Hitler and my Swiss roll miss

WHEN I was a nine-year-old at Penshurst Avenue School in Hessle during the war, our class would hold a weekly raffle in aid of the Spitfire fund. Each pupil’s family took it in turns to provide a prize, and each pupil in the class would buy a halfpenny ticket. Imagine the gasp of delight when a girl brought in the weekly prize. Her mother had sacrificed the family’s egg and sugar rations to make a magnificent Swiss roll — and I was thrilled when I won the raffle for this great prize! Our teacher, Miss Anderson, put the Swiss roll on a high shelf and said I could have it at home-time and to take it straight to my mother. School work suffered that day as the class could not take their eyes off my Swiss roll. At hometime, Miss Anderson put the wonderful prize into a cardboard box and said to take great care not to shake it. I imagined Mum’s surprise and delight when we shared it with my two brothers. Dad was away in the Army. However, when I went through the door leading to the playground, I was met by a huge yell and scrummage as it seemed as if the entire class descended on me and my precious Swiss roll. They tore it from me, and in seconds it had been yaffled and I was left with just the empty box. Until that incident, we children looked on Hitler as a figure of fun in rude rhymes and skipping songs. But for me it had become more personal. And I’ve never won a raffle since. Jim Parkinson, Hessle, e. Yorks.