STREETLY,
STAFFORDSHIRE
MEMORIES
(1936 - 1961)
THURSDAY 26th
JULY 1945
-
THE GENERAL
ELECTION
-
by Chris Myers
|
Hello, again. It's a
Thursday evening,
July 26th,
1945. We haven't
broken up from school yet.
That's Monday, the 30th. I've
finished tonight's homework.
There wasn't much because
it's nearly the end of term.
As usual, I'm still sitting
at the dining table. It's
the only place where I can
write neatly. Dad and Mum
are in the garden hoeing.
They're not too happy today
and I know why. My big
sister is out with her
friends. At the
Youth Club,
here in
Streetly, I expect.
There's peace and quiet and
so I thought I would tell
you about what's going on.
There's been some big
news today. We've had
something called a General
Election. The results have
just been announced. Mum and
Dad are not very happy about
them, I think. In fact
they're worried stiff. I'll
tell you a bit more about
that in a minute. But,
before that, I'm going to
tell you how I first heard
about these funny things
called elections and what
grown-ups have to do when
they come around.
It
was a Wednesday,
May 23rd,
an ordinary school day at
Bishop Vesey's Junior School
in
Sutton. About a couple of
weeks after VE-Day and all
the excitement then. It was
around a quarter-to-nine in
the morning and I was
walking down the little
roadway, at the side of the
main school buildings
towards our classrooms. I
could see a group of boys
already there where we
always stand, waiting to be
let in. Can't remember what
I was thinking about but
suddenly, as I approached
them, they all surrounded me
sounding very excited. This
was a bit worrying. I try
never to be the centre of
attention. It's far safer.
They were demanding to know
who I supported. I had no
idea whatsoever what they
were going on about and so
at first I couldn't say
anything. Faces were stuck
into mine. I think they
really wanted to know.
"Conservative or Labour?"
There are times in life when
you know that you've got to
think very, very quickly.
And that's what I did. I
quickly worked out what the
answer should probably be. I
think now that it was quite
clever of me to work it out in the
way I did. My thinking was
something like this – Dad
works in a factory in
Birmingham. But he doesn't
go to work in overalls, he
wears a suit and a collar
and tie. I think he's
something called a manager.
The factory makes all sorts
of stuff like copper and
brass sheet and rod. His job
is to make sure all of that
gets made, and of course
it's been very important in
wartime. The blokes who
really make the stuff wear
overalls and work the
machines. Sometimes, in the
newspapers, people like that
are called "labour". In all
the circumstances, that
seemed to be the right
answer. Dad is bound to
support them.
So I replied.
"Labour", I said.
As
I say, I was quite proud of
this answer. But
unfortunately, clever or
not, it was entirely the
wrong one. It was met with
howls of derision. ("Howls
of derision" is a jolly
useful phrase - I learned it
from the Billy Bunter
stories I read - and it's
absolutely the right one
here). I was immediately
worried that I might get
thumped or, far worse,
debagged or something.
But rescue was at hand.
At that very moment they
spotted another unsuspecting
lad walking down the
path...... Phew! |
And
so that's how I learned one
morning a couple of months
ago that things called
elections sometimes happen.
And also that there is a
right and a wrong wrong way
to vote. Something quite new
to me. I raised the question
with Mum the moment I got
home that afternoon. "Oh",
she said, "we support
Mr.
Churchill and so we vote
Conservative". So that was
nicely sorted out for me and
it's something which I don't
have to worry about in the
future.
Ever since
then I've been aware of lots
of talk in the papers and at
home about what everyone
calls "the election
campaign". Not that I've
taken much notice. It's all
for the grown-ups. But I
knew there was a date when
all the arguing had to stop
and everyone had to decide
who they supported. That was
July 5th. I think in
Streetly you had to go to
the
Parish Room in
Foley
Road where you put a cross
on a piece of paper and put
that in a box which would then
be sent away to be counted.
