Victory
People celebrated everywhere as, at last, the war came to an end. Our street organised a party for the children during the day, and later that evening the adults had a knees-up after lighting a small bonfire. The street party for us children was planned down to the last detail, with all the mothers helping to make cakes and sandwiches, while a long, long table was set up. Each child was given a small Union Jack as a gift.
As evening fell, pianos, accordions and any musical instruments were brought out in the spirit of good cheer and occasion. Then under the Union Jack flags decorating the street, everyone let their hair down and danced, carefree.
No more air raid sirens, no more bombs. The young men and women in the services would be coming home to their families and final peace. Although everyone was hard-up, VE-Day had been a positively exciting day for all, which Mum said was particularly warm and had ended with a thunderstorm.
Some weeks later, the school arranged a trip for us to go to the Gaumont Cinema[32] at North Finchley. There we saw a film of the Victory Parade in which all the troops marched before the King and Queen along The Mall in London.
With hostilities over, life began to open up for us, with more trips to the park at Friern Barnet. Just a walk away down from Friern Barnet Lane, there were many happy hours spent at the park, such as fishing for tiddlers or sailing homemade wooden boats made out of bits of wood on the boating pond. We always enjoyed our trips there, entering through the iron gate and taking up any number of activities, whether digging in the sandpit, hanging off the roundabouts, whooshing down the slides or finding our way up and down the monkey climber.
Time seemed so slow for us during this period and we loved it. There were endless opportunities to investigate the brook at the bottom end of the park, where we jumped over stepping stones and looked for frogs, or, if we felt like it, a sit down on the seats at the bowling green. There, we’d idle away, looking on as ladies and men in white straw hats stooped to roll the balls, the silence punctuated with an occasional crack as each collided. Should we have been lucky enough to have a sixpence, there was always the treat of buying ice creams from a cafeteria in an old house in the middle of the park.
Mum took on a small cleaning job for a nice lady called Mrs Beer, who lived in one of the posh mock Tudor style houses on Friern Barnet Lane. Inside her house was one of the first real televisions I’d ever seen. Sometimes during the school holidays, we played in the park directly opposite for a couple of hours until Mum called us after finishing her work. If it rained, Mrs Beer let us go in her kitchen where we were given lemonade and biscuits. On one occasion she gave Mum almost a whole Christmas cake which was carried home like a prize.
Mum’s job at Mrs Beer’s meant that we had money to go to the swimming pool or the pictures at Finchley. I liked swimming, but it had to be a really warm day for me to enjoy going in the water as the pool was an open air one. Looking through the railings at the adult pool, you could see a large water cascade and a smaller pool below, as the two levels were joined by a sloping pathway leading down to the children’s pool.
Either side of the shallow end of the children’s pool were two large stone lions that had water pumped from their mouths, and at the entrance to the adult pool was two large water fountains. We loved to go, rushing backwards and forwards into the water while Mum sat patiently in a deck chair with the towels and lunch. She often took our cousin Betty, who lived next door, which meant there were more of us to dry.
Going to the pictures meant a very special night for us, especially as Walt Disney films were great favourites. Someone at school would say, ‘Have you seen The Wizard of Oz or Bambi?’
If Mum had enough money from her cleaning job she would agree to take us.
‘Alright,’ she’d say. ‘We’ll go if you behave yourselves.’
Rushing home from school on Friday, with a quick wash of hands and face before gulping down our tea, we were soon ready. First, there was a slow walk up Goldsmith Road, and then we’d wait for the trolley bus which would finally arrive conducted by its overhead wires and always giving off an electric hum.
The Finchley Gaumont was a large lovely building, richly carpeted and with a high well-lit ceiling. There was usually a wait in the queue for the shilling seats. We were not well off enough to go in the 2/ 6’s, or the 1/ 9’s, but it didn’t matter. The commissionaire, looking very important in his peaked hat, white gloves and uniform in red and gold braid, counted us, letting in the right amount of people for the vacant seats inside. As we paid for our seats, the box office ticket machine made an exciting mechanical clunk clunk sound, while rows of paper shot out with tear-off perforated edges. Escorted by an usherette, also in a smart uniform, we made our way into the darkness, musty with cigarette smoke, following the light of the torch.
As I watch the television today, I feel nothing can match those treasured outings to the pictures. Children today have so much yet we had so little but enjoyed everything. There were usually the films, the news, a cartoon, and a short burst of music from the in-house cinema organ; a great night out.
After arriving home, we would have a cup of cocoa, bread and jam or dripping on toast. If it was a cold night, Mum filled up a hot water bottle for us to take to bed, where we fell into a pleasant slumber filled with those images from the big screen.
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