STREETLY,
STAFFORDSHIRE MEMORIES
(1936
- 1961)
The
HOME GUARD CHRISTMAS PARTY
(December
1943)
by Chris Myers
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THE
STREETLY HOME GUARD CHRISTMAS PARTY
on Saturday, December
18th, 1943
Hello. Today's
Thursday, December 23rd, 1943, and I'm
sitting at our dining room table, here at
our house on the
Chester Road in
Streetly. No school,
thank goodness, because I've broken up for
Christmas. But no snow yet, either.
Unfortunately.
I've got a blank page of
an old exercise book in front of me and a
pen in my hand. Mum has just told me, as she
always does every time and it's a real pain,
to write neatly, watch my spelling, don't
make any blots, and especially, DON'T KNOCK
THE INK BOTTLE OVER! It's easy for her to
say that. But it's jolly difficult for me.
I'm seven-and-three-quarters and I'm not old
enough to have a fountain pen. Only older
boys and grown-ups have those. They are ever
so expensive, even if you can get one, and once you drop them on the
nib, they're wrecked. But one of them
would make everything much, much easier. As
it is, if I want to tell you something, it's
a real palaver. When I've got everything
ready - and that's bad enough - I have to
reach across the table, dip the pen into the
bottle and make sure I haven't got too much
ink on it. Otherwise it will drip off the
nib onto the table or the paper. Not too
much, not too little. Then I start to write.
After about four or five or six words the
pen runs dry. Back to the ink bottle, then
the page, then back to the bottle. Again and
again. It's no wonder it takes ages. And
it's almost impossible to keep everything
neat and tidy. It's all bloomin' hard work
for a nearly-eight-year-old. I sometimes
wonder why I put myself all through it.
So, if you bother to read this, please
excuse the crossings-out and the mistakes
and the smudges. I'm going to tell you a bit
about the Christmas party I went to last
Saturday afternoon. That was December 18th.
It was a Home Guard children's party. I have
been to one or two before but I'll just tell
you about this one before I forget all about
it. It was really fun. And I got one HUGE
surprise while I was there.
There
were a lot of other children at the party
and we were in our
Parish Hall
in Streetly.
I might have told you before that Mum and
Dad call this place the Parish Room. I don't
know why because it's more of a hall than a
room. Big, with lots of chairs and a stage
at the far end. It's on the
Foley Road
in Streetly, almost next door to
All Saints Church.
It's quite close to the road but there's
space to park one or two cars in front of
it.
(I don't know why on earth I'm
telling you all this about the Parish Room.
If you live in Streetly you'll know it ever
so well. If you are grown-up you go there
all the time, to things like dances and
whist drives and plays and school concerts
and meetings and all that sort of thing. Instead
of staying at home in the evening and
listening to the wireless or reading a book.
And if you are still a kid like me, you'll
go to the sort of party I'm going to tell
you about. Although that will be in an
afternoon).
It was here, in the Parish Hall, that Dad
first joined the
Home Guard, in May 1940. When
everyone thought the Germans were coming. This is the
postcard which they sent him after he had
told them he wanted to help. (They called it
the L.D.V. then, before Mr. Churchill
changed the name).
It's funny because later the blokes decided
to make their main base only a few yards
away, at a house called
"The Greylands"
in Middleton Road.
It's a big house which they have taken over.
Dad calls it the HQ and goes there quite a
lot. He used to have his own
head-quarters in the stables at
Little Aston Hall
but they've given that up now.
I think they've got a bar at The Greylands
where they can drink beer. I expect they do
other things there as well. I've told you
all about this before.
There's
some pictures there showing the inside.
Any road, the
party, on a day the Home Guard came back
to the Parish Hall.
We had the usual
games and a man in a Home Guard uniform
telling us what to do and being funny up on
the stage. In fact most of the men had their
uniforms on. I expect the ladies there were
their wives. They were in
 civvies because
mums can't join the Home Guard. Not as
proper soldiers, anyway. But they help. And
they do
other things as well. Like my mum
- she's in the W.V.S. I haven't got a
picture of her in uniform. But here
she is
(left)
with my big brother, last year. And every
week she gets together with other ladies and
they knit things for the soldiers, like
mittens and scarves and balaclava helmets.
In
fact everyone does their bit. There's
my brother - he's away fighting in Italy as
I've told you before. Dad's in the
Home Guard. And my big sister is
in the Girl Guides. (I don't know if that
counts, but she's fifteen and it might. Dad
photographed us
(below, right) last year in the garden, in
July 1942).
 As
for me, I had really wanted to join the
Brownies. On one of my first days at
Sandwell School in Streetly, at the end of lessons, a
lot of older girls came into our classroom.
