The memoirs of Cissie Ewen

War years

Jack starts school

I remember Jack’s first day at school; he came home at playtime, thinking it was finished for the day, but was quite happy to go back. It was when he started school that I got to know Peggy Carr, whose son David started school on the same day as Jack, and Mrs Little whose girl Ivy also started then. They both lived at Jesmond Dene at the bottom of our street. Peggy’s husband had been Head Gardener before having to go to the war, and Mrs Little’s father was in charge of the Dene, while Mr Carr was away; they had a little cottage in the Dene. We got friendly through the children and used to have some nice outings together, more so with Mrs Carr and David. Jack liked to go down to the Carr’s house, not always to play. According to Mrs Carr, sometimes he was quite happy sitting reading their books while the other children were playing outside.

Peggy’s little girl used to go with a group of children and older people doing Scottish Country Dancing for the children at St Vincent de Paul Orphanage. I, once or twice went selling flags or collecting with others in the centre of Newcastle for the orphanage. The Catholic parishes competed to see who could raise the most money; one year I collected the second highest amount in our parish. I recall one time in particular. I had taken Jack to stay overnight at Chirton with Mam and Maggie so I was able to have a very early start in the morning and there were queues of people waiting for shops to open for sales of stockings etc., so I started going the lengths of the queues and before lunch had my first tin full.

It was quite an experience, the people one met. One old man started giving me the works, saying he wouldn’t help anybody; no-one had helped him. People passing must have wondered what was happening with him raising his angry voice. Three or four American soldiers came along and one of them was very keen to take me out sometime; all very amusing and helped to pass the time.

Miss Robertson once brought home two young French girls, sisters who were refugees; to try to teach them to read and speak English, so that she might be able to find them work. The younger of the two could speak a little broken English; the other could read some but not speak it.

Mrs Green who lived opposite us in Grosvenor Road, and who went to our church would often walk back home with Jack and me after Mass. She told me she had a son, who like herself was a convert to the Catholic Church. He had joined the Order of St John of God, a French Order, and at the beginning of the War, had been interned after being dragged through the streets and experiencing other bad treatment by the Germans. In 1944, he escaped and the Red Cross got him back to England. He was in a bad way; very under-nourished, pale, thin and suffering with his nerves. After being home for a few months and getting well again, he went to the Order’s place in Scorton where the Brothers had a big house and hospital. It was a lovely little village out in the country, miles from anywhere.