The new year of 1941 began with very cold weather. Apart from attending school, we spent most of our time huddled near the fire trying to keep warm. Dad was not well, and spent a lot of his time resting in bed. He would sit up in bed and listen to the latest news. My brother George kept him company as he never liked to be far away from Dad. The weeks went by and at last it started to get warmer, with signs of spring appearing in the front garden. Snowdrops, with masses of tiny white flowers, were followed by yellow and purple crocuses. What delighted us most was the baby lambs in the fields with their mothers. I fell in love with a black-faced one. The banks of the railway lines where we collected coal were a carpet of yellow with hundreds of primroses. After living in the bleak and impoverished streets of Hackney, each week in the country seemed to bring new surprises.
One day when we were collecting wood, we walked further into the woods than usual and came across a bluebell wood. To us it was just like fairyland. Instead of going home with firewood, we each had huge bunches of bluebells. Dad was cross with us for not getting the wood and sent us straight back for it. When we arrived back home we were pleased to see that Mum had put the flowers in a bucket of water, and arranged some in jam jars for the kitchen.
Dad was feeling better, and began to think about starting his allotment. His plan was to grow a variety of vegetables for our own needs, and sell any surplus to the village shop.
The problem was finding packets of seeds as there were none in the village. Then on his next trip to Bridgend for his heart check-up, he was lucky enough to come across some in a hardware shop. He came home very pleased with himself. Dad began to cultivate the ground in the allotment. It was a slow process. Because of his health he found it very hard work, and could only dig a small patch each day. At last it was ready to sow the seeds. Dad planted the first bed with seed potatoes he had bought from the local farmer.
This was followed by beds of cabbages, carrots, runner beans, onions and parsnips. At the bottom of the allotment there was a neglected strawberry bed. Our job was to clear all the rubbish away from the plants, then hoe between the rows. When it was all done, Dad told us to collect a bundle of straw from the small barn in our yard. This was to put at the base of the plants to keep the strawberries clean while growing.
While we were collecting the straw, we came across a toy tea-set made of porcelain. It was still in the original box and consisted of six cups and saucers, six plates, sugar bowl, milk jug and teapot. We were delighted with our find, it was so delicate and pretty. When we showed Mum our find, she said it was not ours to keep. I looked at my sisters, Mary and Kath, and I could see that they were as disappointed as I was. Mum said that she would ask Mrs Williams if she knew who it belonged to. However, after asking Mrs Williams and a few people Mum knew in the village, the owner remained a mystery. To our joy, Mum decided that we could keep the tea-set. It provided us with many happy hours of play.
When the seeds that Dad had planted began to grow, the problem was how to water them. Dad had found a large metal drum in the barn, and this caught any rain water. But when the weather was dry, we had to carry the extra water needed from the stream. Unfortunately, for all our hard work that year, Dad did not have much success with the vegetables. There were enough for our own use, but no surplus to sell. The fruit bushes in the front garden were well established, and that year there was an abundance of fruit. Mum made some jam and fruit tarts for the family, and the rest Dad sold to the local greengrocers. The extra money made was put by for fuel in the winter.
My sisters, Emm and Anne, did not come home that year for Christmas as they could not get enough holiday from the factories where they worked to make the journey to Wales. We were all disappointed that we were not going to see them.
