepence at Haxby Co-op. The powder was reconstituted by adding water; but to me it never tasted the same as real eggs and in time we forgot what they tasted like. I must admit that I liked the bacon and egg pies that Mrs Harris baked and we had mashed potatoes made from packets of powdered potato called Pom. Mrs Harris would remark, ‘Beggars can't be choosers.' But Harry was getting real eggs regularly supplied by Miss Barker's brother, and they swapped some of their excess farm produce for other items that they needed.

That month a new bomber airfield called RAF East Moor came into service. By the end of June it was fully operational and, as it was only two miles from us, this meant that the number of Halifax bombers flying over Haxby increased.

On a bright Sunday afternoon, I was in the kitchen when there was a knock on the door, and Mrs Harris said, ‘Well, don't stand there like one o'clock half struck, go and answer it lad.'

Gran stood on the back step, and she said, ‘I've got a little surprise for you.' At which my five-year-old brother George, who I had not seen for almost eighteen months, appeared from behind her. He was going to live here with us. Gran said, ‘Your Mam won't be able to come for a while as she has left Grove House and is back home being kept very busy working as a cleaner for Ethel Gaunt again.' Mrs Gaunt did a lot to help the poorer people of Middlesbrough and was well liked and respected by all. She was a very kind, caring person who the family could depend on in times of trouble. Gran told me that she was the head of the nearby first aid centre and Mam was also working there as a voluntary helper looking after the casualties brought in after bombing raids. I thought Gran seemed sad and eager to be away, and she left as soon as she had handed over my brother's papers, his blue ration book and his belongings. This sudden change of living circumstances meant that our sleeping arrangements would have to be revised and Mrs Harris said, ‘George will have to sleep in the bed with you, Ducky and Jimmy.'

We were arranged with Ducky and Jimmy at the head of the bed, while George and I had to sleep with our heads on pillows at the foot of it – with the sheet and blanket turned back. We often had the sweaty feet of the bigger boys up near our faces and cold draughts around our feet, and Ducky often pulled the blankets off us altogether. We soon got used to it and fortunately it was a warm summer.

Two weeks later, Renee, my auntie – by now eighteen years old, petite and attractive – came to visit us by herself. She took George and me along to Bryant's shop and bought us some stretchy jelly babies before taking us down to Harry's lodgings. She seemed quite pleased on getting a few wolf whistles from the local lads. Just before we got there she said to Jimmy, ‘By the way, you know when you ran away?'

‘Yes,' he replied.

‘Well, you were heading the wrong way. If you had gone through Wigginton and up on to the A19 it would have taken you straight up to Middlesbrough.'

‘I know, but we were planning to go to Grove House first to leave John with his Mam.'

On our arrival, the Misses Barker and Law couldn't have made us more welcome and they were delighted on seeing George. They seemed to have a weakness for blonde-haired children and they cuddled and fussed him and he loved every minute of it. He had now started school and was in Miss Curry's baby class in St Mary's hall. While we were out in their lovely back garden, I overheard Renee say to Harry, ‘I'm a bit worried about Mam. She sits at home holding her head in her hands and staring into the fire for ages. There seems to be no life in her and she takes no interest in things around her since she got that telegram. Her mind seems to be a complete blank.'

It seems she had received a telegram from the War Office that said, ‘I regret to inform you that your son, Acting Sergeant John Bradford, is missing. Believed killed', and she was devastated. She had lost so many children in her life without this on top of everything else, and a deep melancholy had descended on her like a dark cloud. However, on an evening a few days later, her younger brother Albert and his wife knocked on her front door. As soon as she opened it Albert, who could not contain his excitement, blurted out, ‘John's not dead! We've just found out he's a prisoner of war!'