A BIRMINGHAM BOY'S MEMORIES OF WAR

A BIRMINGHAM BOY’S MEMORIES OF WAR by Frank Painter

The air raid shelter

The Anderson shelter arrived before any raids had started, with instructions for assembly: so many curved, corrugated, galvanized sheets: so many straight corrugated sheets: so many lengths of angle iron for support and structure: a bag of nuts, bolts and a spanner, for the use of: complimented with sand bags for filling and covering the entrance. The government also supplied bunk beds, “So we would be sleeping out! That could be fun!” We dug ours deep down into the earth at the bottom of the garden. When the sirens sound we must all dash for the shelter? Our gas masks also arrived, and the most compelling aspect of this, was the one for our baby sister. When mom saw how she would have to tie her in and pump the air in, she nearly became hysterical. In fact I’m surprised that mom survived the war fit and sane, she had two sons who would eventually be away at war, myself (but we will go into that later) a daughter and a baby, besides all the other worries and inconveniences. They didn’t have stress councilors at that time, but they had each other, the people that is.

Evacuation

War means pain, suffering, grief and despair, but for us children, from 1939 it was the beginning of a new and exciting experience, different from the ordinary and routine way of life. It started with the evacuation, although my name was down to go, I just missed going because our family moved to Kingstanding on the outskirts of Birmingham, where it would be comparatively safe from the bombing. I did go back to see all my school friends off to the country. Outside Upper Thomas ST school, they waited for the coaches to take them to the railway station, dressed in their Sunday best, complete with gas masks in cardboard boxes, and their identity labels pinned to their clothes.

Air raids

We lived in the midlands, so it was considered a target area for the enemy, as we where about to realize later on into the war. At ten years of age, air raids meant excitement for me, and I liked living nearer to the country. At the rear of our house, we had a large field on a hill, which overlooked a wide area of Birmingham and the surrounding district. The hill provided a panoramic view of much action, taking place around us.

On one particular night during a bad air raid, dad was standing in the entrance to the shelter, watching events. I decided to join him to see what was going on, I could her plenty, the drone of aircraft engines, and explosions from Anti Aircraft fire. Dad said we could tell the Jerries by the drone of the engines. When I put my head through the opening, my mother screamed for me to come back, dad said I was only being patriotic (I thought that word meant curious for a long time after).

Getting bolder, after that night, I ventured out onto the field and further up the hill, during air raids. From there we could see the search lights with their powerful beams scanning the sky for enemy aircraft, their beams seemed to cross in their effort to spot a plane. We could see the A A tracers fired skywards, and the shells bursting overhead, after a few seconds we would hear shrapnel raining down, sometimes clattering on roof tops, or striking the road and pavement, occasionally we heard a dull thud when a piece struck the turf on the field. As we searched the area hoping to find it, someone said, “ Don’t pick it up if you find any, it could still be hot.” I’m glad mother didn’t know where I was. I must have been a big worry for her. Up on the hill we could see how the sky had lit up by the fires caused by incendiary bombs and occasionally, we would hear explosions when a bomb landed making the glow flare up, in the night sky.

Shrapnel as a souvenir

As children, we where delighted to find pieces of shrapnel on our way to school. We graded it by size and the strange shapes that resulted. It wasn’t difficult to imagine it’s purpose. The shells, when exploding would splinter the casing into many jagged pieces, that looked savage and lethal, they would easily tear through flesh and bones. We didn’t think seriously about it in that way, we swapped and bartered with it as we did with cigarette cards.

Dad had served in the First World War, been affected by gas and taken prisoner so he knew something about war. I’m not sure if he was worried about his family, or was just feeling lonely, living away from them, at that time, however, one day he just bundled us onto a bus back to Aston to stay with them for a night. We spent the night down the coal cellar, that had been cleaned and whitewashed to serve as a shelter. I missed the open spaces of the field, and our dug out in the garden, as we huddled together with gran, aunts, uncles cousins and old neighbors. It was a bad raid that night, we could hear heavy explosions, and feel the ground and building shake. There where many factories in the area, doing war work, so it wasn’t surprising. That was the only night we spent there, as dad had to get back to his other duties and fire watching.

Black out and rationing

There where many things we had to put up with during the war, besides spending nights down in a damp shelter, sleeping on bunk beds, with only a candle to light the darkness. We had rationing and queuing for everything. Although, for many, rations where a good thing, the ration book served like a prescription, because they hadn’t been used to some of the items allowed, such as meat, cheese, butter and chocolate. Likewise with clothing vouchers, they never had new clothes until then, somehow their parents found the cash to use them up. Then there was the black out, we only had two local casualties as a result, when a motor cyclist ran into the back of a parked car. My brother was the other, he walked into the wrong house on his way home, just when they where having there tea, they thought it was hilarious, but he wasn’t amused.

We started work at fourteen, but getting to and from the factory in Aston had its problems, with the buses. Because of the fuel shortage, some buses where converted to gas, so they had to tow a large gas tank at the rear. When it came to climbing the Kingstanding hill, they lacked the power, so we, as passangers had to get off and push, or we couldn’t get home in the black out. One very good innovation, where the British Restaurants set up in a school near where we worked, enabling us to get cooked meals during the working day. A little extra rations where welcome.

Prisoners of war

Other issues associated with the war, included war prisoners. The next factory to ours employed Italian prisoners, who played football with us during the lunch hour, in a passage between the factories, until one of them lost his temper with one of my mates and struck him. That was the end of our games. We didn’t report him, so he got away with it. Then there where the Americans, who frequented our milk bar, accompanied by some of the local girls, who enjoyed their company, especially their generosity.

We didn't hear much about the real war, there being no television at the time, only radio, but we did see pictures of it at the cinema when Pathe News came on. This is how we started to see the serious side of it and feel pathos. It is impossible to be indifferent towards barbarism and cruelty, with the useless results of shattered lives, lost loved ones, all such a waste. War is hell! We are still waiting for the final all clear!

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