STREETLY, STAFFORDSHIRE MEMORIES  (1936 - 1961) The THE HOME GUARD CHRISTMAS PARTY (December 1943) by Chris Myers

THE HOME GUARD CHRISTMAS PARTY on Saturday, December 18th, 1943 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 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 palava. 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 at 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 things like that. 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 June 1940. This is the postcard which they sent him after he had let them know he wanted to help. 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, even though he's got his own head-quarters in the stables at Little Aston Hall. 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'll tell you more about all this another time. I've got some pictures as well. Any road, the party, on the 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. They do other things. 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. 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, 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 one of the cinemas 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. 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. He looked at each one 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 INCREDIBLE THING happened. The man on the stage looked at a parcel, then looked straight at all of us and called out "Christopher Myers". I was astonished at this. 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 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 ribbons which means they were soldiers in the last war. Dad told me that when I asked him what the ribbon he always wears meant. Mr. Gill doesn't. He must have been too young. Thank you for my present, Mr. Gill. And Father Christmas of course. That was the last thing that happened at the party. I had to wait for Dad to help clear up the hall and then into the Ford Prefect - Dad is allowed a bit of petrol because of his work and his Home Guard duties - and then down Foley Road, left onto the Chester Road and home. As soon as I got home, 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'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 flatter. 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. 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. I wish everyone a Happy 1943 Christmas. And let's hope that 1944 will be a better year. PS I've got a few pictures of the Parish Room. I'll show them to you on another page where I tell you what I know about that place.  Here's one of them to be going on with. It's a man and his little boy, outside, at the front.

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(Grateful acknowledgement to Kate Cutler for the man and child image; and to unknown sources for the Avion and car images)

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