大象传媒

This is an account of my experiences from the start of World War 2 in 1939 aged 6 going on 7 and the build up to the Blitz in Nuneaton, Warwickshire in November 1940 and May 1941 when I and my family were made homeless but survived.

The Pace Hots Up

Life began to change as we were issued with gas masks and had to carry them everywhere. Anderson shelters made out of corrugated steel were being issued to families to erect in their back gardens. Large semi-underground shelters were being constructed in factory yards, on playing fields, parks and open spaces. They were also built in school gardens and playing fields.

It wasn鈥檛 long before we were practising what to do in the event of an air raid when we were at school. On a pre-arranged signal the teachers would lead us, as quickly as possible, with our gas masks down steps into the shelters. The shelters were made of concrete, semi circular in shape and covered in earth. They were fitted out down each side with wooden slatted benches and at the end were two chemical toilets screened off from general view. Between the toilets there was a metal step ladder that went up to a hatch. This was our emergency exit if the main entrance got blocked up by enemy action. We used to pretend we were in a submarine.

We were made to put on our gas masks, and the fitting of them was checked, to make sure we couldn鈥檛 inhale except through the filters fitted on the end. It could be claustrophobic especially if the visor steamed up. During the times we were in the shelters our teachers tried to keep us occupied. They encouraged us to sing songs such as 鈥渢en green bottles hanging on the wall鈥� and to do other activities.

The environment around us was gradually changing. Most windows were covered diagonally with strips of sticky brown paper ostensibly to stop glass flying around if a bomb went off. Some houses had wooden shutters made to cover over their windows during air raids. Air raid sirens were erected around the area some on poles others on roofs of prominent buildings. When the sirens went off with a rising and falling wail it meant enemy aircraft were approaching our area and warning everyone to take cover.

This sometimes happened during the daytime when we were at school and we went to the shelters. Sometimes it happened on the way to and from school and then it was a question of which was the nearest home or school. When the emergency was over the siren sounded a continuous wail indicating the 鈥淎ll Clear鈥� and every one went back to their normal activities.

My parents were in business as bakers, confectioners and grocers. There were four children - myself 6, two sisters 10 and 5, and a brother 3. We had a double fronted shop and we lived behind and above the shop. My father鈥檚 bakehouse was situated in the yard behind the shop. At this point he was aged 40, had served in World War 1, and as he was a baker he was not required to register for active service. He was, however, required to do service in another way as were most other men and women. Some were trained for the Home Guard, others as special constables, firemen, aircraft spotters, rescue workers, air raid wardens, fire watchers and many other duties.

My father was appointed Section Leader for the fire watchers based in the Abbey Green area. All the fire watchers were on a duty rota and had to report to a classroom in Abbey Green School when it was their turn for duty. They had to sleep in the school in their clothes in case the siren sounded at which point they patrolled the area. They were on the look out for fires which may have been started by incendiary bombs, and also for fire bombs which had ignited but had fallen clear of buildings. They were also looking for unexploded bombs of any description.

One of my occasional jobs, on behalf of my father, was to take a bottle of milk and the Duty Book to Abbey Green School. The milk was for the firewatchers鈥� tea when they had their supper and the Duty Book was for them to sign in when they were on duty. I believe if they failed to attend for duty without a proper excuse they were liable to prosecution.

The situation around us was changing day by day. Probably the one thing that made the most impact was the 鈥淏lackout鈥�. No lights were to be shown after dark. All houses had blackout curtains to their windows and over their doors to avoid any light escaping into the street. If any light was showing the patrolling air raid wardens would knock on the door and shout 鈥淧ut that light out鈥�.

There were no real street lights 鈥� any lights in use only pointed to the ground and the glass had been painted over with black paint except for a small spot. The same applied to motor vehicles 鈥� the head and side lights were painted over apart from a small dot. Some had metal covers with slits fitted. Very few people had cars because petrol was rationed.

I remember one unfortunate incident during the blackout when our local butcher who was a large man, walked into a lamp post, was stunned, staggered sideways, and fell through a shop window cutting his arm quite severely on the shattered glass.

