大象传媒

鈥凄颈迟肠丑别诲!鈥�

I was 8 years old when the war started and lived in Coventry. On the night of November 14th 1940 the sirens went early. My mother called me to come into the back room, where my father had put a double bed, which he had reinforced, something in the manner of a four poster, with 4鈥� x 4鈥� timber and sheets of metal. I climbed in and started reading. Suddenly there was an almighty explosion.

My mother leapt on top of me, sheltering me with her body as the windows blew in and the ceiling partly came down. We waited for a few minutes, listening for the planes, and as things seemed quieter, we got into our out door clothes. Mother picked up the small case which always stood, packed under the bed, containing some basic necessities, house insurance, bank books etc, and we started to leave the room, but just as we were leaving the doorway, the front door blew in, missing us by inches.

Mother grabbed me and we ran into the street. Over the city centre was a lurid red glow, and in the middle of the cross roads, five houses along was a huge crater. We learnt later it had been a landmine, which had demolished the four end houses, killing a family of nine, and badly damaging several other houses. Next morning when we returned home I went into the next street to see if my best friend was safe, and passed the nine bodies stretched side by side on the pavement under tarpaulins. They included several of the children I had played with the previous evening.

Meanwhile, my mother and I ran up the road, stopping halfway along in a smelly brick shelter as more bombs dropped nearby. But it did not feel very safe, even to me, so we continued on. Hearing another bang as we came to the end of the road, we saw the brick shelter had disintegrated.

With a moan of anguish, my mother pulled me on into a lane running alongside a reservoir. On the other side were playing fields boarded by a thick hedge with a ditch underneath. As we ran along, a voice shouted from the ditch 鈥淚n here misses, it鈥檚 safe here.鈥� With out much ado we both fell in beside a man, regardless of mud, spiders, thorns, and stayed there in his comforting presence.

When daylight came we said goodbye and walked home. My father, who had driven over to see his aunt and uncle on the other side of the city was still not back, but returned mid-morning, to our tearful relief. After boarding up the windows and making the front door safe, we piled into the car with a few spare clothes and some food, returned to his aunt鈥檚 house, crossing Broadgate, which was the city centre, and marvelling at all the destruction. We bumped over yellow fire hoses which snake everywhere as tired men struggled to put out flames and saw piles of rubble, smoke and wrought iron girders, all that was left of the city centre.

We had a meal at aunty鈥� then all drove about six miles into the country, to Leek Wootten, where we slept in the village hall, surrounded by many other people in similar circumstances.

We returned the following night, and were allocated places at wootton court, the local manor house, where we all slept under the billiard table.

I remained here for the next few months, being looked after by the children鈥檚 nanny and attending the village school, but after the April blitz, my family parted. I went to live with my grandparents in Kendal. My mother went to ST. Annes to look after elderly relatives, and my father, being an engineer was sent to service and repair aeroplanes near Wick in Scotland. We remained apart for the next three years, when our house was made habitable, and my mother and I returned to Coventry.

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