(I bet you know where the
Parish Hall is and you've
almost certainly been there
yourself - but if you've
forgotten or something,
remember I've told you about
it
before). So that's what Mum and Dad
must have done. What
everyone was voting for was
their Member of Parliament,
or M.P. for short. After all
these M.P.s are elected,
everywhere in the country,
they all go to London, are
counted up, and whoever has
the biggest number of
members – Conservative,
Labour or Liberal – will be
the government. It sounds a
bit daft when I tell you
that our Member of
Parliament is not the one
for Streetly or Sutton like
you would expect but for
Walsall, which
they say we are part of
although it doesn't feel
like it. (I've only been
there a couple of times in
my life. Mum
goes, though, a lot. She has
to because the butcher's
she's registered with is
there, in
Lysways Street, and it's the only
place she can get our meat
ration. So she has to catch
a blue Walsall Corporation
bus just round the corner in
Foley Road, nearly opposite
Jillings
 the
greengrocer on the other
corner. It must be a
nuisance for her. I think
she must do it every week).
Up to this election
our M.P. has been
Sir George
Schuster. He's a knight. If
he gets the most votes
again, he'll stay on as our
Member. If he doesn't, he'll
get kicked out and it'll be
Major William T. Wells. He's
Labour. This is Sir George.
I haven't got a picture of
Major Wells. They are both
something called barristers
and so they must be clever
blokes.
So, nearly
everyone voted on
July 5th.
Mum and Dad had to choose
between Sir George and Major
Wells. It takes ages to
count all the votes, here
and everywhere else. The
reason for this is that so
many people who want to vote
are away in the forces,
the Army, the RAF and the
Navy, all over the world.
And so it takes a long time to
collect up all their votes.
Sometimes the men can ask
their family to vote for
them. Dad knew that my
brother Graham - who is now
21 and so is allowed to vote
- was going to ask him to do
this and so Dad put a cross
by the side of the
Conservative man and popped
it into the box.
Unfortunately, he did this a
bit too quickly. A few days
later a letter came from
Graham to say that he was
going to give his vote to
the Liberal. I think he is
getting a bit fed up because
his officers aren't the ones
he fought at the side of in
North Africa and Sicily and
Italy. And he liked. The
ones over him now are
starting to act like pre-war
oficers again. And Graham's
not very happy about it.
It's stopped him voting
Conservative because he
doesn't want to go back to
the old ways. But he doesn't
want to vote Labour either,
so it has to be Liberal! Dad
read the letter out to us
and I think he was a bit
uncomfortable that he hadn't
done the right thing. But
there was nothing he could
do about it and so Sir
George got one extra vote
which wasn't intended for
him. And, anyway, there
wasn't the name of a Liberal
on the voting paper.
But back to today. All the
votes have now been counted
and they have announced the
result. There are a lot more
Labour M.P.s than
Conservative or Liberal and
that means Mr Churchill has
lost and is being kicked
out, immediately, and
Mr.
Atlee is now our Prime
Minister. It seems to me a
bit ungrateful of everybody,
because Mr. Churchill has
been our leader for as long
as I can remember and I
thought everyone liked him.
We certainly do. So Mum and
Dad are very unhappy about
it all. They've heard about
it on the 6 o'clock news and
it's in tonight's Birmingham
Mail.
Apart from
everything else I think Mum
and Dad
are a bit frightened of the
Labour people. Who can tell
if they know how to run the
country? I don't think they
mind Mr. Attlee too much and
they know one or two of the
others who helped Mr.
Churchill as well and did a
good job, like
Mr. Morrison
and
Mr. Bevin. But what they
know of some of the others,
they don't like very much.
People like
Mr. Bevan who
seems to be the sort of man
Dad calls a tub-thumper,
whatever that is. And
Mr.
Dalton and
Mrs. Summerskill
and a man called
Cripps. And
a few of the others as well, who he
thinks are really Communists
and probably take their
orders from Moscow. (The
Russians don't seem to be
our friends any more like
they were when everyone
loved Uncle Joe). He's
worried stiff that these
people will wreck the
country. We don't know much
about Major Wells who is now
our M.P. Mum and Dad
haven't talked about him.
Not in front of me, anyway.
Sir George has been kicked
out.
