By Betty Quinton

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this book to my lovely daughters, Sue Birch and Jill Knight,

who made it possible for me to put my memories into a book. I would also like to

thank members of Kiveton Park and Wales History Society for their encouragement

to write it.

Special Thanks also to

Naveed Khokhar for the layout and production of the book

BBC photo Library Team in assisting with sourcing the photographic images

Alamy Limited for the use of their photographic images

Getty Images for the use of their photographic images

New York Times Paris Bureau Collection for the use of their photographic images

“That Man called Hitler” - Betty’s War

It was August 1939 and coming up to the end of the school long

summer holiday. I had been ill with measles during the holidays and my

mum and dad thought it would be a good idea to take me to the seaside

before school started back again. I was very excited as I had only been to

Cleethorpes before on the Sunday-school day trip. This time we were

going to sleep there, as well, just for a few days.

The adults at this time were getting worried about a man called Hitler.

It meant very little to me as I helped mum pack a few things in an old

brown case and the three of us caught the train to Cleethorpes from

Kiveton Bridge station. We stayed with an old lady whose son had come

to Kiveton to work down the pit. However it was all overshadowed by

this man called Hitler! Each day before we could go to the beach or

paddling pool we called at Cleethorpes railway station to check what

times the trains ran back to Kiveton in case this man called Hitler,

did not do as he was told. The few days were overshadowed by this, but

we stayed until Saturday, and then caught the train home.

Sunday morning was very different. Mum and Dad had got to listen to

the radio at a certain time for an important announcement about this man

called Hitler. He had not done as he was told to do and so we were at war.

I did not understand the enormity of this and Sunday afternoon was very

much like any other Sunday.

Then back to school. The war was obviously going to affect our lives.

There were arrangements being made at school in case there was an air

raid while we were there; if the school was hit during a raid there would

be many children killed, so Mr Bailey the headmaster had the idea to

disperse the children to houses nearby. Each of the houses involved

would take so many children and care for them until the “all clear”

sounded. Along with 3 friends I was to go to Mr Walker’s shop in Wales

Square. When the sirens went we were to run along Orchard Lane and

Mrs Walker would take care of us until the raid was over. We would sit

under the stairs in her shop and fortunately for us she always had a secret

supply of sweets. When we went back to school the other kids didn’t

think it was fair as sweets were becoming increasingly hard to get hold

of.

At home, we had to get tape to put on our windows. It was stuck on the

glass from corner to corner to prevent flying glass if a bomb was dropped

nearby. Then there was the blackout to deal with. You couldn’t show any

light at all when it went dark, so a variety of ideas surfaced as to how it

could be done. My mum dyed some material black and made curtains for

upstairs. Dad made some frames covered with what he called “bratish

cloth” and these fitted the downstairs windows. They were held in place

by bolts which slotted into the wooden frames. They were successful for

a time, but were changed a number of times over the next five years.

There was also the fear of a gas attack to deal with. The Germans had

used gas on our soldiers in the trenches during the First World War; so

was there a possibility it could be used on civilians this time? Just in case

we all had to have gas masks. My Grandad (Mum’s dad) came to live

with us from Sheffield after my granny died. He helped mum with

shopping etc. and was anxious about the rest of his family who still lived

in Sheffield when the war started. On Mondays, he would fetch his

pension from the Post Office, then call at the shops to get whatever mum

wanted for dinner. I came home from school at dinnertime (there were no

school dinners then) and my dad worked at the pit on “afternoons”, so we

all had dinner together. This particular Monday, my Grandad hadn’t

come back from the shops for some reason. Mum wasn’t very happy; in

fact she was quite cross. I went back to school with a sandwich and dad

had to go to work without his dinner. What had happened to Grandad?

As he was going to the Post Office, Grandad saw two big lorries

unloading boxes at Kiveton Chapel. On his way back, being an

inquisitive old man, he went into the chapel to see what was happening.

They were delivering gas masks! Grandad got involved with the

unloading and when they were all inside, one of the men from the “war

office” said he could try one on for “helping”. They found the right size

for him and fitted it; that one, was to be his gas mask. He was very proud

to be the first person in Kiveton to get his gas mask, but it was quite late

in the afternoon when he got back home. I think he might have been in

trouble with my mum for not bringing the shopping home first.

