Winter and war in the 40s

The terrible snow. January 1940 it started. Friday night. An' it carried on snowin' all weekend an' it never stopped. That Friday, a friend had come home with me from the mill, an' she had t' stop at our house -- snow were so thick, we couldn't open the door.

An' the snow never properly went away till May. It fell and fell till it were higher than your head an' higher than your downstairs windows, an' out in the streets they dug great big trenches like white valleys through the snow, an' you'd have t' walk through them t' go t' work an' t' the shops.

At the mill, we were weaving fabric for parachutes an' air-balloons, an' I'd be on the night shift an' on me way to work, an' the sky would be lighting up in the dark Manchester bein' bombed in the distance summat terrible.

Bolton didn't catch it half so bad, but y' used t' hate it when the planes went over. You'd hear the big bangs, an' you'd feel the ground shakin'. An' once there were a direct hit, just three streets away from our house.

But the worst thing for me was the cold. It were so cold the pipes burst at our house, so we had no water then. An' we had no coal neether, so we had no fire. I used go to bed early 'cos it were the only place I could keep warm.

I were livin' with me Gran then, an' I'd lie in bed, hearin' her callin' me t' get up, 'cos the planes were comin' over again, an' we needed t' run off t' the air-raid shelter. We'd have to scuttle over in the cold t' me auntie's, an' sit in her shelter, an' I'd be shiverin' there an' all, 'cos me auntie's shelter were six inches deep in water.

An' some nights, I'd be lyin' in me bed, all cosy and warm, an' I'd hear me Gran callin 'Dorothy, Dorothy, love' - an' I'd be thinkin', 'Oh heck, I'd rather die here in comfort in me warm bed than die in misery over at me auntie's, with cold water sloppin' round me ankles.'

But I always got up. You'd hear the planes comin' over in the dark. An' y' just had t' get up, an' get on with it, an' put up with it all.