Back in February, I took advantage of the former church centre premises and held an exhibit of some work done by the local primary school in partnership with our village nursing home. I had done some mask work with both communities last year and was invited to a small party showing of the work at the nursing home. Apparently, this year's school curricula are examining the Second World War and with some funding from the national Heritage Lottery fund, the local city government, and the Cambridge Film Consortium, a local dramatic group got together a group of students to interview home residents who were children of the WWII. The results were shown at the party. The results were so evocative that I asked if I could show it in the then vacant space on the main street in town. Working with the local history society and the coordinators of the project, we came up with a strong exhibit of resident quotes and student interpretations, along with some visual aids in the form of artefacts such as rations cards, gas masks, flags, and music.
For the following five days, I hosted the public exhibit, which means that I know every word of the ten minute loop of film footage including songs, classroom exercises and interviews. I think I dreamt about eating a potato sandwich one night, which was Elsie's 14 year old memory: 'You've never lived until you've eaten a potato sandwich'. And, poor Alastair's grew quite tired of hearing me hum a tune sung by a very special home resident who's 102 this August. (By the way, did you know that every British citizen who lives to 100 receives a telegram from the Queen herself?)
I think we have all heard the memories of our parents or grandparents as they experienced blackouts and food shortages in the States. I certainly remember my grandmother talking about them. What I didn't know until moving here was that Britain suffered severe shortages due for primarily to its geography. It's deeply woven into the nation's memory. Frugality, which can be the bane of my existence at times, has reared its head on a number of occasions be it with food, books, even broken things. I wonder how much of that is a reflex of muscle memory born in survival, just like the reflex to avoid flame.
As an island, Britain had fewer land resources to rely upon than we did in the States. This was complicated even more by the supply ships not making it through to British ports. As a result of the depression and these shortages, health was poor and the Ministry of Food issued
daily milk ration to children in schools and heavily purported the benefits of cod liver oil, rosehip syrup and concentrated orange juice, which by the way isn't available in the stores here like it is in the States today. Several of the visitors to the exhibit shared memories of collecting rose hips here in East Anglia to sell to the government as a way to help their family's income and support of the nation's war efforts
Other memories were from the children who were evacuated from London to protect them from bombings. These children were sent by train or bus to rural areas where they were housed until it was safe to return, sometimes being evacuated twice. One woman told of six children to a bed, three at the top and three at the bottom.
Women were tasked not only to work in factories but to work on the farm, as the men who weren't fighting in the war were volunteering for Local Defence Volunteer Corps (Dad's army), the women house evacuated children, and made do with the weekly rations and creative exchanges of clothing, preserves, and any foodstuffs grown or raised.
A
adult weekly ration consisted of something like:
Butter: 2oz (50g)
Bacon and ham: 4 oz (100g)
Margarine: 4 oz (100g)
Sugar: 8oz (225g)
Meat: To the value of one shilling and sixpence (1s.2d) per week, approx. 15 cents today)
Milk: 3 pints (1800 ml), occasionally dropping to 2 pints (1200ml)
Eggs: 1 fresh egg a week
Dried egg: 1 packet every four weeks
Cheese: 2 oz (50g)
Tea 2 o (50g)
Jam: 1 pound every two months (450g)
Sweets: 12 oz (350g) every four weeks
But, there were no guarantees that the stores had all this available at once. At some point, it was encouraged to return stale bread to the butcher so pigs could eat it. Clothing was also rationed and a motto of 'Make do and mend.' is well known. The clothing factories and employees were employed for munitions.
Meanwhile, something mentioned often was that there was a sense of hope that this would pass. This rang true for me as I put two and two together: On V Day, now known as VE Day (Victory in Europe) to distinguish it from VJ (...Japan) Day, street parties brought everyone out to share whatever might have been stashed away for a celebration, for example tins of fruit. If people didn't think they were going to make it, why save something special for the future?
One of the most moving parts of the exhibit was a point brought to my attention by a woman who was an infant in the war. She had no real memories of the war only the years following. She noted that the generation who were children or teenagers in the war will soon be unable to remind us of this time, that it will be lost to the history books and that this would be a great loss for Britain and the world.
On Friday, we were treated to dinner at Satnam and Susan's. I have only dined with them a few times, but knew up front that I was following in the footsteps of a global audience. I am one of hundreds from around the world who have graced their dinner table. This particular evening was highlighted by Satnam's mother joining us. Good timing, I think.
Farm's cookbook, which he obtained on one of his jaunts across the pond. Lucky us. Even luckier, we ate from a beautiful piece of tuna thanks to Susan's savvy and negotiations at our local Waitrose fish counter. Yes, I noted the necessary skills for me to use next time.
the tuna, Satnam seared it in an almost smoking pan. A quick assembly and voila! a fantastic, filling salad. Yes, salad!
