Children in Her Shadow (6 page)

It was not long before Cardiff once again was the target of the Luftwaffe. On the tenth of January further air raids shook Cardiff and this continued through February and into March. Perhaps it was the bombing raids of twelfth of March that sealed Ruth’s fate with her parents. Once again these raids took many lives and became the major talking point in the valleys as they absorbed news that not only Cardiff but the relatively nearby centres of Swansea, Bridgend and Newport were also the target of these and other bombing raids in recent times.

The talk in the valleys was of these towns resembling the London blitz which was an exaggeration in terms of scale but none the less valid for the devastation caused to civic buildings, peoples’ homes and the disruption to public services.

It was by now the summer of nineteen forty one and it was increasingly clear that Britain needed more aircraft and that even more women would be required to replace men in the factories to produce them. Ruth and her parents were by now in full agreement that every day Ruth worked in Cardiff, she needlessly put her young life at risk and that if she really wanted to do her bit for the war effort she could do it in another and safer way.

The decision that Ruth should be moved to Blackpool was brought about because her cousin Moira lived there and she had suggested that Ruth live with her and take a job in the aircraft factory at Squires Gate aerodrome where she worked.

Moira was the daughter of Ruth’s uncle Fred, her father’s brother. Moira and her husband Jack moved to Blackpool in the early nineteen thirties when Jack became a bus driver for the Blackpool Corporation. Moira was thirty nine and married Jack who was fifteen years her senior when she was just twenty two. Because they had no children they were fortunate to be able to rent a small terraced house in a pleasant leafy street about two minutes walk from Blackpool sea front.

Arrangements were reached for Ruth to go to Blackpool and it was with great sadness that Ruth said goodbye to her friends and colleagues at work. Ruth was already regarded as something of a hero in the post office but there was considerable regard for her decision to move to Blackpool to work in a factory. Her bosses regarded the move as not surprising but also a great loss to the post office.

But Ruth’s saddest goodbyes were for her dear friend Mary and her enigmatic, flamboyant and deeply lovable mother, Mrs Morgan. Having said goodbye to Mrs Morgan in the house, Mary took Ruth to the door. She drew Ruth close to her and held her as though this might be the last time they ever met. Mary squeezed Ruth’s hand and said in whispered tones, “You have always loved me and have never questioned why I’m different to other girls and I love you for this.” With that she dashed back into the house in floods of tears. Ruth mused what Mary might have meant by her comments but simply put it down to the emotions of the moment.

Ruth had only met Jack and Moira once and that was some years ago when they paid a visit to Senghenydd, and so it was with some apprehension that she boarded the train in Cardiff with the promise that they would meet her several hours later in Blackpool.

The parting from her mother on that late September day, only a month after her eighteenth birthday was a painfully sad moment for the young Ruth. Her mother was by now her closest friend and confidant and had seen her through the devastating experiences of the bombings in Cardiff and what she had seen.

Ruth had already said a tearful goodbye to her brothers and sisters before boarding the bus with her mother to take the journey from Senghenydd to Cardiff. Her father’s parting comments were as always short, calculated and on this occasion insightful: “Don’t enter this village again if you disgrace yourself, don’t bring shame on this family, and don’t ask for my help if you do – you’ll be on your own…… ”

As Ruth said goodbye to her mother on the platform of Cardiff railway station, she cried uncontrollably. Today, with so many young men saying tearful goodbyes to their families Ruth felt as though she too was destined for far off shores… perhaps never to return.

The train journey out of Wales to the north of England in carriages filled with young men moving to regiments and air fields throughout the country failed to make an historic impact upon Ruth, whose thoughts were of her new life in Blackpool and her family now miles away in Wales. What did make an impact though, was the way in which these, for the most part young men, were looking at her.

It became clear to the young Ruth that she was the topic of conversation amongst those sitting in the cramped compartment with her and those crowding the narrow corridor outside. For Ruth, this was an exciting but slightly uncomfortable experience as she became aware that her every move and gesture was being observed and commented upon by these noisy and excited young men around her. She crossed her legs and they noticed, if she ran her slim fingers through her long black hair their eyes would followed. There was no movement or gesture that was not noticed and commented upon in whispers.

