After a tension filled Saturday, we were all sitting by our radios on the Sunday morning, to hear Neville Chamberlain telling us we were at war with Germany.
It was difficult to believe on such a morning of blue skies and golden sunshine. Joe came as usual from Rode Heath, with the horse and cart bringing the milk. Late roses and Dahlias were flowering in the garden. Everything seemed peaceful and normal, but we knew we had seen the last of normality for some time. It was as well we did not know for how long, because, of course, everyone was soon saying, “it will be over before Christmas.”
Ungainly barrage balloons appeared over the towns. Posters sprang up all over the place, exhorting us to ‘Dig for Victory’, ‘Be like Dad, keep mum’ ‘Remember, careless talk costs lives’. All manner of everyday things became scarce. Ration books were issued eventually, but not straight away, and every town and village had a ‘Food Office.’ The ration books only covered the basic essentials, and had to be registered with a certain shop. This meant that you were dependant on that shop for any little extras that were going. These ranged from a box of matches to a custard powder or a bottle of sauce or a jar of pickles or (great treat) a Jelly!
Meat was one shilling’s worth per ration book, per week. If corned beef tempted you during the week it was two pence a quarter, but it came off your ration, the butcher often had nothing to sell though until the weekend. Most of them made a few sausages. They contained more bread than anything else, and were soft and squashy when cooked. Before this time, pork sausages were delicious, containing minced pork, a little breadcrumb and spices. Boyce Adams and Browns in Hanley were famous for their sausages. Large firms like Palethorpes, and March and Baxter from Brierly Hill supplied many shops.
Bread became the ‘National loaf’, a sort of dirty fawn colour, dry and tasteless. The flour of course was the same, so if you did decide to use your precious margarine ration to make a cake it was pretty horrible, especially as there was so little sugar to spare for it, and the egg was reconstituted from dried egg, tins of which were highly prized.
Ministry of Food leaflets were available. These contained recipes for ‘egg less’ cakes, ‘fatless’ cakes, and ‘sugarless’ cakes. Suggestions that liquid paraffin could be used in place of fat ‘quite tasteless’ when cooked, were quite stomach turning. I have to say that baking and cooking didn’t affect me. Mum seemed able to cope with whatever was available, and Stan was very fair to all the staff, if there was a bit of surplus of anything he shared it amongst us all.
I have often wondered what the cooking fat was made from. It was as hard as rock, and had to be grated if you tried to make a small amount of pastry. Sometimes we saved it for a fortnight in order to have enough to heat in a small pan to make a few chips. When it was heated it looked like a pan of soapsuds, the actual fat was about two inches deep, but the 1froth’ rose almost to the top of the pan. There was often a bit of surplus sugar or fat, and we used to wangle a bit for the manageress of ‘Densems’, to ensure that we had a share in her quota of fully-fashioned stockings!
Stockings were pure silk and quite cheap, about one shilling and sixpence, Morley and Wolsey were two brands that were popular. Aristoc was the top name but they were very expensive, four and eleven. I once had two pairs, (in a box). George had asked his sister to get a birthday present for me and that is what she bought. They lasted for ages, we took great care of our stockings, washed in soap flakes and a splash of methylated spirits in the rinsing water, this was supposed to preserve the elasticity and it seemed to work. Nothing beats the luxurious, comfortable feeling of pure silk stockings, but they had to be fully fashioned, and they always were, until the war had been going on for a while, then awful Rayon ones appeared, they were badly made and were baggy round the ankles.
Shops like Densems continued to receive a very small quota of good ones but most of the pure silk was going Into the making of parachutes and no one would have dreamed of complaining about that. Nylons we had heard of, something they had in America but we hadn’t seen them. We used a lot of ‘liquid stockings’ in a rather loud tan shade. It was put on with cotton wool and did not look too bad unless you were caught out in the rain! There were a lot of striped legs on wet days.
Something that did come from America was luxury items of food. Tinned goods could be had on production of the requisite number of points from the ration book They were usually spent on tinned peas or beans, very limited supply, or something called ‘Ready Dinner’ this was a tin filled with lumps of potato and carrot, a slice of onion and tiny bits of what may have been meat, it smelled quite savoury. Then there was ‘Ulster Fry’ which could be sliced and fried to ‘replace bacon’. I don’t know what that was made from!
All manner of weird concoctions appeared, but then, from America came ‘Spam’, and ‘Mor’, and most delicious of all, really large tins of Pork sausage meat, it was real meat, and packed around with its own fat, so that you could make a pork pie that was really mouth watering. Also tins of quartered apples in heavy sweet syrup. You could have apple pie as well if you saved your cooking fat ration. Of course there was only a very very small amount that found its way to the shops. I’ve no doubt that a large proportion was ‘diverted’ to the black market. Anyone who had access to goods in short supply could always find someone who would do a swap.
