Ww2 Through the Eyes of a Child: A Little Boy’S Untold Story

By Patrick J. Cullen

This is the true story of a little child called Patrick, who was one of five little brothers that came through, what seemed like a strange world full of bombs dropping, causing big fires and total destruction on a massive scale, every morning I would wake up to see new Wendy houses to play in not realizing someone lived there the day before, and the houses were still burning it was nice and warm, food was so scarce it was rationed so much so we had a plot of land where the family tried to grow our own food, sweets and fruit I did not see until I was 14yrs old, as for toys well you just made your own if you could, what the war failed to do was any damage to Manchester folks wicked sense of humour, thats why to me they will always be the salt of the earth and I should know I am one of them.
There is an old saying, you can take the child out of Manchester, but you will never take Manchester out of the child.
The best way to give you an understanding about the war is this, if you can imagine that almost every single nation on this planet was involved in the fighting for 6 long years, with the exception of Spain Switzerland & Sweden who were neutral.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Nov 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477247242

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© 2009, 2012 by Patrick J. Cullen. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 11/20/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-4723-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-4724-2 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE: THE BEGINNING

CHAPTER TWO

WARTS AND ALL

CHAPTER THREE:

THE YEARS AFTER THE WAR

PROLOGUE

This is the true story of a little child called Patrick, who was one of five little brothers that came through, what seemed like a strange world full of bombs dropping, causing big fires and total destruction on a massive scale, every morning I would wake up to see new Wendy houses to play in not realising someone lived there the day before, and the houses were still burning it was nice and warm, food was so scarce it was rationed so much so we had a plot of land where the family tried to grow our own food, sweets and fruit I did not see until I was 14yrs old, as for toy’s well you just made your own if you could, what the war failed to do was any damage to Manchester folks wicked sense of humour, that’s why to me they will always be the salt of the earth and I should know I am one of them.

There is an old saying, you can take the child out of Manchester, but you will never take Manchester out of the child.

The best way to give you an understanding about the war is this, if you can imagine that almost every single nation on this planet was involved in the fighting for 6 long years, with the exception of Spain Switzerland & Sweden who were neutral.

INDEX

CHAPTER 1. THE BEGINNING

This is written in ODE form The reason being teachers and interactors can and do adapt to the written word so children and students will be able to laugh or cry a little if, they can read between the lines and look for the squalor, which was a way of life for me.

CHAPTER 2. WARTS AND ALL

This tells everything holds no punches tells the truth, the splitting up of the family in my case and why.

CHAPTER 3. THE YEARS AFTER THE WAR

Back to the ode form with a rich story to tell, that ended up with a self educated standard way beyond everyone else’s belief, but not mine.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

To all those brave people who never came back, bless you I can only sit here and tell my story because of your efforts and sacrifice.

I would also like to thank the Manchester Archives and Local Studies for the contribution of their images

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World War II

Through

The

Eyes

Of

A child

A

TIME

OF

MANS

WORST

INHUMANITY

TO

MAN

CHAPTER ONE: THE BEGINNING

MANCHESTER’S HARPURHEY

1939-1949

THE PASSING OF MY CHILDHOOD TIME

HARPURHEY, MY CHILDHOOD HOME,

COBBLED STREETS I ONCE DID ROAM,

WERNETH STREET HOMES SHOW CHINKS OF LIGHT,

FROM COAL FIRE’S ON A WINTERS NIGHT.

ONLY ONE TAP WITH WATER SO COLD,

NO BATH INSIDE THIS HOUSE SO OLD,

CARBOLIC SOAP AND DONKEY STONES,

OUTSIDE TOILET WHERE YOU FREEZE YOU’RE BONES,

A TOILET SEAT COVERED IN ICE,

TO VISIT THIS PLACE WAS NOT VERY NICE,

STEAMING KETTLE SHINING BLACK,

WASHING HANGING FROM A RACK.

A KNOCKER- UP FOR EARLY CALL’S

BED BUGS ON THE BEDROOM WALLS,

FOOTPRINTS IN THE DRIPPING PAN,

I’LL KILL THOSE BLOODY MICE IF I CAN,

THE CHIMNEY SWEEP WHO CLEANED THE STACK,

A DIRTY FACE FROM NUTTY SLACK.

IN THE WASHHOUSE TOIL WAS HARD,

A WRINGING MACHINE IN THE OLD BACK YARD,

ZEBO BLACKLED SHINES THE GRATE,

THAT’S ONE JOB I REALLY DID HATE.

GERMANS FLYING OVERHEAD,

DROPPING EVIL LOADS THEY HAD TO SHED,

BOMBS CAME DOWN WITH A THUD,

I REMEMBER A HOUSE OVER THERE ONCE STOOD,

I’M ONLY LITTLE BUT I WOULD HELP IF I COULD,

WIRELESS ACCUMULATERS YOU MUST KEEP CLEAN,

SO YOU CAN HEAR THE WORKERS PLAYTIME SCENE.

