Domestic Soldiers (33 page)

Edie Rutherford was incensed by the injustice of the situation. As many in Britain would ask over the next decade, she mused, ‘I sometimes wonder who did win this war. When one thinks of the way the Germans looted … and then contrast it with a cut in rations which followed our victory.' On the other hand, she pointed out, the devastation of Germany would keep
Germans ‘so busy for years, building, and keeping themselves fed etc that they should not have time to plan wars'.

The price of everyday items was also a worry. Shopping in town for household sponges, Edie complained that what had once cost her less than £1 was now going for £4, and shoetrees had jumped from 6d to £3. ‘Rather than give in to such wicked profiteering … I did NOT buy,' she said resolutely. The cost of clothing and fabric was so dear and of such poor quality that Irene Grant spent most of her days piecing together old bits of material and mending what she could. It all grated on her nerves and cut into her sense of respectability. ‘Patch beside patch is neighbourly,' she quoted, ‘but patch upon patch is beggarly.'

Even when Irene's husband, Tom, received a pay rise later in the month, things didn't get much better. Tom's wage was increased to £30 a month in May 1945, with four months' back-pay, and both Marjorie and Rita had also received raises. The family wanted to celebrate – Irene especially wanted to fit out their new home with new carpets and linoleum – but there was nothing to buy. They settled instead for ‘a pinch of snuff' each.

Alice Bridges developed a lucrative side business capitalizing on the problems of shortages. An accomplished dressmaker, the days and nights she was not out on the town or with Jimmy, whom she called her ‘strip of romance', Alice was hunting for fabric in town, fashioning and stitching together interesting designs. One customer was so tickled with Alice's avant-garde design of ‘five knife pleats at right side front and three at left side back', that she paid her more than the agreed price. Alice also made dolls' clothes for girls in the neighbourhood. The extra money coming in was
becoming a necessity, as Les' health took a turn for the worse that summer. Respiratory problems would increasingly plague Alice's husband and cause him to lose more and more days at work. When he could, Les pushed himself to work, since 12/- sick pay was nowhere near what the family needed to survive. But this determination to work in the face of what was becoming a serious illness only wore him down even further. Alice tried her best to bolster his health and keep him from sinking into depression, but there was little she could do beyond watch her once powerfully stout husband ‘shrink' before her eyes.

The couple had a rare moment to celebrate and revel in each other's company, however, that summer. At midnight on 15 August, the new Prime Minister, Clement Attlee, announced Japan's surrender over the wireless. When they heard the news, Les cheerfully embraced Alice and broke out the bottle of port they'd been saving for months. Alice toasted, ‘To us', and Les added, ‘To peace – and you'. Alice sped up the stairs to wake Jacq, who was given a little glass, and then toasted, ‘To the Children's Victory Party!'

Lights blinked on here and there down the road, and people began to fill the streets, women emerging from their homes, dazed and half-dressed, wondering if ‘the News had come through'. Bonfires began to sputter to life across the neighbourhood to the sound of jubilant singing and shouting. Though she was fully enjoying the festivities, Alice still wondered, ‘how it was the Japs had caved in so soon, it didn't seem like their fatalistics [
sic
]'.

When Germany crumbled in May, Japan had defiantly held on, pushed back across the Pacific until the island itself became the target of continual Allied
bombing. The firestorms unleashed across Germany to devastating effect were also wrought upon Japanese cities. In the early hours of 9 March, over 300 American B-29 ‘Superfortresses' whipped up the superheated flames of destruction in just four hours. American incendiary bombs were developed to spew gelatinized petrol upon impact, making the fires that were started virtually impossible to quench. By the time the last B-29 made its way back to base, nearly 90,000 people had been killed. Over and over throughout the summer of 1945, the horrifying bombing of Tokyo was played out across Japan. Sixty-six cities were bombed, killing over 900,000 people.

Hiroshima and Nagasaki, two cities that had so far managed to escape the summer raids, would be forever etched as the tragic sites of the beginning of the nuclear age and the end of the war. Early on 6 August, the afternoon of the 5th in Britain, while many enjoyed a bank holiday weekend, close to 40,000 people were instantly killed when an atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima; in the coming days, 100,000 would perish as a result of the bomb. Nonetheless, believing the Americans could not possibly have enough radioactive material for another bomb, the Japanese leadership decided to hold on. On 10 August, they were convinced to seek an end to the war when Nagasaki experienced the same fate as Hiroshima, killing some 70,000 people in total.