When I got home from school that afternoon Grandad was very keen to

put on his gas mask to show me. I was terrified at the thought of having

this horrible thing on my face. I didn’t think I would be able to breathe. It

was so bad that at first I wouldn’t try one on when my turn came and the

lady who was fitting them got very cross with me. They hadn’t invented a

special one for children at that stage so my gas mask was just a smaller

version of the adult one. Later children got a special gas mask that looked

like Mickey Mouse and it wasn’t so frightening. However, in the end

necessity prevailed and I came to terms with mine.

Children trying on their gas masks at school

Later in the war the Germans invented a new kind of gas and we all had

to have an extra metal filter fitted to our masks to cope with it. The filter

was green in colour and was fastened to the gas mask with a kind of tape.

Gasmasks came in a cardboard box with a string fastened so it could be

carried on your shoulder. During that first winter the box got damaged by

rain and snow as you had to take it wherever you went. My mum made a

cover for the box out of some old raincoat material. Then someone hit on

the brilliant idea of doing away with the box and making a waterproof

bag the same shape as the gas mask. This was not nearly as bulky as the

box and the idea soon caught on.

Some entrepreneur also thought up the idea of a siren suit (very much

like today’s “onesies”) which you pulled on over your pyjamas when the

sirens went.

The siren was the blower that had previously been used to call the miners

to work. It was used as short wailing blasts to warn of an air raid. When

the raid was over, it blasted out a continuous wail as an all-clear. The

colliery must have had direct contact with the authorities when there was

going to be a raid. They had a colour system which reported the possibility

of a local raid. Amber showed the German bombers to be over the UK

travelling north. Purple represented them getting nearer this area and red,

that an air raid was imminent. The pit would shut down and the workers

were sent home. I can remember my dad coming home at about 7.00pm on

such occasions, even though he was on “afternoons” and didn’t finish until

10.00pm. He would say, “We’ve got the purple. They are coming this

way”.

Some arrangements had got to be made to ensure the safety of civilians,

particularly those living in cities in the event of an air raid. Here in

Kiveton communal brick shelters were built at various places around the

village. People had the opportunity to buy a steel shelter for individual

use if they wished at a fixed price. In Sheffield, my mum’s brothers and

sisters were all given these steel shelters to put in their garden for them

and their families. If you hadn’t a garden, you were given a large steel

reinforced table to put in your house. I have a friend in Sheffield, whose

family had one of these tables as they had no garden, living in a terraced

house in the East end of the city. She still remembers how cramped they

were. On the night of the Sunday blitz, her dad settled them down under

the table before he went on fire-watching duty at Thomas W. Ward. She

never saw her dad again. He was killed as bombs rained down on that

part of Sheffield.

A burning building in Sheffield after a recent air-raid.

For my part, my dad got together with our neighbour, Fred Sampson,

and they decided to buy one of the steel shelters to put up in the garden.

They were called Anderson shelters and consisted of straight and curved

corrugated steel sheets. They came with instructions, but it was a case of

“Do it yourself” once it arrived. The first job was to dig a hole big

enough to build it in. It was decided to put it on our garden and digging

began. At first, it was quite exciting digging this big hole which had to be

6 feet deep. We kids soon tired of helping though and it was left to the

dads to complete it. The steel sheets were put into the hole and bolted

together and our shelter was complete. We kids then enjoyed digging the

soil back on top of the shelter and my dad covered it with nasturtium

seeds. In the summer it was a blaze with the reds, yellows and oranges of

the flowers and it brought a bit of brightness in those very bad times.

