Battle Scars

BATTLE SCARS

I never liked me cousin Jimmy even before the war. But because me mam feels sorry for him, I have to write to him every Saturday.

         “Poor lad,” she says. “Stuck out in the middle of nowhere, miles away from his family. Only things he has to look forward to are letters from home.”

         Oh yeah? Sounds like he’s having a whale of a time to me. Playing football on the moors, messing about in barns and haystacks, paddling in rivers, picking blackberries and riding horses. Even got a trip on a steam train when he was evacuated from London. I’ve never been on one and what is there to do round here now? No cinemas, theatres or football matches since this bloody war started. Only place that’s stayed open is the church. It’s no fun being stuck at home listening to 'Worker’s Playtime' and Wilfred Pickles reading the news on the wireless or playing draughts all night. I’d swap places with our Jimmy any day. But me mam says I don’t understand.

         “It’s no life for a young lad in the country,” she says. “Living with strangers and being looked down on by the locals. They don’t take kindly to city folk you know. You should think yourself lucky to be able to stay at home with your family. I bet he’s eating his heart out.”

         Whatever he’s eating it has to be better then what we get: black bread, powdered bloody eggs and milk, potatoes, carrots (Mam says they’ll help me see in the blackout) and Spam, Spam, Spam. Jimmy gets proper creamy milk from the cows and fresh eggs straight from a chicken’s bum. They grow loads of different fruits and vegetables on the farm; said he had some asparagus last week, whatever that is. And he doesn’t have to stand in a queue for ages to get it.

         The rationing just gets worse by the day. I got in trouble on Monday for giving the last of the sausages to the dog.

         “Do you know how long I had to queue to get them?” Mam yelled. “Just for that, our Raymond, you can go up to Gilberts with the ration book. I’ve heard they’ve got some oranges and bananas in and don’t come back without any.”

         I was there for hours and then me mam wouldn’t even let me have an orange. I bet she sent one to our Jimmy.

         “You want to be grateful, our Raymond,” she says. “At least you can go to school with your friends and be comfortable. Poor Jimmy has to walk miles every day to an overcrowded classroom full of strangers.”

         I wished there’d been more kids in my class on Tuesday then maybe I wouldn’t have got the blame for the gas mask incident. We have to do the bloody drill every day and I hate it. Half an hour sitting there with that stupid Mickey Mouse mask on, smelling of rubber and misting up so you can’t see anything. I was so bored I coughed just to see how it would sound and it made a noise just like someone trumping. Of course, every one started laughing and copying and I had to stand in the corner for the rest of the day.

         Then on Wednesday me mam caught me outside during the blackout. I’d been sitting at the table under the gas lamps reading me 'Beano' when I thought I heard a Lancaster Bomber go over. I’m getting dead good at recognising plane engines and I just wanted to check. I daren’t look out the window; you’re not allowed to open the blackout curtains and anyway you can hardly see through the glass for the tape we’ve had to put on to stop them exploding if a bomb goes off. So, I tiptoed across the lino to the kitchen, went into the scullery and out the back door. I’d have got away with it too if I hadn’t tripped over the washboard in the back yard. Couldn’t see a damned thing and it didn’t half hurt. Anyway, it was a Lancaster Bomber but my pleasure was short lived.

         “Get in here this minute,” me mam hollered. “Bath and early bed for you, young man. And wait until your father gets home.”

         Dad arrived soon after from patrolling with the Home Guard. He wasn’t too mad at me to start with.

         “Where’s the dog?” He asked after he’d finished his tea.

         “I don’t know; I’ve not seen him for ages.” Mam searched the house but he was nowhere to be found.

         “I reckon he must have slipped out when our Raymond opened the door. You’ll have to go and find him Bert; we can’t leave him out all night.”

         Me dad didn’t half curse. You try finding a black dog in the middle of the night when you can’t even strike a match or use a torch. Not that our torch works anyway; not since I put the batteries in the stove to try and recharge them a bit. I went upstairs and forgot about them; they melted all over the oven and the pong lasted for days. Me mam made me clean out the fireplaces in all the rooms for a week after that.

         Anyway, Dad came back with the dog and brought the tin bath in from the yard.

         “Right, you can help me fill the bath.”

         “Aw mam, do I have to? Can’t I just have a wash in me bedroom basin? There’s still some water left in the jug from this morning.”

         “No, you can’t be trusted. You’ll be clean even if you’re shabby. I see you’ve made another hole in your vest. I’ll have to undo it and knit it up again. I wish you’d be more careful Raymond, you know we’ve only got a few clothing vouchers left.”

         It took ages to boil the water and fill the tub and then I had to wait until after every one else, by which time the water was getting cold and scummy. They have a proper bathroom in that house where our Jimmy’s staying. Still, at least I got a full night’s sleep that night, not like Thursday.

         It was really cold and I was quite glad in a way that we have to sleep in half our clothes to save time if we have to get up for an air raid. I was just dozing off when the sirens started; made me jump out me skin and then I kicked the chamber pot over when I got out of bed. Me mam was mad about that too; she made me stay in the pantry on me own for half an hour after the all clear. We don’t have a proper Anderson shelter like Jimmy’s family in London so we all have to cram in there when there’s a threat of an air raid. Then later me dad made me go out with him to help put out the fires caused by incendiary bombs.

         “I’ll fill the stirrup pump; you fetch the sandbag,” he bawled. I didn’t like to tell him I’d used all the sand to make mud pies and replaced it with soil. Good job it was dark or he’d have had me guts for garters.

         I’ve had a rotten week altogether, but at least yesterday our Pam gave me something to gloat about in me letter to Jimmy. I’ve not been very nice to her lately; she seems to be having a much better time than me since the war started. I’ve lost count of how many boyfriends she’s had and they all look the same to me in their uniforms anyway. But on Friday she brought home someone really different; I never thought I’d be grateful to me sister or enjoy writing to me cousin.

‘Dear Jimmy,
         Our Pam’s got a new boyfriend and guess what? He’s a Yank! He’s dead tall and handsome and he talks just like Clark Gable. He’s going to get me mam and dad a gramophone and buy them that Glen Miller record. He gave me some sweets and chocolate and tinned fruit and some chewing gum. It’s dead minty and it lasts for ages. I’d send you a piece but me mam says she doesn’t want it to get stuck on the lovely knitted vest in the parcel we’re sending. I stuck last night's piece on the table leg after I'd finished chewing it. You can have that when you come home.'

         For the first time in ages I’m quite pleased I wasn’t evacuated like our Jimmy.