Remember Rationing

My name is Betty Jones, and I was about 7 years old when war broke out. It was June 3^rd 1938, when I first joined girl scouts in Canada. Of course, the Second World War hasn’t occurred yet, so being a part of Girl Scouts was a fun way for me to make new friends. We would meet up once or twice a week and talk for countless hours. On certain occasions, we would sell cookies to earn money for the club. However, when the war broke out, everything changed. I remember mama telling me “everything will be alright”, until my papa, Uncle Benny and my brother, John left for war. I still remember John’s last words to me “take care of mama, and everything will be alright”. Surely, he was wrong. I really had no idea why everything has suddenly changed, until mama told me that the government wanted to save objects, food, etc for the soldiers who were fighting. This was called rationing. We had to limit use of imported food and to free up supplies for military and their allies. It was 1942 when mama first received a ration book and suddenly, our food supplies decreased! I could only imagine how painful it was for mama to tell me we had to live on a box of butter for the next 2 weeks! I was starving, and it was heart-breaking for mama to see her little girl become skinnier and skinnier. We only had oranges and bananas once or twice a year, and candy was definitely not an option. Even the girl scouts could no longer sell cookies. Instead, we sold calendars to our neighbors. Rationing slowly caused everyone to worry and be depressed about Canadian supplies. Everyone was hungry, angry, and most importantly, worried.

Remembering People that I Helped

Everyone remembered me as “the Little Betty Helper Jones”. I was all over the place. Mama had to work in a factory during the day, so I would help clean up and prepare for dinner during the night. There wasn’t much to do, cleaning supplies were limited and so were food supplies, so during the day I would walk around and see if our neighbors were doing okay. I quit school at the age of 7 because mama thought it was too dangerous. She didn’t want me to loose my childhood and wanted me to be safe. Everyone was wearing gas masks everywhere they go; it was as if walking in and out of home was like walking into a death trap. Baker David taught me to quickly fall flat on the floor or run to the nearest home. Baker David was a nice, old man. His son went into war, so I helped out sometimes, at the same time, earning mamma and I some free bread or money. He couldn’t do much, so I helped him stacked boxes and make some dough. I tried my best to cheer him up, but when I realized that I may not get to see my papa, brother or Uncle Benny again, there wasn’t much positivism in me. I used to turn to my teacher, Ms. Lauren for encouragement, but even she was miserable on the inside. Ms. Lauren was my old teacher, but since her brother left for war, she has been a gloomy mess. She tries very hard to stay as positive as possible, but I can always see her cry in the corner of the street, asking why this is happening. I would occasionally help clean up around her house, because she’s too devastated about what has happened. Many boys older than me left as well. I don’t know exactly where they went, but mama said they were helping out. It wasn’t until I was 12 years old, when I realized that it was my turn to take part in a national registration for war service. As I saw the young men leave, many mothers were crying. Luckily, I didn’t have to leave mama. I stayed and taught younger kids, kids who were 5 or 6, how to use gas masks. During World War 2, I can only describe everyone under three simple words: worried, angry, sad. Throughout this time, it made me realize that no one was safe. At any time, a bomb could possibly give us a surprise attack.

Newspapers & Newsreels

I had such a great responsibility in those days, back at the paper. As World War II raged on overseas, it was my articles that linked the horror in Europe to the people waiting in fear back in Canada. It was my job to keep them informed and to keep them ready, and it was my job to give the boys fighting overseas a voice as well. Sometimes, I was also given the job of interviewing people back at home, writing articles about how the war had influenced the homefront. The years of WWII were my most hardworking yet, and I still remember the mixed feelings of joy and sadness as I gave the nation the news I heard first.

The papers were often sources of sorrow and devastation during those long, hard years. Sometimes, it seemed as though a Europe conquered by Hitler truly was looming in the future. Stories leaped off the pages, screaming words like “war” and “invasion”... stories that I had wrote. The government urged us to stay supportive of the war in our material, and we tried our best to be compliant to avoid any trouble. It was often difficult to stay neutral when stories of German advancement were what came to our ears. The stories from our battle reporters were by far the most intense, though. These men had been sent overseas straight to the action, and it was their responsibility to give Canadians a closer look at the war. They were placed in danger, but they were placed in a hotspot of information. My best friend George was one of them. When I talk to him about it nowadays, he says he still remembers the terror and disgust he felt, looking around at the aftermath of the wars.

Another source of information back then was the newsreels. There was one of those newsreel theatres right by my house. The first time I saw one, it was almost shocking to me, seeing scenes from overseas with my own eyes. A shot from one of these newsreels that stays in my head to this very day is a shot of Canadian soldiers getting ready to go to Hong Kong. It was great seeing these young men, so strong and so confident, ready to risk their lives for their country. It was just as sad to learn from another newsreel about their defeat by the Japanese.