However there wasn’t much comfort inside the shelter. It was cold and

damp. Railway sleepers were put down on the soil to make the floor more

secure and an attempt was made at one time to put up a couple of bunk

beds. Inside the shelter was so damp that the bedding on these bunks soon

developed mould, so this idea was scrapped. Fred Sampson, our

neighbour rigged up some kind of heating in a biscuit tin and secured a

type of lantern for light. It was good that there was no health and safety in

1940 as these devices certainly wouldn’t have passed the test. They did

however serve the purpose and made the nights we spent in there more

acceptable. My dad made a couple of bench seats to sit on and we took

cushions in with us when the sirens went. Cushions were my Grandad’s

responsibility, and my mum picked up the bag which had a survival kit of

food in it. My dad’s job was in charge of the case which had the

important papers in it – identity cards, ration books, birth and marriage

certificates, bank books, etc. We were all took responsibility for our own

gasmasks.

At this time, we were all issued with identity cards which we had to

carry with us and show if we were challenged. Ration books were also

introduced. They came in various colours according to age or need. There

were buff coloured ones for adults, blue ones for children under sixteen,

and green ones for babies. I think there must have been another colour for

old people over seventy as my Grandad seemed to get the extras that I got

on my ration book.

Rationing itself was a complicated business, and took quite a bit of

understanding. Items like butter, sugar, tea, bacon, meat etc. were a set

amount weekly and you could register your ration book with a shop – a

grocer, butcher etc. for a long-term supply. My mum registered our

grocery rations at the Co-op and our meat and bacon at Jack Clarkson’s

Butcher. This meant we didn’t have to take our ration books to these shops

every week. However, some tinned items like tomatoes, beans and fruit

were on a points system; everyone had so many points and they could

choose what to spend them on. Sweets were also on rations and later in the

war we had clothing coupons, which rationed the amount of clothes we

bought. Children could have extra coupons for clothes as they grew and

mum got some extra for me because my feet were growing so fast.

A train full of evacuees arriving at their destination

There were ways of supplementing the rations if you made the effort. A

lady living on Church Street, Wales, kept chickens. From time to time she

would sell some of her eggs. Mum used to send me to her house to see if

she had any to spare. Dad knew a man at Thorpe who kept pigs and went

shooting rabbits. A visit to Thorpe on our bikes by dad and me meant

perhaps a rabbit stew or a bit of ham. I don’t know whether it was legal or

not.

Milk came either in bottles or in a jug from the horse and milk float man.

The cream was always on the top of the milk and my mum would pour it

off into a small octagonal bottle with a screw top. My Grandad would sit

and shake this and eventually we had a small extra pat of butter. This was

my Grandad’s speciality and a help towards our butter ration.

Autumn 1939 was comparatively quiet in Kiveton. When the sirens

went it was usually a false alarm. Things were very different in France

and our soldiers were struggling against the man called Hitler and his

armies. Children were evacuated from the south coast and London to

Kiveton and we local children, watched them arrive on trains at Kiveton

Bridge Station. Many of the evacuees came from good homes and were

upset to leave their mums and dads. There was a minority who had left

homes that were not so good and the Kiveton billeting officers had

difficulty in finding homes for them. My mum took in a little girl the

same age as me. She was called Pearl, but it was obvious she was not

well. Pearl became a member of my family over the next two or three

weeks. Mum put up a single bed in my bedroom for her and sorted out

some of my clothes for Pearl to wear. She settled in with us and was well

cared for, but her health did not improve. Eventually, mum took her to

our doctor who carried out some tests. Poor Pearl had TB. She was taken

to a sanatorium nearer her home and we lost contact with her. We had to

have tests to make sure we hadn’t caught it too.

In May, 1940, anther evacuation was taking place in France. Our

soldiers had been driven back to Dunkirk where they waited on the

beaches for small ships to return them to England. Through spring and

summer 1940 everyone prepared for an invasion by the armies of this

man called Hitler. When war was declared in 1939 the church bells

stopped ringing but it was decided they would ring again when needed, to

warn of an invasion by German soldiers. Luckily for us, they never had to

be used for this purpose. The Battle of Britain followed and every day on

the radio we heard how many German aircraft had been shot down by our

brave fighter pilots.

Autumn 1940 was the beginning of the bombing of cities known as the

“Blitz”. London was attacked night after night. My cousin Bill, who lived

with us as a teenager after the death of his parents, had left Kiveton pit

and gone to London to join the Metropolitan police. He met his wife

Lillian, and they were married in 1939. Their first baby was born one

night in the London Blitz. Their home was damaged and they had

nowhere to live. Bill’s first thought was “I will send them to Kiveton as

they will be safe there”.

