Bombs and Bananas: A War-Torn Childhood

I grew up living over the shop at 32 High Street, and went to Clapham Terrace School. We were in a long row of shops, not far from the railway bridges and the railway line, which we thought was a safe place to be. During the war, there was a sort of shelter behind the chip shop which was closest to the bridges, and one night, when there was the sound of bombs exploding, we went there but it was a horrible place- dark and cold. My mother hated it so much we never went there again.
It must have been the night when bombs dropped on the Parish Church graveyard- you could feel everything shaking.

We went to the British Restaurant once- just once. It was revolting. We could eat better at home so we did. They dug up the big lawn in Jephson Garden to grow potatoes for Dig for Victory, but it didn't make them tasty.

My father was an ARP Warden. He had to go out at night checking lights and making sure everywhere was blacked out.

After the Coventry Blitz, my sister's friend, her mother and baby sister in a pram packed all they could into the baby's pram and walked all the way to Leamington, probably almost ten miles, and from there to the bottom of the town where we lived. They never went back.

Everyone who had a radio, - a wireless - listened to the six o'clock news. It was nearly always all about the war. The wireless was the only entertainment. We played games on the playground at school - usually the girls in a circle, singing things like "The Farmer Wants a Wife","Poor Mary sits a-weeping". The boys played football or messed about.

At the end of the war, everybody celebrated. My father had three huge flags- one Union Jack, one American and one Russian (They were on our side, then) and he draped them all across the front of the shop.

Fruit like bananas and oranges eventually reappeared after the war ended. I had forgotten that I didn't like bananas, and begged for one. The first bite reminded me, but it was too late. I had to eat it, but never again. I still hate bananas.