I bet Dad is taking it
out on the chickweed in the
vegetable patch as I sit
inside, writing. As for me,
well, it looks as though
elections are just one of
the things that grown-ups
get worked up about. What I
think about more is wanting
to see Dinky Toys and Hornby
back in the shops, getting
more biscuits and Cadbury's
chocolate, having a boiled
egg more often. Bananas and
oranges and grapes. Nothing
really seems to have changed
much since VE-Day. There's
still nothing much in the
shops. Perhaps it will
change after we have beaten
the Japs. You can't forget
all that is still going on. Here in Streetly
there's a girl called Sandra
who lives a few doors down
from us. Her dad is still
somewhere fighting against
them, far away. And there's
a boy in
Bridle Lane who is
waiting for the day when his
dad comes home. The dad has
been a prisoner-or-war for
ages, probably since
Singapore. I don't know if
his family gets letters from
him, to tell them how he is
getting on.
Since
VE-Day I think all the
blokes who have been
prisoners in Germany have
been returned home.
There must have been some
who are now back here in
Streetly but I don't know
any of them. None of the
ones still serving have come
home, though. It will be
ages before they can return
to their families because
there's so much for them
still to do.
 That includes
my brother Graham, of
course. On
May 10th he had
moved into
Austria from
Italy as part of the army of
occupation. He's still
there. And would like to
stay there while he's still
in the Army - he and his
friends are very worried they
might be sent to the Far
East to fight the Japs.
We've got some pictures of
him in his spare time which he's
sent us, by the side of a
lake. He's travelled around
a bit, sometimes very close
to the Russian area. And
seen a lot, including all
those captured Russians -
some with their families -
who had been fighting for
the Germans and were about
to be handed back to the
Soviet Army. I don't think
he's allowed to tell us
much about all that,
even though he can write
about everything else. But
where he has landed up now
looks very nice. I think
it is a place called
Millstatt, on the side of a
lake. This is him, a few
weeks ago. He and his mates go
there to swim. It must be
strange, after all that
time, being somewhere where
there's no fighting and
doesn't look as though there
has ever been.
It's a funny time
here as well, back
in Streetly. Neither
one thing or the other. Not
really war any more. But not
what peace was supposed to
be like, either. So we are
not really living in the
post-war world yet. People
have been talking about that
for ages but I think they
all knew it wasn't going to
be marvellous. Or at least,
not straight away.
But.... if I look up now and
see a strange aeroplane in
the sky, I know that Mum
won't have kittens and send
me inside... AND... school
breaks up next week...
AND... there's a man called
Mr. Harris who they
say is starting a cricket
club here in Streetly, down
a track nearly opposite the
Riding School in
Manor Road... AND... we are going to the
seaside on
August
4th! That's a week on
Saturday. Dad is
saving up his petrol
coupons. Back to
South Devon
where we always went before
the war and I can just about
remember. Yippee! It will be
a real adventure and I can
hardly wait.
 I'll
tell you about it when it
happens. Even though you
might not really be very
interested or are fed up
with me always mentioning
the war. I'll try and avoid
that subject while I'm
there, unless I can't!
Going on holiday is
mainly something people only
do in peace-time. To forget
their worries. Not that I
have many! Apart from
working out how to win an
argument with my big sister.
I usually lose them.
Obviously I have just lost
another one when Dad took
this picture last year. I'm
not allowed to sulk but on
that day Dad was probably
feeling sympathetic and he
didn't tell me to buck up.
Us blokes have to stick
together, don't we?
Normally, I'm pretty
cheerful. Honest, I am! And
certainly at the moment,
with an exciting car journey
to look forward to and then
seeing the sea again, at
long last.
Dad
and Mum are just coming in.
They look happy enough as
well, now. I think a bit of
gardening does them good.
Just like a little holiday.
Takes their mind off things.
|
|
|
FORWARD to
5th August 1945 -
Holidays!
(to
follow) |
 |
|
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Please see INDEX page for
general acknowledgements.
Grateful
acknowledgement is also made
to:
- the several owners of the Myers
Family Archive of which all the
personal images shown on this page
are a part
- The British
Newspaper Archive and Wikipedia for
images of the Mail and of Sir George
Schuster respectively.
This family
and local history
page is hosted by
- The History of the Home Guard in Great Britain, 1940-1944
-
www.staffshomeguard.co.uk
All
text and images are, unless otherwise stated, © The
Myers Family 2025
|