The first my parents knew of this was a telegram boy at our door. The

telegram read “Lillian and baby coming to stay. 3.30pm train.” Mum and

Mrs. Sampson next door went to Kiveton Bridge station to meet the

3.30pm from King’s Cross, but they were not on the train. Imagine this

young mother with a 2-day old baby who had survived the bombing that

night, now on a train to a place and people she did not know. All they had

was what she and the baby were wearing. Where were they? Bill had said

“Get off at Kiveton Park”, and that is what she did; not Kiveton Bridge.

The station master at Kiveton Park station saw this young mother and

baby after the train had left. He contacted Mr. Holmes at Kiveton Bridge

ticket office and Lillian and baby were put on the next train to Kiveton

Bridge. They were very lost and lonely figures, but were soon taken into

our family and cared for. The stories of the Blitz were horrendous, but

Lillian and her baby, who was to be called Mary, were now safe with us.

Lillian had brought her own gas mask but she had not yet got one for

Mary. Mum got in touch with those in charge of gas masks and they

brought one to our house for the baby. It was like a big bag with a visor

across the front. Mary was put inside and drawstrings at the bottom were

pulled and tied. Once she was inside, someone had to pump continuously

to keep her alive. The lady who brought it showed Lillian and my parents

how to work it so they could take it in turns if the need arose. When we

went in the shelter, I helped Lilian, with Mary’s mask.

Kiveton Park station today

Bill came to see them as often as he could but with the bombing every

night, police leave was very limited. After a while it was obvious that

Hitler was not going to break the spirit of the Londoners by bombing

them every night so he turned his attention to other cities- Birmingham,

Manchester, Liverpool, Hull and eventually Sheffield. We had

experienced air raids but nothing on the scale of the blitz, until Thursday

night 12th December 1940.

It was about 7.00 o’clock and I was having my piano lesson from Mrs

Chambers (Eric’s mum). Dad had gone to work as usual about 1.30pm

for his afternoon shift. He came home from the pit because they had got

the ‘red’ signal at work. The sirens went and dad walked Mrs Chambers

home to Springfield. By the time he got back we were all in the shelter

and bombs were falling on Sheffield. Lilian was going through the

London blitz all over again! By the time we came out of the shelter the

night sky was crimson with the fires that were burning in Sheffield.

Friday was a terrible day but we kids in Kiveton went to school as

normal. Mum was worried about her brothers and sisters who all lived in

Sheffield. Through Friday and Saturday there was no way of mum

finding out about them. The few buses that were coming through to

Kiveton had windows blown out and were affected by bomb damage. On

Sunday morning mum couldn’t stand not knowing about her family any

longer and she and dad set off to try to get to Sheffield leaving me with

my Grandad and Lilian and baby.

The day went by and they didn’t come home. It started to go dark and I

can still remember my fears when the sirens went. The bombers were

coming to Sheffield again! It was Sunday night December 15th 1940. I

was terrified.

Lilian was organising Grandad and baby to go into the shelter but I

wouldn’t go. I put on my coat and ran down Limetree Avenue to the bus

stop. The bombs had started to fall on Sheffield again and my mum and

dad hadn’t come home. While I was stood at the bus stop a lady came up

to me and asked what I was doing there. I told her my story and she said

she would wait with me for a while; I never found out who she was. Then

as the guns were firing and the bombs dropping on Sheffield we could hear

something coming down Wales Road. It was a bus and my mum and dad

were on it. I cried and cried. They had walked miles in Sheffield and had

nothing to eat all day but mum’s brothers and sisters were all safe. They

had spent the night in their shelters at Crookes. Two had lost their homes

and others had no windows or doors but they were alive. What followed

was another terrible night of blitz.

Bill came up from London for Christmas. He was very anxious because

of the Sheffield bombing and decided to take Lilian and their baby back

home to London with him. He had been allocated another police flat so

they could set up home together again.

