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War Letters no.3 12/17/2010

These letters belong to my aunt Joan Punter ( nee Toller ). They contain interesting home front information and political views of the war. They were written by my Great Aunt Marie Cruden( deceased ) to her husband George Cruden( also deceased ).

Marie refers to George as Peter Precious in many of these letters, this was because she was a Catholic ( originally from Ireland ) and when they first got together she didn't want to introduce him to her family as George because that was the Kings name! Some of these letters are written from London and from Nottingham where she lived at one point and also from Cambridge where they finally settled.

Letter 3

138 Harrow Road
Wollaton Park. Nottingham.
Wednesday. the 16th.

My dearest Peter Precious,
Had a splendid journey back, and got to N. at 7.45. But talk about "no travelling at Easter" gosh there were crowds of people even after the holiday actually finished, as Tuesday was. Still, there was no waiting for trains. Stepped from one train to the other on the other side of the platform, without rushing over bridges, etc to trains at the other side of the stations. Getting quite a hardened traveller these days, and getting to know the ropes a bit. In fact I'm almost a Cook's Tour Agent by the questions I get asked. Sometimes I fall flat and have to say I dont know.
There have been high jinks by Jerry- especially on the Thursday I left. They dropped four H.E's about a quarter of a mile from the back of the house. Several people killed, and many houses demolished. I reckon- with others, that they are after the new Rolls-Royce place they are putting up in Wollaton so fancy we are in for a warm time from now on. Especially as they have the big searchlight unit in the Estate grounds. However...... Mrs Wilde was all alone all the holiday, and strange to relate, she didn't even get out of bed. But when the bombs went off she said all of the doors banged open, and the house shook so much that she felt she had to go downstairs- gosh I bet she wished more than ever that we were there.
Lumme, how my back and shoulders- not to mention me feet- ache---- I'll give the lot of you "dig for victory" I feel as though I've dug up all the blokes allotments instead of a couple of spades full. However, as long as those carrots come up, I'll feel that I've helped Bill in his national effort. Phew, and the work that's piled itself up on my behalf!!!!!
RWB returned to-day, hoped I had a nice holiday, etc, and was pleased when I told him that you only just got Home (?) He did not add "you need not have returned" and seeing that I'm already here, its just as well.
Have you taken the snaps to be developed yet? It's a nice day, so hope you have finished the film. Wonder if you were able to get a snap of the baby. I say what about the dreadful raid on Northern Ireland last night. Really, it is a terrible business.
Don't forget to give Arthur's mother five bob before you go away tommorow. It would then save the poundage on a postal order for a week.
By the way, those shoes which I ordered came during the holiday. They are an awfully nice shoe for 16/9, but my stars, size 4 & half it would not fit anyone with a size 2!!!!! So therefore I must send them back, although I don't like making returns.
Well, love, it was such a lovely thing to see you again and of course to see you looking so much better. Take care of yourself, and don't work too hard. I will get those socks finished and sent off as quickly as I can. Hope someboby doesn't take them as a packet of toffee and sticks to them. You will be in a mess, them won't you. Good job the better weather is coming on now, it will give you a chance to get quite right again. It's hateful to leave you, you know. I like to be about and just watch your every bloomin move like a cat watches a mouse- and then I'm satisfied that you are doing what is good for you- not wandering round without a pullover or a hat during the cold windy weather, etc, you know all about it dont you, you've heard of me before. What happened about the old clothes?.
Well darling, ther's still something to get on with for the present, so I must away to the land of my fathers, and get down to it.
Cheerio sweetheart. thank mother for the good time she gave us together, its a pity we have to turn her out of her bed, and tell her I will write her a letter a little later on, but you can pass the news of the safe arrival, etc, now you are there.
All the very best of love, and all my thoughts, sweetheart and you know that I think of no one else but you always and at all times. Peter Precious.
As ever,
Your own.
Marie.

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Cambridge War Letters no. 2 12/17/2010

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Outings during the War 12/17/2010

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As written by my aunt Val Burroughs ( nee Toller ) March 2005.

Outings

During the war we didn't go away for holidays.
We used to walk from Oxford Road [Cambridge] to the 'Backs' - the backs of the collages, sometimes pushing our dolls' prams. We would enjoy the crocuses, daisies, lingcups etc. Occasionally when uncles were home on leave we would go as a family. When Uncle George was home, he and Auntie Marie would take us to the Botanical Gardens in Bateman Street.
My mother and my granny used to take us to the Folk Museum, one of our favorite places. We would admire the wax dolls in their dolls' prams especially. ( Enid Porter, the curator was a friend of my Auntie Marie in later years though, as far as I know ) We used to climb Castle Hill opposite the Folk Museum.

Val Burroughs.

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Tales from Cambridge Streets during and just after WWII 12/08/2010

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Written by Joan Punter (nee Toller) – my aunt – transcribed by Michelle Bullivant Dec 2010

PART ONE:

When I was born on 16th April 1940 my father, Eddie, was away in the War. He came home on leave from time to time but I didn’t really have time to get to know him and I apparently got really cross if he and mum danced to the radio together, or kissed and cuddled. We had Russ and Ivy [Russ Broom & his wife – Joan’s uncle, my great uncle] living with us at 100, Oxford Road, so Val [Joan’s sister, my aunt] and I had a lot of attention, games played with them, books read to us and plenty of fun in spite of hours spent under the metal air-raid table, in the cupboard under the stairs (taking turns to sit on the gas meter of all places), and under the piano across the road at No.95.

