Eighty-five years ago our world was engulfed in the Second World War.
I was three years old when the war started in 1939, and nine when it ended in 1945. My childhood life was always focused on the war and how we could win it.
When I was older my mother told me that she had cried when she heard that war was declared. She, herself, had been a girl during the First World War and knew of the horrors.
I longed for the war to be over. I was afraid that a passing airplane might be dropping a bomb on us. But most of all I wanted to be able to talk at supper time.
At 6 p.m. our family ate the evening meal and that was when the news was on the radio. My parents listened closely to what was going on in Europe. Alas, when the war was over the news continued every day.
Our days were full of reminders about what we should do to help the war effort. Every family was told to plant a Victory Garden full of vegetables. Children bought War Saving Stamps for 25 cents. Scrap metal and newspapers were collected. Children were encouraged to collect milkweed pods in the fall. These were sent away for making life saving vests for the sailors. My sister and I walked up the side of the road collecting them in a basket. We were rewarded by being shown a movie in Creemore’s Town Hall. It was the first movie that my sister and I had ever seen.
Women everywhere were constantly knitting for the men in the armed forces. Yarn in the appropriate colours was freely available. Socks, gloves, scarves and even sweaters were produced in this home industry. The Red Cross, churches and the Women’s Institute were involved. Early in the fall these items, along with candy and cigarettes, were packaged up to send to the local enlisted people.
We children were well aware of the dangers involved when the soldiers went overseas. We knew they might be killed. Thus, it became very important for me to wave a cheery goodbye to a neighbour’s son, Fred, as he was being driven to catch a train that would take him away.
Grace, a bit older than me said we children should gather to wave. For me the problem was that my mother told me I was not to go to join my friends after supper. In my eight-year-old mind I believed my duty as a Canadian citizen was more important than my mother’s orders.
When my mother was occupied I sneaked away. While waiting for Fred, I saw my mother marching down the road and knew I must go. She was so angry she had even cut a willow switch.
I assure you that the sight Fred saw as he drove away was not a cheerful wave.
One of the sayings my sister and I had picked up when we were sitting during the enforced quiet was, “Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition.”
One day when we were playing up the river we noticed a convoy of army trucks going over the Websterville bridge. Convoys were common as the men-in-training were learning to drive. We had thrown off our bathing suits and were standing on a big rock. Seeing the trucks we started shouting, “Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition.”
Undoubtedly no one noticed the skinny naked children on the rock nor even heard them either.
We didn’t know what it meant but looking back I think perhaps that phrase was the war in a nutshell.
Helen Blackburn is a retired teacher, avid gardener and a long-time contributor to The Creemore Echo. She writes about local history.