Young children contemplating the debris of their bombed home

When the German bombers travelled over the area they dropped strips

of silver foil like today’s baking foil in an attempt to affect the radar. After

a raid we kids would go over the meadows the following day and collect

the foil as a souvenir. There was a trend at this time to collect souvenirs

then swap any that you had extra for other items. When Bill came up from

London at Christmas he brought me one or two pieces of shrapnel that had

damaged their London home. Some kids in the village had got hold of

parts of a parachute and I swapped a piece of London shrapnel, for a 6

inch piece of parachute chord.

At times when the bombing was bad, the sky around Sheffield was full

of barrage balloons- big airship like monsters filled with some kind of gas

in the hope that the bombers would get caught up in them. I don’t know

what kind of material they were made of, but at times, some of them were

damaged. Then little pieces of barrage balloon material also became

souvenirs and so the craze went on.

One night after quite a bad bombing raid our water supply was cut

off after a reservoir had been damaged. Water lorries and stand pipes

were set up for our drinking and cooking water, but you had to get

washing and toilet water from wherever you could. My dad set up a

washing tub to collect rainwater from the fall pipe. There was a cottage

just off Storth Lane, on Manor Road that had a well in the front garden.

We went there with a tub in a wheelbarrow to collect washing water.

There was always a queue as word quickly spread that water was

available there.

Between Kiveton, Todwick and South Anston a decoy village was set

up to confuse the German bombers and make them think they were

already over Sheffield. My mum and dad had a friend on Chestnut

Avenue who worked there. I think he must have been sworn to secrecy

because I never learned anymore about it. However with the help of the

internet I have now researched Kiveton Decoy site C10 B. It was situated

on the fields between Kiveton Lane, Todwick and South Anston. It was a

QL bombing decoy called Kiveton SK 507 838. It was constructed as part

of the “C series” of civil decoys for Sheffield to deflect enemy bombing

from the Rotherham marshalling yard. It displayed lighting to simulate a

railway marshalling yard. There were other sites at Norton, Eckington,

Ulley, Bramley and Thorpe. The code name for these sites was “starfish”.

The sites for Sheffield were commissioned in November 1940 and were

all in place by January 1941.

The Ulley decoy consisted of fires which were lit when a bombing raid

on Sheffield was imminent. It was hoped that the enemy bombers, seeing

the fires, would believe that this was Sheffield burning and they would

jettison their bombs over rural country.

With all this in mind, Kiveton was very lucky not to have been badly

bombed in the air raids of World War 11. There was a horseshoe of

decoys around us. Had the bombers been persuaded that the decoys were

Sheffield and dropped their bombs on these sites, it would have been a

very different story for the colliery and the people of Kiveton.

The former Kiveton Park Colliery Offices in more peaceful times.

The New Year 1941 started and the bombing of cities continued. The

German submarines were attacking our convoys bringing food to Great

Britain and rationing was very tight, but life went on. It came to the time

to sit the exam for the Grammar school. I was still only 10 years old, but

somehow was included with the children sitting that year. We couldn’t

believe it when I passed and that summer I left Wales Junior School

forever.

So September 1941 saw me travelling on the train every day to

Woodhouse Grammar School. The trains were packed with servicemen

who were being moved around the country and more often than not we

had to stand. I don’t think mum and dad were too keen on me going as it

meant me being nearer Sheffield every day. The school had purpose built

air raid shelters and in the event of an air raid we ran across the tennis

courts to our allocated shelter. The teachers, particularly the men, were of

an older generation as the younger ones had gone off to war. They had to

wear their academic gowns everyday and it was obvious that those

belonging to Mr. Kelso and Mr Montieth had seen many years of wear.

Pupils leaving school at the age of 18 years went straight into the forces

and we had special assemblies when the sad news came through to say

that one of our old boys had been killed in action.

We did have dinners at school and Mrs Cleverley, the cook, did her

best with the food that was available. However very often the dinners left

a lot to be desired and consisted mainly of potatoes that would fill young

children.

The school adopted a ship which had originally been a fishing trawler,

but had been adapted into a minesweeper. The sailors were a hardy lot,

but needed lots of warm clothes as they swept the North Atlantic

looking for German mines which were sinking our shipping. We were

encouraged to take home batches of wool that had been treated with oil

for our mothers to knit socks, mittens, scarves and balaclavas. The wool

didn’t smell very nice and was difficult to knit, but my mum lost count

of the number of items she knitted for these brave sailors.