Soon after war had been declared, the Area Supervisor for Hunters, (Fred Hurd) asked Stan to get some estimates from local painters for painting the outside of the shop. No doubt the directors in Manchester had decided that if they did not get it done it would have to wait until the war was over as there certainly would not be any paint for civilian use, and even mean as they were they did realize that it was false economy to neglect the outside of the building.
Eventually the cheapest estimate was accepted, and one Monday morning the painter arrived to start work. He was a small middle -aged man, (a one man business). His ladders, paints and brushes were all carried on a small wooden handcart. He worked diligently all day, only stopping to go home for lunch, and for cups of tea with which we provided him. When it began to go dark he said,”Can I leave my cart here Mr. Clarke, to save me taking it home and bringing it back each day?” “Certainly”, said Stan, who was busy at the time, “you sort it out.” Now I have said that there was a large yard and warehouse at the back of Hunters, and big double gates across which an iron bar was slotted and padlocked at night protected it. After Stan had got the car out he then came back through the shop, locking the premises behind him.
Tuesday morning Stan and I arrived to open the shop, then the rest of the staff, followed by the painter, who very soon appeared in the shop his face very white and his voice trembling as he said, “ Mr. Clarke, me carts gone!” Stan looked puzzled for a moment, then he whispered to me, “Make him a cup of tea I won’t be long”. He rushed across the road to the ‘Fifty Shilling Tailors’ to see the manager, Sam Cross who was a ‘Special Policeman’. (They helped the regular police In various duties and some of them were very self important indeed). However, Sam was quite a nice fellow and Stan had a question to ask him. “If you found something in the street at night, something that shouldn’t be there, what would happen to it?” (Don’t forget the black out). No chink of light anywhere. “Oh” said Sam, “it would be put in the Antelope Yard, why do you want to know”? “Thanks said Stan, dashing off, I’ll explain later” A while later he appeared pushing the cart along Victoria Street. Of course the painter was delighted and soon started work. We all wanted the mystery solved. When Stan had gone to get the car out the previous evening, the painters cart was in the way, so Stan had pushed it out into the street then he’d got the car out as usual, locked the double gates, locked the shop and then we had got In the car and driven off. Neither of us had seen the cart in the blackness, and it was not until the painter said next morning that it was missing that Stan remembered what he’d done.
However, a little later in the morning a policeman, (a real one) arrived at the shop wanting to see ‘the manager’ “Now then”, he said to Stan, “have you just been to the Antelope pub and taken something out of the yard?” Stan grinned and said “well yes he had” “Yes, the landlord saw you, he said he saw the white coat and thought it was ‘the manager from Hunters’. When Stan explained what had happened they had a good laugh and a cup of tea of course, the policeman remarking. That it was lovely to have tea with enough sugar in it, and how short of sugar he was at home. He went off with a packet of sugar in his pocket. He often visited after that and was a friend for many years.
That Christmas Stan bought me a handbag, beautiful tan calf, from Densems. I was very impressed. (It’s one of the few things I have kept). Mum, Dad and I were invited to Frank Walters’ wedding on Boxing Day. He was marrying Elsie Harris at Fenton. We had to get two or three buses and Frank met us in Fenton. We went first to Elsie’s house where the reception was to be. Despite the wartime shortages they had amassed a beautiful spread. The dining table had been opened to its fullest extent, in the front room. The wedding cake was in the centre; this was flanked on either side by two large trifles complete with cream on top. Everything including the butties was ready, so that when we came back from church all we’d got to do was sit down to eat. There was just the family and us. Elsie’s father was a miner and as it was a very cold day the fire had been stoked up to await our return.
Frank went off with his best man, then Elsie and her father followed, they went in a car but we walked. The church was the dirtiest I’ve ever been in. Now everyone had had to improvise blackouts at the start of the war, but by this time, Christmas, you would have expected some black or thick curtains to be in place, not so. Every light was covered by a large carton such as soap powder was delivered in, so you had ”Rinso’ ‘Persil’ and ‘Oxydol’ on all the light fittings. The Vicar’s surplice looked as though it had never been washed, and as the party came down the aisle the dust was kicked up in clouds. Then, when we got back to the house, (this was terrible). There had been a fall of soot! All the lovely goodies including the cake and the two Cream trifles were covered in a fine black film. You would have expected hysterics, but they were all quite calm. Dad got the soot up and carried it outside, (several journeys) Mother started blowing, and scraping in the case of the Cream. Eventually we all sat down after the chairs had been wiped. Everyone made the best of the situation and if most of the food had a slightly sulphurous flavour then nobody said so!