Ruth began to see herself in a quite different light; if she could captivate these young strangers with the very slightest movements of her body she knew that her own sense of her attractiveness was confirmed. She spent the next few hours brazenly teasing these young men and she loved it. Two or three of these self conscious young men attempted to strike up a conversation with her but their blushes and the teasing of their friends limited the discourse to pleasantries such as the weather and their respective destinations.

Ruth reached Preston railway station where she needed to change trains for Blackpool tired and emotional. Suddenly a wave of anxiety and panic washed over her as she left the carriage and realised she was alone in a completely strange place needing to rely entirely upon her own decisions. She had no perception of time except that it was already late afternoon, she was hot thirsty and hungry and by now she needed to find a lavatory. She searched desperately for the station clock and for signs for the toilet. The platform was crowded; people pushed to leave the platform and jostled with others looking to board departing trains. Ruth’s senses were bombarded by the noise from the people who surrounded her and from the smell and taste of steam and fumes emitted from the many trains entering and leaving this busy station.

A soft voice from behind her penetrated her consciousness as she began to realise that the calls of “are you all reet luve” were directed towards her. The voice with its strong Lancashire brogue was that of a lively woman in uniform. “Yer lost luve aren’t you and the way yer dancing says yer bustin for a wee.” The woman a chirpy slightly rotund sixty odd year old had a WRVS band around her arm and was busily directing soldiers to transport trains on various platforms with the ease and charm of a dear friend or family member.

The woman took Ruth to a ladies lavatory that was by now crowded and as Ruth entered the queue the lady pointed her to the platform where the Blackpool train was due to depart from. However, Ruth was advised that there would be a bus taking her from Preston to Blackpool because Blackpool Central station was closed.

It was only later that Ruth realised that the reason for its closure was that only a few weeks earlier on the twenty seventh of August, whilst on a training flight two aircraft had crashed in mid air only a few hundred yards from the thousands of holiday makers who had been enjoying the summer sunshine and ‘free air show’. One of the aircraft a twin-engine Blackburn Botha operated by Coastal Command crashed through the roof of the entrance hall of the Central Station, showering aviation fuel over the platforms which started a massive fire. The other aircraft involved in the tragic accident was an RAF Defiant. Over the course of that day and the coming weeks, sixteen people would die from that accident, more than would die in all the enemy air raids on Blackpool and the Fylde Coast during the entire war!

On arrival in Blackpool, Ruth eagerly sought out a friendly if unfamiliar face on the platform which she might connect with that somewhat distant memory of her cousin Moira who was to meet her. For Moira, Ruth was an easily recognisable figure in the crowd. She was dressed in a short slightly shabby coat over a smart floral summer dress drawn tightly in the middle and wearing old but clean simple flat shoes that had seen many summers and crisp, white ankle socks.

Ruth looked tired as she walked from the platform carrying her small brown suit case with its reinforced corners which had seen little or no wear, a dainty little white hand bag and a brown package tied with string. She looked like a character from Dickens, a sad even pitiful sight with a little girl lost face and a vulnerability which belied her age and her own growing sense of confidence and independence.

Moira was emotional as she ran quickly to rescue this sad and lonely young woman. She reached Ruth and without a word said she threw her arms around her and kissed her sad tear moistened face. Ruth was the first to speak as she handed the brown paper parcel to her cousin and told her with that distinctive valley accent that it was a gift of Welsh cakes from “Mam.” As Moira took the parcel and again drew Ruth into her arms Ruth reflected that this must be a good woman. She felt love and she felt safe.