Various societies were set up at school to help the war effort. The Air

Training Corps was started to help train the lads who would eventually go

into the Air Force. There were groups of girls who went into the Sheffield

hospitals on Saturday mornings to help with tasks like making beds,

ironing bandages, making tea, etc. I was on the rota for the Royal

Hospital on West Street, while some girls went to the Royal Infirmary

and the City General. There were no evening groups in the winter

because of the blackout and events like the Christmas parties were

cancelled for the duration of the war.

We did miss school for several days at one time when the German

bombers dropped land mines on the pit top area. The trains that took us

to school couldn’t run as these mines didn’t explode and bomb disposal

men had to come to deal with them.

The morning after the blitz

As time went by the air raids became less frequent and not as heavy as

in the nights of the blitz. School for us went on as usual, although in

Sheffield my cousins had something called “Home Service”. They were

taught in small groups at different peoples’ houses. I think this was

because some of the schools had taken direct hits during the bombing and

were too badly damaged to be used.

My mum and dad listened to the news on the radio all the time (there

were no televisions then), but we didn’t always get the truth. Sometimes

the Government suppressed the horrid details of the blitz in various cities

and at times even made light of the bombing. This was called propaganda

and was an attempt to convince the Germans that they were not

succeeding in breaking the spirit of the British people. A man from

London called William Joyce had turned traitor on his country of birth;

he had left Britain for Germany at the start of the war and became known

on the radio as Lord Haw Haw. He broadcasted regularly on a program

from Germany always telling us how the Germans were winning the war.

My cousin Bill who was in the London Metropolitan Police, told us how

he had arrested William Joyce in London on several occasions in the run

up to the war. This man was known for standing on his soapbox in

various London parks trying to convert the people to his way of thinking

– “that the Germans were a superior race and we should all be like them”.

The war years dragged on and at times it seemed to us that the

situation was stalemate. We did not know what was going on behind

the scenes with preparation for an invasion of Europe by British forces.

Then at school one day, my teacher sent me with a note to the

Headmaster, Mr Evans. The corridor where he had his office was

‘hallowed ground’. Pupils were only allowed there if they had been

sent by a member of staff. I knocked on his door and he shouted “come

in”. As I went to open the door, his secretary, who also occupied an

office on the corridor, burst past me, and entered Mr Evans’ room in

front of me. “Our forces have landed in Normandy. The second front

has started” she screamed. I dropped the note on Mr Evans’ desk and

left them excitedly talking about the news, then hurried back to tell my

teacher. She told the class about what had happened and talked to us

about what a massive operation it would be. Later that day we had an

assembly to inform the pupils about the news and to say prayers for

our brave soldiers, sailors and airmen.

Now the invasion of Europe had started our forces needed more and

more ammunition, guns, shells and equipment. Sheffield steel works

were working at full capacity to help the war effort and more and more

women found themselves working in factories. The main contribution

to the war from Kiveton was coal from the pit to fuel the furnaces in

the steel works. However three times a day, seven days a week, a

group of young women could be seen opposite Kiveton cinema waiting

for a bus. There was not a lot of information about where they were

going, but they were obviously doing work of national importance

somewhere. They all had their hair tied up in turbans and wore heavy

footwear. Unknown to many in the village, they were going to a place

called Ranskill near Retford. At Ranskill there was a massive

munitions factory operated mainly by women. It was very hard and

dangerous work. The factory site covered over 100 acres, mostly

underground and about 4000 people were employed there. They were

making cordite, used for explosives in bombs and shells. Not only were

these women at risk at any time from a massive explosion, but the

cordite affected their health. After six months working there some of

the women were diagnosed with cordite poisoning. Their skins turned

yellow and they had to leave Ranskill munitions factory forever. Some

of these women were from Kiveton Park and Wales and they paid a

large personal price for their contribution to the war effort.

