This instalment of the memoirs of Commando Senior highlights the small pleasures that made life bearable for a young boy growing up in wartime England. There many not have been any of the fancy phones and games twenty first century children take for granted but there was plenty to amuse an inquisitive and resourceful lad. Come to that, there were a few things to get him into trouble too.
Shrapnel
One of the few pleasures available to a small boy during the war was collecting ‘shrapnel’ the remnants of shells, bullets and bombs. Shrapnel was a collective term for any such debris but unknown to me at the time it was, originally, the most dangerous part of an exploding shell, invented by Major General Shrapnel, a citizen of Southampton, living at a house in Rockstone Place.
Splinter
At about ten years of age, in Miss Page’s class at Central, I lazily ran my hand along the bottom of a fixed blackboard, resulting in a wood splinter under the nail of my right ring finger. It was long enough to reach past the first knuckle joint. Miss Page had me soak it in a cup of water, which made matters worse.
At noon, when I went home, Mum took one look and sent me to The Royal South Hants hospital, a journey of some mile or so. There was no A&E in those days but a friendly porter/reception man kindly took me to a nurse. After consulting a doctor, she cut my nail away sufficiently to allow forcep purchase on the other end of the splinter and pull it out. I recall it hurt more coming out that it had going in. A dab of iodine and I was on my way back to school.
Such was the world back then. A generation earlier, Dad had been sent, equally alone, to have his tonsils removed under general anaesthetic and allowed to walk home after recovery. Imagine this sequence of events happening today! A ten year old with a medical need, sent home and then to hospital, treated and returned to school unaccompanied and with the added danger of enemy action or a tonsillectomy similarly treated.
Cycling
About mid war, I was allowed much more freedom than an eleven or twelve year old would have today. A favourite outing on my old Hercules sit up and beg ladies bike, was to take it to Hythe on the ferry and cycle home by road, stopping en route to eat cold baked beans, from the can, at the roadside.
Pocket money
During the latter part of the war an American Serviceman was murdered in St George’s Cut, off the lower part of East Street. Being somewhat of an entrepreneur, I guided interested visitors to the scene for tips. When the bloodstains faded I repainted them. Unfortunately this rather spoiled the effect.
Music
Given the electrical problem at the flats we rented a landline service from Redifusion. A boon to the younger generation (mainly me), as well as the HomeService, Light Programme and, classical, Third Programme, Radio Luxembourg was also available. This provided the ‘pop’ music of the day, content not yet available on ‘Aunty Beeb.’ Occasionally the American Forces Network also provided up to date content, it was many years before the ‘pirate’ stations, such as Caroline, forced the BBC to cater for younger people.
It seems to me the children of today could learn a lot from their counterparts in the 1930’s and 1940’s. The main lesson is that fun doesn’t have to cost money and it certainly doesn’t come with a charger cable.
I enjoyed reading these memoirs, thanks for reminding what it was like then.
Thank you for reading. It’s such a shame he didn’t have time to write more. He was such an interesting man.