大象传媒

I was born at number 8 Merevale Close, and was 12 yrs old at the time of the bombing that took place there, it was night and I will never forget.

Dad had installed a steel topped indoor morrison shelter which took up most of the kitchen, it quickly became a communal one for the close, as neighbours whose husbands were away in the forces came knocking on our door, each time the sirens sounded, to ask if they could put their babies in it.
This became such a regular routine that we left the front door on the latch, for them to make their own way in, then mum would make a big pot of tea and we would all sit and wait until the all cear sounded. We listened intently for the sound of planes, and could usually distinguish from our own, or the enemies, by the different noise of the engines.

Night after night the planes came over on their way to Coventry, and nothing seemed to happen in our area, so gradulally we got a bit lazy about getting up out of a warm bed. On this particular night, I heard the sirens go, but still lay there, when suddenly WHOOMPH!! I was blown out of bed onto the floor. I grabbed my clothes and made for the stairs, Dad, who'd been hit on the head by some fallen plaster was just ahead of me. We had to slide down because the entire staircase was hidden under rubble. On reaching the bottom, dad automatically switched the light on - not realising that the blast had shattered the windows and ripped away the black-out curtains, so there was a chorus of cries from the ARP wardens on duty outside to 'put that so and so light out'. We all took on the appearance of chimney sweeps from the soot that had been blown down.
Mum got the younger ones dressed and into the shelter, then dad joined the men outside and gave a running commentary on what was happening. As soon as the all clear sounded, my brother Colin and I, being the two eldest went outside to see the destruction for ourselves and found the entire close littered with tiles, wooden beams and broken glass. I don't remember feeling frightened, to us at that young age, it was more of an adventure.

We were a Salvation Army family and our Brigadier, Elliot, who was in her sixties, suddenty appeared amongst us. She had asked her neighbour to escort her, right from John Street and came to find out if we were safe. She had a cup of tea with us and said a prayer and offered her help. We were very touched by this, as she had walked through the darkend streets with only the aid of a hooded torch. Since at that time no street lights or road signs were allowed.

At daybreak the first thing on the scene was a Salvation Army mobile canteen, serving hot food, which my two younger brothers, Ron and Ken quickly took advantage of when they realised it was free, although they had already had breakfast at home.

We could hear a little dog howling pitifully, but it was buried underneath heaps of rubble and rescuers were unable to get to it.

The Avenue was roped off at each end and only residents were allowed in, I think that was because of looters. During the daylight hours we all pitched in with members of the Knight family, to help salvage furniture and household goods from Mr and Mrs Parsons place, sadly they and their daughter Ada lost their lives, but daughter Zeta survived. I believe the family next door to them were all killed, only the chimney breast remained standing there, yet strangely a small religious picture still hung on the upper half. Later that day I witnessed a young chap in Khaki, possibly a son, kneeling and praying amidst the rubble. The following Monday morning I attended school as usuall (Holliers Walk for Girls) and my form mistress, who was also my guide captain, a Miss Atkinson, was anxious to hear all about it.

Men from the council were sent to fix white canvas like material over the windos, until such time as they could be repaired, that kept the draughts at bay but meant we couldn't see out. We were also provided with new crockery to replace the ones that had been broken. My bedroom wall was considered to be unsafe so throughout that summer I was invited to sleep at the home of some SA friends of ours, Mr and Mrs Charlie King who lived beyond the station in Southfield Road.

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