They were Brownies. They looked
wonderful and I fell in love with their
brown uniforms. When I got home I said
to Mum I wanted to join. She told me
that wasn't possible, and why. I know
there's always the Cubs. But the
attraction isn't there, somehow. So I help
Dad by cleaning his Home Guard boots and
polishing the buttons on his greatcoat and oiling his rifle. We all do our bit.
After the games, we had tea. No
jelly of course, there never is. But jam
sandwiches and cakes and tarts and
blancmange and junket. (I'm never sure
whether I really like junket. But I eat it,
like
 everything else). Afterwards we sat
down in rows of seats facing the stage and
had a film show. A man had put up a big
screen and then spent a lot of time
tinkering with a machine they call the
projector. I've seen him before. I think he
might be one of Dad's Home Guard friends. He
drives a huge car. It's
an SS Jaguar, it's grey coloured (not black
like Dad's car and almost all the others I
ever see) and it has got big headlights -
with blackout masks on of course - and a
streamlined body. But the thing I always
notice about it is that it has a long hollow
tube on the roof which sticks out over the
bonnet and the boot. It's what he carries
the screen in. The car's a bit like this
one.
It's great having a film show
but the trouble is, he doesn't have many
films and I have already seen most of the
things he showed today. A few cartoons -
black and white ones, not the ones in
beautiful colour (they call it Technicolor
but I do wish they would spell it right)
which, if you are very lucky,
 you
sometimes see before the main film when you
go to the flicks at the
Avion
(left) in
Aldridge
or the Empress
or the Odeon in
Sutton.
(Or at the News
Theatre on the other side of
New Street
Station in
Birmingham). But it was good to see
them again and all us children did a lot of
laughing and made an awful lot of noise.
There were some of his travel films as well.
I'm glad he didn't show again a film we
saw once before. It was all about the Far
East. And that's a place where I know
dreadful things happen. The people in the
film were in a parade. They were walking
down a street and everyone on the pavement
was clapping and cheering. They had great
big hats on and were walking ever so slowly.
But what was so terrible was that they had
no shirts on and all over their bodies they
had what looked like Christmas tree
ornaments and these were attached to their
bare skin with little hooks. I couldn't see
any Japanese soldiers but I KNOW that this
was some sort of dreadful torture. Things
like that happen the whole time. You hear
about it in films and on the newsreels which
I see at the
Avion and it's in the papers, so it
has to be true. I have known for a long time
that every single German wants to bump me
off and every Jap as well. But I know if
it's the Japs there'll be torture.They are
so cruel. I still can't get the picture of
those poor people out of my mind and I've
had nightmares about it.
But the
cartoons were super and there was nothing
horrid. We stayed in our places and then
Father Christmas appeared on the stage with
a big bag of presents. I don't think this
has happened before. There was a huge
cheer. He started to pull the presents out
of the bag and handed them one at a time to
a Home Guard man who looked at it and
called out a name. A boy or a girl put up
their hand. They obviously knew each other.
The man on the stage leaned down and handed
the parcel to another man who then hurried
to the end of a row and delivered the
parcel. Then he moved quickly back to the
front, ready for the next one. This happened
a few times.
And then AN ASTONISHING THING
happened. Well, astonishing to me, anyway. The man on the stage looked at a
parcel, then looked straight at all of us
and called out "Christopher Myers". I
nearly fell off the chair when this
happened. I didn't know the man.
How on earth did he know my name? How did
anyone at all know who I was, except our
family and neighbours and friends and school? Up went my hand and a
moment later a smallish man in an officer's
uniform was hurrying towards my row, holding
out a small parcel.
I don't know
why, but I recognised this man from other
Home Guard things I had gone to. He always
looks very neat and smart and he has a thin
looking moustache. His name is
Mr. Gill.
He is a grown-up of course but he looks so
much younger and a bit smaller and neater
than the others. My dad is very old and so
are most of his friends. Dad is 44 and
that's ancient. Most of those men have
medal ribbons which means they were soldiers in
the last war. Dad told me that when I asked
him what the ribbon he always wears on his
uniform meant.
Mr. Gill doesn't. He must have been too
young. I had got over my shock and I took
the parcel from him. Thank you for my present, Mr. Gill. And
Father Christmas of course. It's wonderful
to get a present you weren't expecting.
Father Christmas and the
presents were
the last thing that happened at the party.
