Gas producers are now attached to the back of most cars, because of the fuel shortages and petrol rationing. There is very little traffic as most cars have been put up on blocks until after the war.
Mother is packing food parcels for her sisters in England. Dried fruit, flour, spices, all the ingredients to make a really large fruit cake, go into a large square parcel that is sewn into calico and double wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. As most of the food for England is imported, they are now down to one quarter of their normal food rations.
These are the days of military conscription for all men between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five. With so many men and women joining the defense forces there are not enough workers to maintain essential services at home. Industrial conscription, the so called ‘Manpower’, is a necessity, directing labour into munitions factories and other services. When my older sister Maureen leaves school, all the girls from her class are employed by the T&G Insurance Company in the city.
All manufacturing is now concentrated on the war effort. Luxuries have been cut down. Each family has ration books with coupons for food and clothing.
Clothes manufacturing is considered one of these non-essential industries, so no one has many clothes. This is not altogether the fault of rationing as no one has the money to buy them. It doesn’t matter; we can only wear one dress at a time anyway.
‘The Sun News Pictorial’ and ‘Age’ and ‘Argus’ newspapers have headlines about the war and maps of where the fighting is on the front pages. It’s stale news. There is a slogan, ‘Loose lips, sink ships.’ Mail to and from the troops overseas is censored and some letters have more holes than writing.
Each house must have black out blinds; no chinks of light can be shown. This is policed at night by air raid wardens who knock on your door if any light can be seen. Mother goes to air raid practice every Thursday night.
Householders have been advised to dig air raid shelters. Everyone is digging up their back yards. Then we have a wet winter and the trenches fill up with water. We sail toy boats in ours. I only ever heard of one that was completed, roofed over, seats, carpet and all. It fell in when it rained.
At school it’s a different matter. They are serious about air raids. Four long open trenches, over six feet deep have been dug in the area where the boys played football. When the Black Rock air-raid practice siren goes we march into the trenches and sit silently, cross legged on the ground with wooden pegs in our mouths for over an hour, until the siren is turned off and quiet reigns once more. We are told that the pegs will stop us inhaling gas, but they are really to stop us from biting our tongues if a bomb drops nearby.
The older boys like to bully us and say, “Do you believe that if you say ‘Heil Hitler’ three times he will come and take you away from your Mother?” “No.” “Then say it!” We run off, tight lipped.
Children are always talking about, “If the Japs come.” As younger children, this makes us feel very insecure. We know that if there is an air raid we can all be evacuated straight away with the school. Some of the kids have fathers at the war. They don’t talk about them. They are used to it now. Life is very uncertain for us, but we are happy and resilient and accept it without question, because it is all we have
14/8/1945. The war is over, peace has been declared!
Dad has had the bulldozer at home at Black Rock doing repairs on it. He has been wondering how he can get away with driving a dozer with caterpillar tracks on sealed roads to the foreshore to load it onto the truck from a sand hill. Everyone is out driving, going crazy. What an opportunity! He sets off; the tracks are chopping up the sealed road… People in cars are tooting and waving flags at him and cheering. They think that he is driving a bulldozer down Beach Rd to celebrate the end of the war!
Everyone is flocking into the city tonight to celebrate.”
Bev Morton
April 2025
An extract from a still to be completed autobiography…