Sleeping soundly in her Sheffield flat, Edie Rutherford and her husband awoke with a start when a man's voice cried out, ‘Jap war's over! Hurrah!' After shaking herself awake and looking groggily at the clock, Edie realized that Clement Attlee's scheduled midnight
announcement must have relayed the wonderful news. Fireworks, shouting and ‘unharmonious' singing erupted minutes later.

Nella Last and Will were also shaken from their sleep at midnight. For them, it was ships' sirens and church bells, followed by a neighbour belting out the few verses she knew to ‘God Save the King' over and over, as loud as she could. Some days before, she had informed Nella that when VJ (Victory in Japan) was announced, she would drink tumblers full of champagne and gin in celebration; it sounded as if she was keeping her promise. Will, who had slept in a separate room for several years now, peeked his head into Nella's room, saying, ‘Sounds like it's all over'. From her window, Nella could see bonfires being lit, cars rushing up Abbey Road towards town, rockets and search-lights darting across the sky and neighbours rushing around looking to share the news with someone. After some time, ships' sirens still blasted through the air, dogs were barking ceaselessly at all the commotion and children outside the window made merry setting off their own tiny fireworks. The neighbour who had opened the festivities saving the King had now had a few more drinks and was, according to Nella, at the ‘Yippieeeehk stage'. Will went to bed, muttering at all the noise. All the excitement worked Nella's stomach into knots, so she took two aspirins, curled up in bed again and read herself to sleep.

In the morning, Nella woke feeling worse for the unexpected disruption of sleep. The warm and glorious summer weather of the past few days had disappeared, grey skies crowded in and drizzle gently tapped at the windows. Despite the poor weather, Nella suggested they celebrate peace with a ride out to Ambleside. After
a visit to Will's grumpy parents, with whom Nella had never got on and who dampened the spirit of VJ Day even more than the soggy weather, the two shed the gloom of the parents-in-law and enjoyed a picnic lunch, sheltering from the rain in their car. Returning home, they found neighbours had built a bonfire. In the drizzle, the fire sputtered and smoked while everyone stood around rather ‘orderly and apathetic', as if queuing for fish, Nella thought. There was no ‘festive air', and when the wind turned from the north, sending a cold chill through the crowd and bringing rain clouds, the older folk retired inside to tend their own modest hearth fires.

On holiday in Berwick-upon-Tweed, Natalie and her son James were so busy enjoying the sights of the border town that Natalie barely registered any of the coming peace in Japan in the early days of August. Like Nella and Edie, she was awoken by church bells and singing when the news came in at midnight on 15 August. That day was their scheduled departure, so, amid the merrymaking in Berwick, they boarded a train back home. The weather had been fine on the northern coast, but by the time they arrived in Leeds, it was steadily drizzling. Everything seemed rather desultory. A few ‘bedraggled girls hung onto soldiers' arms with victory hats on, but it was a most depressing sight', Natalie recounted in her diary. Some hotels in town were dark: ‘
NO BEER
', they advertised glumly. From their own hotel room in the centre of town, however, Natalie and James witnessed more excitement: people milled about in the square, setting off fireworks, dancing on top of air-raid shelters, climbing on the statue of the Black Prince, and ‘yelling aimlessly'.

At Edie Rutherford's block of flats on VJ Day, one of the neighbours rigged up a set of speakers on the
balcony and blasted dance tunes all night. Bonfires were lit and people danced into the small hours of the morning. Edie and Sid joined in until 1 a.m., and then left the celebrations to the younger crowd jitterbugging on the street.

VJ Days were ‘hellish' in Kent. Firecrackers, off-key singing and carousing outside Helen Mitchell's door were hardly welcome. There was no joy in the end of the war, indeed, she felt ‘rather shamefaced' that the way in which the surrender was secured was unsporting. ‘Illogical, I know', she admitted, but nonetheless couldn't shake the guilt of the bomb. The ‘shame' of the victory made it difficult to join in festivities, had she been so inclined, but the end of the war with Japan signalled no change to her domestic situation. Indeed, she was still entrenched in a major battle of her own over moving house. She had failed to persuade Peter to give up Linoleum Lodge, and so Helen spent the first weeks of August packing. The next skirmish came over Peter's insistence on keeping ‘foul chairs, mirrors, tables, etc' left by previous owners. Helen protested, to no avail; Peter began ‘throwing his weight about'. ‘Go to hell,' she spat and stormed out of the room. While others were whooping it up over VJ, she ‘spent most of evening weeping with rage and misery'.