When most people had gone out I
had to wait for Dad to help clear up the
hall. I helped a bit as well. And then
out, into our Ford Prefect - Dad is
allowed a bit of petrol because of his work
and his Home Guard duties - and off down
Foley Road,
left on to the
Chester Road and home. There, coats
and scarves off, into the lounge and
huddling up all together around the fire -
the four of us, Mum, Dad, my big sister and
me. (And our dog, stretched out on the
hearth rug in front of us, tummy towards
the warmth - can't tell you his real
name so we'll just call him Rex). We sat there all warm and cosy, under
the streamers which Sheila and I had made
with loops of coloured paper and a bottle of
gum a week or two
ago. When we had started to get excited
about Christmas. They stretched from the
light in the middle of the room to the four
corners. There was holly over the pictures
on the wall and a bunch of mistletoe
attached to the pink light bowl in the
middle. Grown-ups are supposed to kiss
underneath it. Urrgh! But what was
really super
was the Christmas tree. The fairy lights on
it glowed in red and green and blue and
yellow and you could see them sparkling in the silver and
gold decorations and tinsel. Every
year I know that I have never, ever seen
anything as pretty as this. The
colours always take my breath away. (There
are candles on the tree as well but
we're never allowed to light them). Behind
the tree the ugly blackout frames were up
at the window and the
curtains in front of them drawn to. The cold, dark world
outside had been shut out for
another day and it was all so cosy and
lovely around the fire.
Dad disappeared
into the kitchen and a bit later came out
with a tray with cups of tea on it and a
plate of lovely toast and dripping. We sat
and munched and talked. No wireless -
the set is in the other room. We
talked about my brother and about all the
things they used to have at Christmas -
stuff which I can't remember, like oranges
and dates and crystallised fruit. And all
the other things you used to be able to
buy in the shops as well. Like big boxes
of Cadburys Milk Tray chocolates.
That was when it was a time we all call
pre-war. I can't really remember it. I
wish I could.
After all that, I decided I wasn't going to wait
until Christmas Day and so I opened the parcel. In it
was a little cardboard box about 7 or 8
inches long. It's got a drawing of a
battleship on the lid, just in black and
white of course but with a bit of blue as
well. And some writing. I was excited when I
started to open it. But what was inside is a
bit disappointing, I have to say. I'm sorry to sound
ungrateful. There is a sheet of paper there
which are the instructions. And one longish
piece of wood and then two more which are
shorter and thinner. I think you are
supposed to make the hull and the top of the
ship out of them. I know that the wood will
have to be carved to make it the right
shape. That will need a sharp knife which
I'll never be allowed to use. And sandpaper
and glue and paint. I don't have any of
those. But Dad does and so I know it is
going to be a job for him. When he can. He's
so busy. But it was nice to get the present.
It's in front of me at the moment. I wasn't
expecting it. And it is BRAND NEW which is
super. Any present I ever get is either
secondhand or home-made, by Dad or one of my
older cousins. Except for books. This one is what they call a
kit.
I showed Dad the box after I had
opened it. He looked at the lid and said
something to
me in a quiet voice. When he speaks in a
quiet voice I know he is sad.
"Oh,
that ship doesn't exist any more. It was
sunk...... It was called
H.M.S. Hood".
I don't really know why Dad was sad.
Ships are sunk every day. There's nothing
extraordinary at all about that.
Grown-ups are funny people sometimes, aren't
they?
And anyway, Christmas Day is
nearly here, on Saturday. Father Christmas
will come and there'll be presents and the
postman will get his glass of sherry when he
visits and there'll be chicken for
dinner and Christmas pud with silver
threepenny pieces hidden in it and later
we'll have mince pies and Christmas cake.
All made by Mum. (I helped her mix the
cake and she let me lick the spoon). And I'll have my brand-new
Rupert Annual to read with all its lovely
coloured pictures. Yippee!
I
wish everyone a Very Happy 1943 Christmas. And
let's all hope that 1944 will be a better year.
**********
 PS
I've got a few pictures of
a Home Guard party at the
Parish Room. They were taken by
Mr. Cutler.
I haven't shown them to you here because I
don't think they are of THIS party. I'm
pretty sure they are from the Christmas
party of two years ago, 1941, after all the
bombing. People outside, coming and
going. They don't show me but I bet I was
there, inside. Not that I can remember much
about it.
You can look at these
pictures on
another page if you want to -
this one, about the Parish Hall.
Even though I was there as
well, they didn't take a picture of me.
You might like to have a look at them, even
so.
Here's
one or two of them, to be going on with.
It's a man
(above),
Mr Carr,
and his little boy, outside, in front of the
Hall at
the end of the party. And another dad and
his older son
(left).
 In
the background, by the entrance, you can see
two of the Home Guard blokes who have been
organising the party.
Mr. Ralph
(right) is
carrying a Lewis machine gun, all wrapped
up. I expect he has been showing it to the
boys.
I don't suppose the girls liked it very
much.
There's quite a lot more like that......
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This family
and local history
page is hosted by
www.staffshomeguard.co.uk
(The Home Guard of Great Britain, 1940-1944)
Please see INDEX page for main acknowledgements.
(Grateful acknowledgement
to Kate Cutler for the Parish Hall images; and to
unknown sources for the Avion and car images)
All text and images are,
unless otherwise stated, © The Myers Family 2022-2023
L8T DL8T Dec 2022,
major revision Dec 2023
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