STREETLY,
STAFFORDSHIRE
MEMORIES
(1936 - 1961)
...
FROM A SMALL
BOY'S "DIARY"
...
FRIDAY 17th
AUGUST 1945
MORE CELEBRATION
... and CHEERIO!
The Beeson VJ
Day Party and a
Final Adventure
by Chris Myers
|
Friday, August
17th 1945
Well, that was a
REAL party! Never been to
anything like it before. It
was in the open air, for a
start. And in an orchard!
Any children's party I have
ever been to before has been
in a hall - like the Home
Guard Christmas parties - or
in somebody's home where if
you are lucky and the
weather is OK you can
sometimes go out and play in
their garden, before tea.
Football and cricket, provided you are
careful with the flower
borders. Or tick, or Hide
and Seek. But all this was
very, very different.
I'll tell you where it
was. The very first
photograph
I showed you of the cottage
was taken from down the
lane. This one is as
well. It's not very
clear but you can see we
are standing by a
gateway on the
opposite side of the lane.
Our bedroom window is
wide open. And you can just about see the
gate into the field and
orchard, on the right-hand
edge of the picture. That's
if you look carefully
enough.
If
you go through that gate it
leads into a field and
orchard, behind all the
cottage gardens. And that's
where the party happened.
There was a long table
with chairs down each side.
I know they sometimes say in
books that a table is
groaning with food. I've
never heard a table groan.
And I didn't hear this one,
either. But if it could have
groaned, it probably would!
It was absolutely loaded
with food. Everything.
Sandwiches of cucumber and
crab and cheese and tomato
and jam. Cakes. Jam tarts.
Scones with raspberry jam
and Devonshire cream.
Lemonade. We sat down on the
chairs and tucked in. And
ate and ate. The grown-ups
stood around and watched us.
They looked just as pleased
and happy as we were. And
yet they weren't eating,
themselves. Grown-ups are
funny people.
We did
our very best but in the end
we were just too full to eat
any more. We were happy to
hand the rest of the grub
over to the local wasps
which were getting busier
and busier. Then the
grown-ups started to
organise games for us. I'll
just tell you about one
because I have never played
a game like it before. The
idea was that you sat on one
of the chairs which were
arranged in a long line, you
were given a very dry cream
cracker and were told that
once you had chewed and
swallowed it completely, you
had to run to the hedge at
the far end of the orchard
and then run back again to a
finishing line. Ready, get
set, go! We were so full
already but we munched and
munched. There came a point
when I decided that I had,
just about, followed the
rules enough and I got
up, ran as fast as I could
to the far end and back
again. Across the line. A
clear winner.
Congratulations all round. I
was very pleased. I don't
often win running races. In
fact, never.
But then, to my great
shock, one of my fellow
competitors, who I had
soundly beaten, stood in
front of one of the
grown-ups judging the race,
pointed at me and shouted:
"He's still chewing!"
I should have been
insulted by this. Very rude
and rotten sportsmanship,
really. It's the sort of
thing which makes grown-ups
usually say: "Pick yourself
up, forget your
disappointment, be a good
sport and just get on with
it". But I wasn't cross with
him, to be honest. It was
more that I was feeling a
bit uncomfortable. I could
feel a few bits still in my
mouth and I was having
difficulty in stopping
myself dealing
with them. They were only
very tiny bits, really. I
put on a blank expression
and awaited events.
But whether or not the lad's
sportsmanship was not very
good, what's certain was
that his judgement was
terrible. The person he had
chosen to make his complaint
to was - my dad. I don't
know what was said but it
was probably "be a good
sport and just get on with
it". He seemed willing to do
that. A bit reluctantly,
perhaps. But then he and the
rest of us got on with the
next game. While I got rid
of the final bits of cream
cracker. It didn't take me
too long to stop feeling a
tiny bit guilty about it.
And it certainly didn't
spoil the rest of the party
for me. You get over these
things.
And so, after
a few more games and
grabbing a final slab of
cake, we helped this tiny
village bring its
celebrations to an end. The
second day of the V-J Day
holiday is now just about
over and, with it, the
Second World War. And, for
me, History is now over, as
well. Nothing REALLY
important is ever going to
happen again, probably for
as long as I live.
There is a future, of
course, but it will be
nothing like the times we
have lived through - and
especially our parents and
aunts and uncles and
grandparents. And our elder
brothers and sisters, if we
have them. It's been much
harder for them than for me.
At the moment, the future
for me is another day's
holiday and then, early
tomorrow morning, back into
the car, the long, long
drive north, back towards
Birmingham, a couple of
weeks more school holiday
and, after all that, back to school for
all the usual stuff, day in,
day out. The same for Dad
and Mum, I suppose. It's
enough to make you feel a
bit flat and fed up.
But then, when I think about
it, I've got friends at
home. It will be nice to see
my sister again. My brother
might be coming home on
leave and I haven't seen him
for nearly two-and-a-half
years, ever since we waved
him good-bye as he walked
down our front drive in
Streetly in March 1943 (on
his way to
North Africa
although we didn't know it
then - and neither did he). I've got toys and
books and a bike and other
stuff at home which I shall
enjoy again as well. The
journey back won't be as
exciting as the one we did
to get here. But it will
still be very interesting
and I am looking forward to
it. And Dad and Mum say they
want to come back here next
summer. Yippee!
AND I
still have nearly another full day
here. I think
Mary will be
taking me on her errand this
afternoon. We'll set out over
the fields with her carrying
a wicker basket covered in a
cloth. It's probably full of
food for her grannie and
grandpa. Pastry her mother
has baked in their
wood-fired oven, vegetables from
the garden. We'll go through
farm gates and over stiles,
on dusty paths down the side
of cornfields, over pastures
full of cows. And perhaps,
just once, up a cart track
which is hardly ever used.
Where the earth hedges on
each side of it stretch
right up above our heads and
then the trees on top join
up over us so that we are
walking up a dark, green
tunnel. Just a few spots of
sunlight will shine through
the leaves to light it up,
here and there.
It's dark and cool. And then finally we'll
emerge into the sunshine,
right in the middle of
nowhere. The old people will
come out of their
cottage to greet us, so glad
to see us, and usher us
into the cool of their
home.
There'll be a glass of
lemonade and a slice of cake
at their kitchen table for
each of us. And
laughter and chat.
 Even
though History HAS
finished - which it
certainly has - and we
now have to look forward
to what is to come,
perhaps it will still be
interesting and fun.
Even if whatever happens
won't be really
important any more.
So, as we all see
The Future starting now,
at this very moment, on
a sunny day in South
Devon and everywhere
else, I'll just say to
you, from my
nine-year-old self:
........
CHEERIO, EVERYONE, AND
THE BEST OF LUCK!
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
images shown on this page are a
part.
This family
and local history
page is hosted by
- The Home Guard in Great Britain, 1940-1944
-
www.staffshomeguard.co.uk
All
text and images are, unless otherwise stated, © The
Myers Family 2025
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