The Air Raids

In 1940 enemy air raids became more frequent. The siren sounded but often the enemy aircraft were flying over Nuneaton to more vital targets such as Birmingham and Coventry where there were a lot of aircraft and munitions factories. As you listened to the sound of the aero engines people used to ask the question 鈥淚s it one of ours?鈥� It is surprising how we got to recognise the sound of different types of aircraft 鈥� friend and foe. There were, of course, RAF planes flying from Bramcote our local airfield as well.

In November 1940 the bombing came closer to home. Bombs were dropped in Manor Court Road, Earls Road, Stanley Road and in the General Hospital area causing a lot of damage with houses destroyed and people killed. Fortunately our shop and house at the Abbey Green end of Manor Court Road were not too badly damaged 鈥� windows broken, tiles off the roof, general decoration messed up. Things started to quieten down for a short time. The house and shop were tidied up and we started to sleep upstairs again in our beds.

In May 1941 the air raids started to increase again. My father was usually out on his fire watching duties so mum was left to 鈥渉old the fort鈥� at home. My parents adopted the practise of not waking us up and letting us sleep on unless there was enemy activity in Nuneaton. Most previous alarms had been when aircraft were flying over to other targets. However, on the night of May 16th/17th 1941 it seemed Nuneaton was due for further attention. The sirens went off and almost immediately we could hear the scream and thud of bombs. My mother shepherded us all downstairs and on this night we sat on stools in an alcove under the stairs. Mother sat in her chair facing us. We had an eiderdown across our knees to keep us warm. We heard a bomb screaming down as if it was about to drop directly on top of us.

My mother stood up and pulled the eiderdown up over our heads. There was an almighty bang, the like of which I have never experienced since. The house shook; there was a massive rush of air through the building and immediately a suction of air in the opposite direction. This was the blast from the bomb. We all screamed with fear. Tiles rained down from the roof. Inside it was pitch black and the whole place was filled with a choking cloud of dust and plaster. Then there was an eerie silence. We popped our heads up from under the eiderdown and could just see a pinprick of light as the dust began to clear.

Fortunately the electric light bulb was still working. It was like one of those days when you have a cloudy sky and the sun tries to break through and eventually does. It was the same with the light bulb.

My father had been making his way back home to see if we were all right as the bomb fell. He managed to dive on to the floor of our outside lavatory but was lifted up and dropped by the blast. After waiting a few seconds until all the roof tiles and chimney pots had finished crashing to the ground he came to the back door and shouted to see if we were all right. My mother replied we were and no one was hurt. He told us to stay where we were as other bombs were falling. In the meantime he went to our next door neighbours to check on them and to see if they had any space in their Anderson shelter.

My dad came back and called us to come out one by one and he took us to our neighbour鈥檚 shelter. I was off like a shot, number 1 out and scared to death. By this time most of the dust had cleared and I noticed that the door to the room had been blasted off its hinges and had landed on my mother鈥檚 chair. To this day I believe it was a miracle that she wasn鈥檛 killed. If she hadn鈥檛 have stood up to cover us with the eiderdown she would have had the full force and weight of the door right on top of her.

Anyway, we all made it to our neighbours shelter and my dad went off again to survey the local scene and to see what help was needed. In the meantime we were choked with plaster dust and desperate for a drink. Our neighbours had a primus stove, water and tea so were able to make a brew but had no milk. My mother said she could put her hands on a tin of milk in her cupboard and went back into the house to fetch it. The only amusing incident of the night came as she punctured the tin and began to pour. The so called milk was in fact gooseberry juice.

The Aftermath

My father went along the road to our local butchers shop. The butcher and his assistant had decided to take cover in his cellar just as the bomb dropped. His assistant was in the cellar but the butcher was descending the stairs. Both were trapped and buried in masonry. When my father and others cleared the debris to get through to the cellar they could see the butchers foot up by his ear. They assumed his leg had been blown off. He was in a lot of pain and from what my father told me some more debris fell on top of him knocking him out. The team were able to release his assistant with minor injuries and as they cleared the debris from the butcher it became apparent that his leg had been badly fractured. He was released and taken to hospital 鈥� not an easy task getting an 18 stone dead weight man out of a cellar.

