I was born on January 17th 1936, my parents were Doris Lovaine and Leonard Ivan Hutchings my mum was eighteen and my dad twenty-three; he was a fisherman from the age of fourteen.
The first six months of my life I was looked after by my dad’s oldest sister, my Aunt Ida. My mum was unwell and not able to care for me.
As I grew older, I can remember there were card nights on Saturdays with the family, but of course I was in bed.
War broke out in 1939; I was four years old and mum was pregnant with my brother Roy. Dad joined the Navy. He was on a mine sweeper, and we spent many hours while he was at sea fearing that he might never come back. We were always relieved to hear the door flung open and him shouting out “I’m home! “
After my brother was born we were sent as evacuees to Shirebrook in Derbyshire for two years. We had to share living accommodation with another family.
I started school, no bombs there. I really liked Shirebrook. We used to paddle in a stream and I remember down the road there were swings and a slide, we didn’t have those back home in Lowestoft! We went there with my cousin Joyce; her family were evacuated not far from us. Her dad was my Uncle Reg , he was in the army. We didn’t see our fathers. They were away at war.
I had my first perm at five years old; Mum wanted me to look like Shirley Temple! It was a bit painful-all the clips were on an electric pole then taken off and put on curlers in your hair. Don’t know if I looked like Shirley Temple though!
After two years we came back to Lowestoft because my mother missed home. We found that the neighbours next door had stolen what few toys we had so much for lovely neighbours!
Bombs dropped all over Lowestoft. I still hate the sound of a siren it brings back so many unhappy, scary memories. That awful sound would send us all running for cover. The shelter in the garden was unsafe, so we were always in the cupboard under the stairs. In the dark, just listening for the high-pitched wail of the doodlebugs. They were rockets and we would wait, holding our breath, for the sound to stop because then you knew that the bomb would drop. Not knowing if it was our turn for a direct hit. Sometimes, if we were caught out, it was dive under the table. Later on in the war we had a new shelter, a Morrison. It was in the front room. Us kids slept underneath, Mum on top with Dad too when he was home on leave. When the bombs dropped we were all clung to each other underneath, a bit crowded!
Near the end of the war I was playing with my friend round some old shelters in Gun Lane and a plane came over and started firing. I ran and got to our doorstep. I heard the sound of the bullets right above my head I was so frightened I could hardley move. The bullets went all around the door but luckily not on me. A very lucky escape
Sailors were billeted in Rant Score I remember going down there and the sailors would throw sweets out to us, a real treat! There were shelters underground at the top end of the score. One night there was a bombing raid and people got killed there, nowhere was safe.
But that’s enough about the horrors of war…
It must have been a great day for our mums when VE Day came. There was a huge party on the Oval, hundreds of people were there. At last war was over. I remember one day a ship load of orange boxes were washed up. Of course the oranges were not edible but the wooden boxes were useful. I made one of them into a doll’s house, not bad for a 10 year old. In those days children had to think for themselves.
I remember wash-day. My job was to put the wet clothes through a big iron mangle. Fingers also got trapped. Being the oldest child wasn’t much fun.
Decorating was hard to do in those days too. Mum used distemper on the top of the walls, then put another colour in some of the distemper, got a sponge and dabbed it over the plain walls. It looked like a flower. The bottom half was hard paper which was varnished. My Mum was very house proud. Even in those difficult times.
We lived on Dukes Head Street, quite a long road. At the top of the street was Chapel Street, running parallel with it. We used to play in the bombed out buildings there. At the top of our street was old mother Giles’ bakehouse. People used to take food to her to cook for them. You had to be on your best behaviour in her bakery. She was an old lady, all bent over as I remember. Across the road at the top of Rant Score was Crisp’s the newsagents. At eleven years old I had two paper rounds, one in the morning and one in the evening. They supplied me with a bike.
We called it a sit up and beg bike. I got 11 shillings and sixpence a week.
My Mum took ten shillings. I did the High Street, Yarmouth Road and Corton Road. One winter it was snowing so hard, I was at the bottom of Corton Road and laid my bike on the pavement while I put a paper in the door. A lorry went over it and I had to carry it all the way back to the shop. You had to be tough in those days. I still kept my job and they put a new wheel back on the bike.
I spent a lot of time looking after my two brothers, wherever I went, I had to take them with me. One day I took Alan, in his pram, and Roy (Roy was always getting me into trouble) up the seafront. There was a small boating lake opposite the Claremont Pier. Alan was in his best satin smock. He fell in while I was sorting Roy out. I got Alan out, took all his clothes off and dried them in the sun so mother wouldn’t know. I didn’t know that satin crinkles when dried, so another good hiding!
Time went by, as it does for all of us growing up. My Dad had a very bad accident on one of the trawlers he worked on. He worked for the Boston Ship Company. A rope that holds the big doors up broke. Dad pushed a young lad, Derek, out of the way but got caught himself. It smashed his pelvis and he lay in a hammock in hospital for weeks until his bones healed; no operations for that then. He was out of work for two years, no compensation. It was called an act of God in those days. During that time Dad and I would go on the Denes to pick mushrooms and some veg that still grew, from some forgotten allotments. We also used to go to The Triangle Market to buy young chicks, little bundles of fluff. They were kept warm in a cupboard beside the range until they were old enough to go outside in the garden. We had two chickens that we never ate, called Sally and Snowy. They were our pets and we buried them when they died.
Time went by… at fifteen years old I left school, I wanted to be a hairdresser but Mum couldn’t afford the apprenticeship. So my first job was at Johnsons Shirt and Overall factory in Gorleston. I started my next job at Coastal Canneries in Rant Score. In the summer it was tinned fruit and in winter it was herrings and sardines straight off the market. Up to your eyes in guts and scales! I was made a machinist. That was good, making sure these huge ovens didn’t get blocked as the tins came out of the machine. If work was short we loaded up the boxes of tins onto the lorries. I enjoyed my job and the people who worked there, we all helped each other, it was a sad day when after six years the factory closed. But in those days you could walk easily into another factory job, which is what I did. I began working at the new Birds Eye and so began the next chapter of my life. We’ll save that for another day!
A lot has changed in Lowestoft during the ninety years of my life, some of it good, some bad. But it has been my place since I was born and has given me lasting memories.
