My Finest Decade

The air-raid siren perched atop the fire station was wailing again announcing the imminent arrival of German bombers making yet another attempt to wipe out the Liverpool-Manchester railroad lines. They weren't very good at hitting their target. During their last raid, two more houses on our street had been demolished and several more damaged. A few windows in my house had been blown out and our walls were cracked. My mother needed assistance to get down to the shelter because she was nine months pregnant. As more bombs dropped and searchlights and flashes of anti-aircraft fire lit up the night sky - I made my entrance into the world – delivered by a fireman.



I used to play on the rug with my toys directly in front of the wireless and I remember hearing two very strange words. The news said, “American forces today invaded the island of Iwo Jima....”. What funny words I thought. I started repeating them over and over again. It seemed like fun.

When riding my three-wheeled tricycle around in circles just outside my front gate I noticed a soldier walking towards me carrying his kit-bag on his shoulder. My mam flung open our front gate and ran towards him leaving me all alone and too far away for comfort. She embraced him. That's when I met my dad. He was returning from fighting with the RAF in Normandy.

I loved infant school. At two in the afternoon we would get to take a nap on little red mats in the gymnasium. But, the best part was walking home afterwards with my mam and getting to see all the men working in the nut and bolt factory; and in the colliery; and seeing the steam trains puffing black smoke out of their chimneys struggling to pull their heavy wagons up Bag Lane. I used to take a deep breath to relish the familiar mix of heavy industrial odours. After entering junior school, I had a falling-out with a heavy-set redheaded kid named Kevin who challenged me to a fight after school. The whole school got to know about it so there was no backing-out. It was a wing-dinger of a fight but he beat me up before two teachers came over and broke up the fight. The crowd of pupils all cheered, not just for the winner, but for the both of us, because we had put up such a good fight. That was the first time I truly felt proud of myself despite my bleeding lip. I'd had the courage to go through with it. In my eyes, I had just become a man.

It was “walking day” at my church and my view of the procession was blocked by a man wearing his sailor's uniform. The small woven insignia appearing in each corner of his shoulder flap caught my interest so I tapped him on his arm and asked, “Excuse me sir. What does “RN” stand for?” He looked at me smiling and glowing with pride. He said, “The Royal Navy son! The King's navy!” I stood in awe. It was at that very moment when I swore I'd join the King's navy when I grew up.

It was a decade of innocence. It was a decade of learning and discovery. It was a decade of a boy's wonderful hopes and dreams. Some came true – but most didn't. They got lost or just pushed aside in the twists and turns of life. But, I'll never forget the forties. It was my finest decade.