my mother away from this man and she married him. To assist his daughter, Grandad Warner helped to set them up with their own pet shop.
Bob’s family was originally from Wales. His father David had around nine brothers and sisters, most of whom left the area moving to England and America for work. David, a Merchant Navy man, was rarely home. This could account for Bob’s appalling behaviour and drinking bouts. His father simply did not have any firm control over him, as he was never there. After many rows about different issues, Joan announced her pregnancy to her husband. Bob blew his top and gave her a good hiding—an experience she had become familiar with. Then he broke into the electricity meter, took the money and left. He returned a few days later and smashed up the family home in one of his drunken stupors. This pattern of behaviour was repeated over the next few months. Joan had no money as it all went on Bob’s drinking habit. She had no option but to ask her father for help, knowing she would get one big ‘I told you so’. Bob was told in ruthless terms to leave, which he did for the majority of the time. Later the family heard he had followed his father’s footsteps and joined the Merchant Navy, travelling the world, only visiting the home occasionally when back in port. This suited everyone including my mother Joan. In those times, divorce was almost unheard of. It was also very expensive and harder to obtain.
On July 25 1935, barely reaching the five pound mark on the scales, I arrived into the world at Bond Street Nursing Home Leicester— an amazing feat really after the traumatic time Mum had with my drunken father. He had become an alcoholic, unaware of and not caring for how his addiction was affecting his family.
I was still a baby when my dad was dismissed from the Merchant Navy. He was fired for stealing and selling navy property. Anything he could get his hands on, he sold. This habit fed his drinking addiction. He did attempt treatment for his alcohol abuse. He tried different clinics but nevertheless, his habit continued to spiral out of control. When he did try to stay dry, the withdrawal symptoms were unbearable. He suffered from delirium tremens (DTs) and hallucinations. Consequently, my father’s attempts to give up alcohol were useless and his violent outbursts continued.
Some years later I was snooping around in my mother’s dressing table drawer when I found a statement she’d written as part of her divorce application. To the best of my recollection it stated:
My baby was crying when Bob tried to shut her up by choking her with his bare hands. I came in just in time to stop a real tragedy. Bob then left the room where he then smashed our home, robbed the electric metre by forcing the lock open, taking the money inside it and left for good. Afterwards, my baby was very ill due to the trauma of being choked. She ended up in hospital with her weight going down to just one pound, wrapped in cotton wool and fed through a fountain pen tube. The chaplain was called in but miraculously she survived the ordeal.
This put an end to my parents’ disastrous marriage. Grandad fetched all our belongings and took us home to live with him and Grandma. I was two at the time. Whilst living with Grandma and Grandad life settled down. My mother and my grandparents were thankful never to have seen him again but it took a further ten years for Mum to obtain a legal divorce.
Chapter 3
I was happy living at Grandma and Grandad’s. Auntie Betty also lived with us and often played games with me. I felt very close to her and loved her dearly. When she had free time from work and the weather was nice, she would take me to the park. Eventually, she met a young man from Wolverhampton who worked for British Thomas Houston. I still remember how thrilled she was when they met at a dance in the city. Sid became a regular visitor to our house as he began courting Betty. He was very charming and interesting.
The years that went by were full of many happy memories. Grandma would proudly bake all her own cakes on every occasion including my birthdays. On one particular occasion I remember Grandma lifted the cake out of its tin with such pride to be displayed in front of everyone. Out came her masterpiece, covered in holes round the edge of the cake, minus the little silver balls, glazed cherries and a manner of other edible decorations, all missing, obviously eaten!
‘By whom I wonder? Must be that invisible man again!’ Grandma exclaimed, looking rather embarrassed in front of my party guests and their mothers.
Whether I was punished or not I have no idea. However, after the initial shock I am sure it was the laugh of the day.
The news on the wireless was one of the highlights at dinner time. We also listened to Worker’s Playtime and a comedy show called ITMA (It’s That Man Again). The grown-ups laughed their heads off at the jokes. Of course, I didn’t understand them but I was amused listening to the laughter. This was until the one o’clock news began when there had to be no chatting. Grandma would shush us all. Sometimes we took no notice and continued chatting, but on one particular day we all fell extremely silent. What we heard was not good news. The Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, announced that Britain was at war with Germany. It was September 3 1939. The news was shocking. I was only four and didn’t really understand. Within days, young men were once again called to serve their country. By this time Betty and Sid were engaged. Sid eventually joined the RAF in 1940 and trained as a navigator.
England was no longer a safe place to live as we experienced aerial attacks from Germany. Windows were blacked out so enemy pilots could not identify any landmarks. It was very scary. Whenever a siren was heard it was a warning that enemy bombers were on their way and we had to head to an air-raid shelter. This could happen at any time, night or day. During the day we would go to the air-raid shelter in our area, however, during the night we often used the cold cellar under the house. We took some bedding, a flask and a paraffin lamp to enable us to see, drink and keep warm. People seemed to have a sixth sense about when it was safe to stay or safer to go to the shelter. In addition, an air-raid warden would tell you when it was safer to stay or go. Despite the warden’s advice to head to the shelter, it would often get very cold making people dread going out. After all, it was winter in England.
My first day of school was very traumatic—having to leave my safe environment with my gas mask in hand, saying goodbye to my mother and Grandma, meeting my teacher. Our gas masks had to be kept with us at all times. In the event of the siren going off, we would put them on and march in single file, out of the classroom, down the hall and into the cellar below the school. There we would stay until the all clear sounded and we would march back to the classroom and resume lessons. Luckily, it only happened a few times. I loved my Mickey Mouse gas mask with its red floppy nose. Looking back, it’s a bit strange that they made character gas masks. I suppose they were trying to encourage the children and lift their spirits.
One night the air-raid siren went off and we were ordered by the air-raid warden to go to the shelter. This was going to be a bad one, we were told—one that could last all night. This time they were right. I could hear very loud bangs similar to fireworks, which I don’t like. I remember every time a bomb dropped the adults would all stand up then sit down again—I never did understand why and still don’t. But despite all of this, we managed to cat nap on and off throughout the night.
Eventually they sounded the all clear and up the stairs we went to see that the street was beyond recognition. Nothing, only rubble, the house was gone. Just a load of broken bricks piled high. The whole street had suffered a direct hit. The officials reported that the enemy bombers were aiming for the railway station in the same area as our house. We were devastated. All we had left were the clothes we were wearing. I was wearing my siren suit with pyjamas underneath. Those who homes were in ruins, including us, were told by the officials to go to Bruiccianis, a restaurant in the city, where the staff and volunteers provided us with hot drinks and makeshift bedding. It truly is an amazing thing to experience the goodness of people when disasters happen. People really rally around and support each other,