Did you read the paper back then? Did you see the newsreels? How did you feel about them?

Let me know in the comments!

Remembering D-Day

Back then, it was all I could ever think about- getting the latest scoop on the hottest news, and faster than any other reporter out there. It was all any bright young news reporter out there could ever think about. Stories came in by the dozen most days, especially to The Star, which was the paper I was working for at the time. It was my job to sift through the tips and hold on to the keepers. I still remember the rush I got trying to get my story done first, my editor breathing down my neck every second that went by. The hotter the story, the louder my editor would yell. I was so sure I had survived the worst, but when D-Day arrived, everything prior was just slow motion.

We had to get the message out. We had to let the people know! It was our responsibility to take all that information that we knew and get it hot off the presses immediately. In the first moments when I heard about D-Day, an overwhelming sense of pride came rushing through my head. Our boys had finally taken action! We were fighting back, and we were fighting strong. However, these precious moments and cheers were cut short by the call of our jobs. I remember feverishly tapping at my typewriter, reading tips from our overseas reporters, quoting King George VI’s words as he addressed the world over the radio. All around me was the sound of panic, fingers clicking away at typewriters at twice the regular rate.

“At this moment not one of us is too busy to play a role in a worldwide vigil of prayer.” – King George VI

Not one of us, except for the reporters. Our time to pray came at the first cry of "Extra, extra! Read all about it!"

How did you react on D-Day? How did you find out about it? Were you as panicked as I was?

Let me know in the comments!

Remembering the people I met

When I first stepped down on Canadian land, I had an impression that Halifax was all grey rock and swirling snow. A cold, cold place. However, to my relief, the people were far from that. Warm, friendly and welcoming. I felt like… part of a family. At first, I walked around with new friends that I’ve made on the journey, but soon, ALL the women of Halifax were our friends. All of them were very nice, and we soon had our tea and crumpet parties with them as well. It wasn’t just the women, it was EVERYONE. The men were so helpful. It reminds me of what days back in Britain felt like (which is just a few days ago, but it felt like a looong time).

First, we all started out as strangers, and polite acquaintances. But in less than a span of 1 day, I felt like the whole entire city was friends with me.

So, have you ever been to a new place, or meeting new neighbours? How was it for you?

Remembering friends I made and lost

I remember those years before I met William Lyster (a brave Canadian sergeant and now my husband), when I was still in Britain. I think I was only about 20 years old at the time I met him. But before that, I was just a normal, average, young woman. I hung out with my girlfriends and we had occasional outings to have tea and crumpet parties. Oh gosh, the time we had together! I still remember the times we had during those parties, eating, laughing and gossiping. Do I miss those days! But after I married Bill, I started to spend more time with him. But my friends and I still kept in touch regularly. However, our outings did become less frequent, but when we did… by golly! And by the time I was pregnant with my first baby, Terry, my girlfriends had to come and visit me. Near the end of the war, Bill had to return back to Canada, and I was left in England with little Terry.

In early 1946, I was waiting with 18-month-old Terry for our ride to Canada. Bill was in the hospital at the time in Calgary because of wounds he suffered before the war ended. I said my goodbyes to all my friends. There were tears and sadness, but we promised to write to each other. Terry and I sailed the Mauretania from Liverpool with a group of nearly 1000 Canadian war brides. There, I met many other women, who were just like me! It felt great to be with others who were like me. I also met Maida who described herself as “back door Canadian war bride”, referring to being at first a Newfoundlander. Several days later, we reached Halifax, and into the arms of my husband.

After a while, a sort of ‘war bride clubs’ was formed for us women. It provided us with welcome and relief. They taught us French or English, cooking and Canadian culture, and provided an opportunity for us all to gather. I made many long-lasting friendships here, including Melynda. However, taking care of our children and husbands became our first priority and these clubs faded into the past. But in the 1970s, there was a renewed interest in getting together again. Gloria Brock established the foundations now known as the War Brides Clubs and Provincial War Brides Associations.

So do you remember any old friends that you’ve lost? Any new friends made?

PS – Loooong post.

what a peice of paper can do..

GUYS, its been way too long!



So my grandbaby Tyler (on the left) was running for vice president for student council at his high school and was asking me to help him make posters. And boy did that bring back memories!



I remember when our streets and post boards in town use to be filled with propaganda! Remember we all got sucked into the marketing scheme and bought all those useless savings bonds? I remembered my wife got so worked up about the Nazi’s she was like “I’m going to across the ocean and smack those no good Nazi’s” and I’m always the one trying to calm her down and trying to tell her that we are not solider that just go and fight and die, we are the soldiers of the land. We are those who give those fit enough to go across the ocean substance, food and clothing. She should have been proud of our little farm though, we just go out of a drought and was doing well going back into the agricultural business. I was just happy to be able to farm the land again. Oh do I love the earth . So guys, what do you remember about the propaganda?