Episode 1 - a marriage, death, linoleum and a rice pudding

The marriage was due to take place that day. May, the bride was 25 years old, the youngest of a family of 8, and Bernard, the bridegroom, was 26 years old. She had been a sales assistant in a large department store, in the lingerie department and he had qualified as a printer after a long, seven year, apprenticeship. The wedding breakfast was to be a simple affair - some meat-paste sandwiches and a cup of tea. All had been prepared by May and her sisters. But then there came a message: the photographer wouldn't be able to come after all. He had been injured in the bombing of Cardiff the night before and was in hospital. It was September 1940. What to do? They had a Box Brownie and with this, in front of the Gospel Hall, the only photo of the bride and groom was taken. After the reception, simple because it was an era of rationing, the newly-marrieds, my parents, left Cardiff in order to begin their lives together in a recently built, not very solid, rented house in Filton, a town near to Bristol.

They arrived in Filton the evening of their marriage in order to start what was their rather less than glamorous honeymoon. My mother's brother, Uncle Abe, was a traveling salesman and had the outgoing character required for his role. He was great fun. I remember his lock-up at the bottom of the garden of his house in Cardiff where he kept his wares. Thanks to his connections, my parents had managed to buy some rather nice bedroom furniture at a very reasonable price. The floors of the new house though were bare and, fitted carpet not having been thought of and large bedroom carpets being too expensive, they opted for lino instead. They had it laid in each of the bedrooms and on the landing. But all of these expenses meant that there was not much money left over for the couple of weeks after the marriage and before the next wage packet: my Mother still remembers that they were down to two tins of fruit for tea one night in the second week and not even enough money to buy the essential Bird's custard powder to go with it!

From the beginning of the second world war, my Father no longer worked as a printer, but as an engineer at the aircraft factory at Filton. And, conveniently, the house was immediately opposite the factory with an uninterrupted vista of his place of work. Given his apprenticeship and experience as a printer, and despite having volunteered for the navy at the outbreak of war, the government had classified him as an engineer and so in a 'reserved occupation'. The country needed people like him to make fighters and bombers.

My father was normally part of the day-shift at the factory but, unusually, had the whole week off after the marriage. My mother recounts the tale that during the Wednesday morning of their honeymoon, my father had gone to the barber (of Filton). Towards midday, my mother was in the kitchen, making a rice pudding for the midday meal. The kitchen was at the front of the house and she was looking out of the window while she was preparing things. She was just about to put the rice pudding in the oven, when she saw a part of the factory erupt, just like a volcano, and a moment later there was the sound of an immense explosion.  A minute or so later, my father arrived at the front door.  He stood there and said "I won't need my key then".   The door had been blown open and the roof blown off.  The kitchen window, my mother and the rice pudding were undamaged.  The bomb however, had made a direct hit on the air-raid shelter where the day-shift had gone for safety when the warning sounded. 91 people were killed - including virtually all of my father's work-mates. It was only thanks to his honeymoon that my father survived. My parents continued to live at the house for another two weeks. There was no real choice. It wasn't easy to find another house to rent and there was no real government help. The day after the bombing, it started to rain and carried on raining for several days. Their new bedroom furniture was hurriedly moved downstairs and despite the absence of a roof, the new linoleum on the first floor prevented the rain from penetrating further. My mother has been a keen advocate of linoleum ever since. Finally, they found another house and we leave my parents as they watch while their furniture is unceremoniously loaded onto a horse and cart and strapped down to stop it falling off. We also see my mother's look of disgust at the indignity caused to her beautiful new furniture and the damage done to it by the straps - marks which can still be seen on her dressing table to this day.

 

 Episode 2 - Another house or two, another air-raid shelter or two and a tunnel..... to be continued.