|
 | |  | |
I was born on a bleak evening in November 1938, and my father stood a row of fireworks on the window sill to celebrate my birth, so my mother could enjoy them from her bed. It was only 10 short months later that he was called to serve his country in the Second World War. These are the words of Wyn Johnson, born Winifred (Winnie) Goodrum, who continues:-
My earliest memories revolve around my maternal grandmother and grandfather, she was a tiny woman with hair reaching down past her waist, very strict, but always loving and kind.
My Grandfather was another story: a real sergeant major if ever there was one; not at all loving; but certainly not cruel. My mother only had one sister who lived in the same street as us called Green Place at Undercliffe in Bradford: we at no. 6; gran at no. 10; and auntie at no. 24; so naturally granddad ruled the roost in all the houses because there were no other men.
My mother worked in the munitions factory, and we only saw her at night. She would light the fire in the bedroom, and we would climb into her bed where she would sing to us, one on either side of her. My brother Jimmy is nearly 5 years older than me.
I remember being issued with a gas mask: it was a Mickey mouse one with a tongue hanging out; and when you breathed it used to make a clicking sound - in..out..in ..out. We thought it was great but we weren't allowed to play with it.
Around that time things must have worsened in the war, because mum put a big carving knife under the pillow. She told us that if ever 'they' came anywhere near she would kill us first and herself after, so we hadn't to be afraid of anyone hurting us. We weren't afraid at all.
I remember my first day at school: I had to walk with my brother and on the way I lost a button from my shoe. The buttons were so tiny you had to use a button hook to fasten them. I cried so much that my brother knocked on a lady's door and told her. She sewed the button on for me, fastened it, and took us to school.
I remember the night that Bradford got bombed. My mother was out and we went into the air raid shelter that had been built in our cellar; and my granddad was furious that mum wasn't home. He kept going outside to see if he could see her while the bombs were going off all around.
I can't remember being frightened of the bombs but I was afraid of him. My great granny was with us; she had dropped her gin bottle down the cellar steps, and was crying. Granddad was annoyed with her too. My poor granny was trying to make everyone feel better. Mum came home just as the 'all clear' sounded and everything was okay again.
I didn't meet my father until I was 7 years old when he was demobbed. We had a party on the street and all the flags were flying, and along came this giant of a man in a soldier's uniform, hugging and kissing my mum. Oh How jealous I was! I hated him.
I ran and ran through the streets and he chased me all the way. I climbed up onto a wall thinking I would be safe but it was just about as high as his waist so he just lifted me off and carried me screaming home again. My tears soon stopped when I saw what he did; he emptied his kit bag on the floor and I have never seen as many Mars bars in my life. Of course he gave us permission to eat as many as we wanted because he had to 'talk' to my mum upstairs.
Things did improve a bit after the rationing was over, but we were always very poor. Our treat was a paper twist full of cocoa and sugar to dip our fingers, in or a paper twist full of jelly crystals if we were lucky enough to have some. We didn't own toys or games at all. We made our own fun. We used to play out from morning till evening, listening for mum to shout us in, as her voice carried for miles. We would be playing in the park and someone would say, 'That's your mum calling,' and sure enough it was.
I was always fat as a child, and didn't have nice clothes. I had a pair of Wellington boots and mum cut off the tops of them. I had to wear them in summer too, and when they got too tight she cut the toes out and I had to carry on wearing them till they were absolutely worn out.
After that I was given a pair of wooden clogs. I hated them and used to hide them in the trees and go to school barefoot. I got many a hiding from mum for showing her up. She made me a dress from parachute silk: hand sewn and not very nice. I hated it cause all my friends laughed at me; so mum dyed it blue. It wasn't so bad then, but like the gumboots I had to wear it till it virtually dropped off my back. I even had ribbon threaded through the button holes on the bodice to make it fit longer.
My sister was born on Christmas Day, my 8th Christmas. My brother and I spent all night in the freezing bedroom listening to my mother's screams downstairs. I was frightened she would scare Santa Claus away, but come 6 a.m. the nurse allowed us downstairs where there was a pillow on the hearth under my pillowcase.
It had my baby sister on it, left by Santa I was told. I also had a doll inside the pillowcase, which I preferred because the real baby had to go into bed with mum to keep warm. I got a baby brother when I was 11 but he died at the age of 10 months, a Downs syndrome baby. Then mum had my other brother when I was 15, born at home too, and healthy.
I was married at 19, had two children, and then was divorced. When I remarried at 27, my new husband adopted my children. In 1968 we migrated to Australia.
| |  | |  |
To add a comment you must first login or join for free, up in the top left corner.
|
|