GERMAN BOMBERS FLYING EVER SO SLOW,

HOW OUR GUNNERS MISSED I WILL NEVER KNOW,

ONE FLYING ROOFTOP LEVEL DOWN OLDHAM ROAD,

A BIG THUD AND A WOOSHING SOUND,

NOT PICCADILLY AGAIN BLIMY,

AS A LITTLE BOY WHO HAD NO FEAR,

A VOICE SHOUTING PADDY BLOODY GET DOWN HERE,

AIR RAID SHELTER AT THE TOP OF THE HILL,

TURKEY LANE WORK’S DOWN THE HILL.

HORSEMEAT OR A DRIPPING BUTTY,

COWSHEART OR TRIPE IF YOU ARE LUCKY,

LUXURIES WE NEVER DID SEE,

INKERMAN STREET SCRAP YARD,

WAS THE PLACE FOR ME,

WHERE LEAD AND BRASS WAS TAKEN FOR A FEE,

WITH ALL THE BOMBING YOU COULD GO ON A SPREE.

TO MAY’S PAWN SHOP WENT THIS WEEKS WASH,

SOLD COAL AND BUNDLES OF WOOD FOR DOSH,

A RAT! TAT! TAT! UPON THE DOOR,

THAT’S THE RENT PAID FOR ONE WEEK MORE.

SCHOOLTIME WHEN THINGS WERE BAD,

FORGET SCHOOL JUST WENT FOR A FAG,

SATURDAY MORNING MATINEE,

THE PRINCESS CINEMA WAS THE PLACE TO BE,

BECAUSE THROUGH THE SIDE DOOR,

YOU COULD SNEAK IN FOR FREE.

IN QUEENS PARK THE BOWLING GREEN,

USED TO WATCH WITHOUT BEING SEEN,

ON WET COLD DAY’S I WOULD DELIVER THE MILK,

NO TIME FOR COLLIN’S FAIR ON THE OLD RED REC,

NO MONEY TO SPARE O’H WHAT THE HEC.

KITTY NEXT DOOR AND DOREEN TANNER,

THE ORMOND FAMILY

AND THE OLD MAN OF THE MANNER,

MY AUNTY ALEX WHAT MEMORIES BRING,

THE CULLEN BROTHERS DOING THERE THINGS,

WITH ‘MA’ TAYLOR PULLING ALL THE STRINGS,

FOREVER WE WILL WALK THE HARPURHEY SCENE.

FLOCK BEDS AND WIRE SPRINGS,

FLEA’S BUGS AND ALL SORTS OF THINGS,

PATCHWORK PANT’S AND GAS RINGS,

A DOLLY BLUE STUCK IN A JAR,

THE RATTLE OF TRAMS AND THE SMELL OF TAR.

GAS LAMPS AND THE OLD BLACK BROOK RIVER,

THE SMELLS REALLY DID MAKE YOU SHIVER,

PEGGY TUBS AND SCRUBBING BOARDS,

FLAT IRON AND CURLING TONGS,

A TOASTING FORK WITH LONG SHARP PRONG’S.

SOME MEMORIES ARE GROWING VAGUE,

BUT I STILL REMEMBER THE SAD OLD DAYS,

THE REGEANT AND ASTOR CINEMA’S,

{KNOWN AS THE LAUGH AND SCRATCH}

THE PLAYHOUSE, OSBOURNE AND EMPIRE CINEMA’S

ON OLDHAM ROAD, ONCE BEEN YOU NEVER WENT BACK.

CONRAN STREET MARKET AND ALL THAT BANTER,

QUEEN’S PARK HIP’ AND ALL THOSE PANTA’S,

ONE PENNORTH OF CHIPS AND A PIECE OF COD,

A VOICE I HEAR AROUND THE BEND,

KNIVES TO SHARPEN SCISSORS TO MEND.

SO QUICKLY GO THE PASSING YEARS,

THE MEMORIES SOMETIMES BRING US TEARS,

BUT I TRY TO RECALL THE GOOD TIMES TO,

THERE WAS NOT MANY JUST ONE OR TWO.

I KNOW WHAT IS WRITTEN IS REALLY TRUE,

BECAUSE I WAS JUST ONE OF FIVE LITTLE

BROTHERS WHO MANAGED TO GET THROUGH,

PERHAPS THIS IS A MEMORY ‘JOLT’ FOR YOU.

A CONCLUSION OF THE TRUTH

DURING THE EARLY YEARS THE CULLEN BOY’S AGES WERE

Everything was geared