Their journey from the crowded station to her new home took her quickly from the busy terraced side streets with their gaily painted guest houses displaying ‘vacancy’ or ‘rooms to let’ and ‘no children’ signs in the windows to the open promenade and Ruth’s first ever view of the sea. Moira pointed out that whilst the warmth of the summer breeze was pleasant, the winter would bring bitter cold and penetrating south westerly winds that could blow you off your feet. Ruth pleaded with her cousin to be allowed to cross to the seaward side of the promenade and as they did she had her first view of the vast expanse of flat beach that in happier times would have been filled with even more holiday makers from the cities of Scotland and the north of England.

Ruth was taken to a smart tree lined side street with semi-detached red bricked houses and was ushered through a small wooden gate to the front door of twenty three Apple Tree Crescent. She was whisked into the house and immediately shown up the stairs and into a small bedroom. Moira stood at the door to the room and said, “Ruth this is your room.” Ruth looked into the simple room and without warning broke down into uncontrollable floods of tears: she was inconsolable. Moira had never seen such sobbing, Ruth could not be consoled no matter how much Moira tried. Her whole body shook and as each convulsion of sobbing eased it was followed by an equally powerful further eruption.

Initially Moira thought that Ruth didn’t like the room or perhaps she didn’t like her, but she quickly began to realise that this small room, a room they had otherwise called the box room, would for Ruth be the first private sleeping space she had occupied in her eighteen years. Moira held Ruth tightly and slowly pointed out the tiny wardrobe with its full length mirror and the small but matching dressing table with an oval mirror, and the hand crocheted centre piece and the several glass jars and dishes.

Moira, as much to break the sequence of sobbing joked that whilst the room was not large enough to swing a cat she had better not try it with Rosie the family pet. With that a large black cat strolled into the room and with a graceful leap dropped onto the bed and lay down stretching and purring, and gently nuzzling Ruth to stroke her. Ruth immediately sat on the bed and stroked the much spoilt overweight cat and turning to face Moira said, “Do I really have this room to myself?”

Assured that the room was hers Ruth quickly set about unpacking and familiarising herself with the house. Upstairs there were two bedrooms a bathroom and the box room which was to be hers. She never really discovered why she had not been offered the second bedroom which was considerably larger than her room especially as Ruth was to discover that her cousin never entertained house guests and certainly never took in occasional lodgers. However Ruth liked the intimacy of her room and its window out onto the street.

As the house was positioned on the corner of the crescent she had a slightly obscured view to the left where there was a small shop towards the end of the road. To the right, between the roofs and trees she could just see Blackpool Tower as a silhouette against the evening skyline and could faintly hear the sound of the trams as they clattered along the sea front. There were no street lights and the nearby houses emitted no light because of the blackout but she could see children being chased by parents to come in from their play.

The family bathroom was small with oblong white tiles to about half way up the wall, and had a small bath sink and toilet. Ruth looked around the room and thought this was sheer luxury and quickly washed her face, brushed her hair and dashed down stairs to join Moira and her husband Jack, who had by now returned from work for supper. Downstairs there was a small hallway a front room for special occasions and the ‘back room’ which led onto the scullery.

The three of them sat down at the small kitchen table and ate a simple evening meal during which Moira talked excitedly about plans for the following day when Ruth would go with her to meet the foreman at the factory where she worked. She explained that the factory made parts for aircraft that were assembled locally for the war effort. Ruth was told that there was a job for her but she would need to demonstrate to the foreman that she could do simple measurements of small parts to confirm they were made to the exacting requirements of the manufacturing specifications.

Moira explained that the development of the aircraft industry in Blackpool dated back to the government’s re-armament drive prior to the war when, in nineteen thirty six they announced a five-year program of constructing ‘shadow’ factories to boost the output of aircraft and aircraft engines .

Jack, who until now had remained fairly quiet, explained, “Although these factories were established by the government they are operated by large companies and have been established across the country, mainly in areas less vulnerable to potential air attack.” Ruth listened intently enthralled by the closeness that she was getting to the real workings of the support effort for the war. Jack continued, “The Ministry of Aircraft Production ‘shadow’ aircraft factory at Squires Gate Aerodrome, here in Blackpool, together with a satellite assembly line at Stanley Park Aerodrome is managed by the Vickers-Armstrong company who will be your employer.”