After D.Day, war in Europe waged on. Everyday on the radio we had

news about various battles. Allied forces had taken a city here and a

strategical bridge there. British cities had a respite from the blitz and

Sheffield began to adopt an air of normality again.

However that man called Hitler was not finished. He had two aces up

his sleeve which could have proved a very different end to the war.

They were the V1 flying bomb – “doodlebug” and the V2 unmanned

rocket which could be fired from the North French coast towards

England - he had a massive stock pile of these weapons. The firing

platforms were mobile so it was impossible to destroy them all by

British bombers. The range of the V1 was 160 miles and they flew at

400 mph. No one knew where they would land but they were aimed

towards London and fell out of the sky as soon as the engine stopped.

Some went off course and there were reports of them reaching more

northern areas and causing damage and casualties there.

At this time my cousin Bill from London had been called up and was

with the forces fighting the Japanese in Burma. This left Lilian and

Mary on their own in London. Lilian wrote to us saying how she feared

these flying bombs because no one knew where they would land and

their home was in great danger for a second time. My mum wrote back

to say they were welcome to come and stay with us again as they had

done in the 1940 blitz.

The problem was that Mary was growing up now and had started

school in London. Lilian didn’t want to take her away from all her

friends so she decided to stay for the time being. If the doodlebug

attacks got any worse they would come back to Kiveton anyway and

Mary would have to go to school here.

The V2 rocket was an even bigger problem. It had a much longer

range and could be fired at targets further north. It carried a larger

bomb load of high explosives and there was no warning of where it

would land. It could be fired day or night so we were even more afraid

of these rocket attacks than the nights of the blitz.

The allied forces in France continued to push Hitler’s armies back

across Europe. The mood here was very positive as we all looked

forward to the end of the war. However towards the end of 1944 our

mood changed as the news on the radio told of a German offensive.

Hitler’s armies were attacking and the Battle of the Bulge followed.

The news on the radio was black again as our forces lost much, hard

fought for, ground. Would there be another Dunkirk? It was not to be!

By the middle of January 1945 our forces had repulsed this attack and

were back to the original lines. We were upbeat again and beginning to

see a light at the end of a five year tunnel, with every day taking us

nearer to victory.

Through March and April we were expecting the end to come almost

any day as our forces pushed on relentlessly through Europe. Then at

the beginning of May it was obvious it would only be a matter of days

before Victory. On May 8th it was all over. Everything signed and

sealed unconditionally.

I think the first announcement was a bit of an anti-climax as we had

expected it for so long. At school we were given two days holiday.

Then it all became reality. Blackouts were taken down and burnt, gas

masks destroyed, street parties arranged, crowds gathered in the streets

and there was singing and dancing. On the estate where I lived parties

were arranged with mums scraping together, what they could find, to

make cakes and party food. Trestle tables were put up in the middle of

the road (no traffic in those days or need to close the road) and we

children enjoyed a wonderful tea. In the evening there was a dance on

Chestnut Avenue, outside the house of Mr and Mrs Tom Burke. The

houses round about put on all the possible lights and there was music

for dancing until 1.00a.m.

Kiveton Park today, through the cast iron sculpture of Duke, the pit

pony at Kiveton Community Woodland on the reclaimed site of the old

Kiveton Park Colliery

My family’s joy of victory in Europe was a little tempered because

our Bill was still out in Burma fighting the Japanese and VJ day did

not come until August. However the relief felt by everyone was almost

tangible.

No more air raids, no more blackouts, no more gas masks, no more

families getting the news that their loved ones had been killed in

Europe, shelters to be dug up and disposed of and possibly soon more

food with the end of rationing.

Hopefully peace for ever!

Betty Quinton

Betty was born into the Blackwell mining family on 12th February 1931

and grew up in Kiveton Park at a time when children could play and roam

at will. She has lived in the village all her life, attending Wales Primary

School until she was 10 years old and then Woodhouse Grammar School.

She then worked as an Office Manager in a cutlery firm in Sheffield

before getting married. Between 1976 and 1993, when her daughters were

growing up she worked as a librarian at Wales High School until she

retired.

She has been an active founder member of Kiveton Park and Wales

History Society, since its inception in 2004 and enjoys all the research and

organisation that is involved.