Soon afterwards the 鈥淎ll Clear鈥� sounded and my uncle who was a Sergeant in the Special Constabulary, had heard that Manor Court Road had been bombed. He came round in his car to see if we were involved. He met my father and they realised we couldn鈥檛 live in the house again so he offered to take us to his house. We left the air raid shelter and were driven to my uncle and aunts house. My uncle let us into the house and called up the stairs to my aunt who had gone back to bed after the air raid

My aunt looked down the stairs and saw my mother and us four children standing in the hall. We were as black as chimney sweeps and stood there in our pyjamas and dressing gowns. It didn鈥檛 require much explanation as to what our predicament was. She soon got us a drink and into her spare beds. As morning came and it got light we got washed and tidied up. The next problem was that we had no clothes to wear. My aunt was able to fix up my mother, and my sisters were able to use some of our female cousin鈥檚 clothes. My brother and I were a problem as she had no boys clothes. She soon got in touch with a neighbour who had a son, although he was a few years older and a few sizes larger, we were fitted out short term.

Another casualty of the blitz was our dog Peter. We suddenly realised our dog was missing. When we asked where was Peter my father had to admit that he had had to have the dog put down. He had so many things to deal with that he couldn鈥檛 look after the dog. He couldn鈥檛 leave him tied up at the damaged house and my aunt already had dogs which would have caused a problem. We also had a canary which didn鈥檛 sing again and died soon afterwards.

My parents then had a big problem with their business. The shop front had been blown in and all their stock was condemned as unfit for consumption because it was peppered with foreign objects such as shrapnel, glass, wood and plaster. Jars of jam and other jars were smashed to smithereens on the shelves. However, this hadn鈥檛 stopped some people from looting from the shop during the night. They took the risk of arrest and contaminated food. The bakehouse was also damaged so my father couldn鈥檛 bake bread any more.
In the meantime we continued to live with our relatives. Our parents went back into our house and managed to get our clothes out and a few other belongings. After a few days they took us to have a look at the damage.
My sisters shared a bedroom over the shop. I remember looking through the doorway. Part of the floor had collapsed and one of the beds was partway through the gap in the floor. I then looked at my bedroom which was at the rear of the house. My bed was covered in broken glass and plaster. Shards of glass were embedded in the wall alongside my bed just as if a circus knife thrower had been in. I consider myself very fortunate to have got down stairs before the bomb dropped and to have survived.

Having got our clothes we were able to go back to school. I remember going in to school and some of my class mates being surprised to see me as they had heard I had been killed. I suppose this came about because I had been missing from school for about a week and they had seen the damaged house and shop.

My parents were trying to get the shop and house sorted out. They were salvaging what they could but a lot of the furniture was wrecked. We had to move to alternative premises but my father was unable to continue as a baker. He was, however, soon appointed as the local sub-postmaster.

Our old shop was boarded up and was eventually cleaned up by my parents so that it could be used for storage purposes. The accommodation at the rear of the shop, which was originally two houses made into one, was eventually repaired and converted back into two houses. I believe the repairs were authorised and paid for by the War Damage Commission as there was a shortage of housing due to so many houses being damaged or destroyed in the blitz.

Many of the buildings that had been bombed and damaged were partially demolished and the sites tidied up a bit. These areas became our playground especially the gardens at the back. In one garden where an Anderson shelter had been removed we occupied the space, put in a fire grate at one end and made a chimney out of drain pipe. With some close board fencing we made a roof and this became our den. In one house it was possible to get in to the chimney on the first floor and slide down coming out of the fire place on the ground floor.

As a boy this was an exciting time in my life. Only in retrospect did I appreciate the effect it had on my parents and neighbours and the struggles they had to get re-established. One thing we lost after the war was true community spirit. If only we could recapture this without a war the world would be a better place.

Trevor A Bailey
4th November 2005

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