No.95 [Oxford Road] was of great importance in our childhood. Gran, [Ada Broom, formerly Cruden, nee Hatchman, my great grandmother] was there, cooking wonderful old fashioned meals, cakes and pies as did all of her generation. She had also been a kitchen maid, then cook, in service in London as a young woman. It was there she had met her first husband, Cruden. They had George, Arthur and Elsie, then when her husband died of pneumonia in his 30’s, she had to come back to Cambridge where she had support from her mother and sisters, especially Laura and Phoebe.

Things were tough and she was very poor. Finally her milkman [Arthur Broom], giving her extra milk and butter for the children, courted her and they married. They had William Hardwick (Bill Broom) in Hardwick Street, then Russell in Russell Street, followed by my mother [my granny] Constance Beatrice. Ada was never one to live a quite life, and she always worked when she could fit it in with her children. I think what caused the most upheaval in the marriage was where she worked at the Globe [pub], Hills Road and started socialising, leaving Arthur minding the children (remember they were not his, and the other three were still very young).

There is a true story, told to us by Ada’s sister, Ethel, that one evening when she called at the house, Ada was late coming back from the pub. When she eventually turned up my grandfather said “See, she told me one hour, and it has been three”. With that Ada hit him over the head with a bottle of beer! My grandmother was all heart. She would give her last shilling to a tramp in the street and she loved her children and grandchildren with a deep and protective love; but she had a temper that sometimes frightened people to death. She had had a very hard life and had no time for anyone who was lazy or useless. The stormy marriage ended when our mother [my granny] was 3, so she never had a father figure after that, apart from older brothers of course. The one blessing, I think, that all of my mother’s family had was closeness and support for one another. Ada was always outspoken, even critical, to everyone, though, our mother had to make sure the house was clean when Gran popped over as she might say “What’s that stink in here? You will get the fever!” if something smelly had been left in the kitchen. She had suffered Typhoid Fever and Rheumatic Fever when a young woman so she was very health conscious.

Mum remembers, when they lived up Russell Street, if any of them had an accident, Gran would say “Quick, up the “orspidal”, as fast as your legs will carry you!” As Addenbrookes was in Trumpington Street then, it wasn’t far to run. Gran had worked for Turner the magistrate (who officiated at her divorce from ‘Broomy’ as they affectionately labelled him) so on the break up of her marriage Mr. Turner kindly housed them at no.95 Oxford Road “for as long as she lived”! (On her death the house was bought (very reduced in price) by Bill.)

So at last, when I was five and starting Richmond Road Infants School, the war ended and my father came home a hero, with his medals and stick with the silver knob on top. We used to play with gas masks on our faces, pretending we were Mickey Mouse, now that they had no use for gas attacks.

I don’t want to just record facts and dates in this essay but I would prefer to write a piece with the portrayal of the memories and atmosphere about this time. I sometimes drive down Oxford Road, Windsor and Richmond Roads. I immediately feel the security of the happy years of my childhood. Our house at 110 [Oxford Road] , called ‘Fredaville’, was a usual bay-windowed one, with the ‘front room’ kept tidy and the best furniture in it. We sat there in the sunshine and never messed it up. Our play area was the ‘back room’. It had no bright sunlight streaming in the windows; old chairs, brown worn lino on the floor, and a big old radio by the window in a cupboard. This was our only means of keeping in touch with news, music and comedy and I remember the feeling of dread shown by the grown-ups listening for news on how the war was going. We could be taken over, (with the rest of the world) by the evil dictator, Hitler, our fathers killed , our houses bombed and all of us blown to pieces.

However the spirit of our people was always victorious; our father, with his men, would destroy the Nazis forever and we would be safe. Mum was terrified, though, of the planes going over nightly, and the doodlebugs droning over, then exploding. She would drag us shaking, in the stairs cupboard, pitch-black everywhere of course in the black-out, or over to 95 [Oxford Road], making us a fortress under furniture while Gran made cups of tea. You would think Val and I would grow up afraid to leave the house, but it seems to have done us no harm in the long run, for we are both outgoing and confident mothers; so perhaps all our fears were finally put to rest with the jubilation of victory celebrations and seeing our menfolk return, marching proudly and in step along the streets of Cambridge, Union Jacks flying like mad from every house. We seemed to always have a little flag to wave in those happy days. Daddy put away his big kit-bag for good, with his khaki uniform and sergeants badges; Uncle George [Cruden] would no longer be seen in the air force blue uniform, nor Uncle Bill in his firemans one.

Everyone was now in ‘civvy street’ and Bill was a grocer again, George was in Mackintosh’s shop in town and our daddy went off every morning on his bike to the Cambridge University Press as a clerk.

We now had a baby brother, David, to add to the excitement too, so mummy was always happy and busy, the frequent visits across to Gran’s were now peaceful and jolly, laughter, singing and drinking by the adults at weekends, when Charlie from the Dolamore’s Role on his three-wheeled cycle, puffing and blowing up Castle Hill to bring bottles of booze and lemonade clinking in the enormous metal basket on the front, poor man!

We became good friends with Edgar Fletcher, the milman and his daughter. She always seemed to have interesting pets. He had glass tanks in the garden containing butterflies, I think, also snakes. His daughter told us to come over and see her new baby golden bears. They were actually hamsters, but we had never seen any before, nobody had.

Part 2 to follow........

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