Alice Bridges left her husband in the afternoon on VJ Day to set up speakers for the neighbourhood block party that night. Having anticipated VJ Day for a few days, Alice had already done her housework and was free to spend the day as she wished. As she had done on D-Day, Alice wanted to record Birmingham's reaction to the news; she also wanted to find Jimmy. On her odyssey through town, she noted the preparations for celebration teas buzzing about down every side street,
‘heaps of Yanks about' and long queues at the casino. Jimmy caught up with her, and in the whirl of excitement, Alice gave him a kiss. He looked surprised, then, recovering his wits, said, ‘Ah, a peace kiss I expect.' She said nothing, but made plans to meet him that night.

That evening, Alice searched desperately about for her ‘young strip of romance', but the two never met up. Instead, she ran into a man she knew from the discussion group she attended regularly. He flirted shamelessly with her as she constantly looked over his shoulder for Jimmy. Finally, he asked her to take a drive with him. Alice turned him down flat, insisting she wasn't a ‘basement bargain'. Putting on a swagger, he informed her that, ‘I knew a charming person once who said she had always been true to her husband – she was very moral – but she didn't mind kissing me all over.' ‘Did you enjoy it?' Alice enquired. ‘Rather,' he replied, ‘I like these unorthodox ways of making love.' ‘Well, if that's an open invitation to me, I'm afraid you will be disappointed,' she retorted and stalked off to catch the bus home.

When she returned home at 9.30 p.m., the party had just begun. ‘The scandal-making female from the bottom' looked at Bridges suspiciously on her late return and eyed another lady significantly. To annoy the gossip-makers, Alice put on her charm and ‘got the men running round after me getting me a drink and a sandwich'. She then ignored the women and enjoyed the party. Les' speakers provided the music and the ‘air was thick' with ‘whoopee'. In the morning, Les brought up a pot of tea. Then they spent the ‘next 3 hours very profitably, going all romantic'. ‘I can't imagine', she confessed, ‘anyone else being quite as nice as Les.' In the afternoon, she went out to see Jimmy.

Despite the joviality of VJ celebrations, there was an underlying unease. The war was over, but the peace seemed tenuous. Relations with the Soviet Union had soured significantly during the course of 1945 – highlighted recently by the USSR's declaration of war on Japan only
after
the first atomic bomb was dropped. Nella Last remembered three major conflicts in her lifetime, starting with the Boer War at the turn of the century, and a fourth one now loomed ominously on the horizon. Edie Rutherford noted the turn of affairs rather matter-of-factly and, perceiving the shape of the Cold War to come, pointed out the utility of harnessing Germany's aggressive tendencies on the side of Britain instead of against it.

The implications of the atomic bomb, however, lent a darker pall over the developing chill in international affairs. When word came through of the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, most people back home were shocked and fearful of the scale of death unleashed from a single bomb. Irene Grant could do little but stutter forth a halting, ‘Atomic energy. What a frightening thing!!' When an Australian serviceman at the canteen in Barrow told Nella that only ‘eight ounces of the “atomic” was used' in the bombs, she was sure he had misspoken. ‘You surely mean eight pounds,' she suggested. But he replied, ‘8 lb. would blast England to Hell.' ‘
Pardon me
,' she replied, adopting a mock serious tone, ‘don't judge England by Australia –
we
could go the other way.' The canteen roared with mirth at the joke, but the merriment masked the deep anxiety Nella felt about such weapons of slaughter.

Edie Rutherford's initial reaction to the news of Hiroshima was that ‘Mankind will exterminate itself and this earth, if we don't soon exercise some restraint.'
In the same vein, but hardly optimistic that ‘restraint' was possible, Helen Mitchell's reaction was, ‘Well, if scientists are not drowned at birth …' On reflection, she wrote, ‘Suppose the sooner we polish ourselves off the better.' Informally polling all as they walked by her front garden, Irene Grant was convinced that everyone understood the immense gravity of atomic potential.