大象传媒

Note: This story has been entered by a volunteer on behalf of Delphine Higgs. The author has seen and agreed to the People's War House Rules.

During the First World War my parents had spent time in London during the Zepellin raids. Dad as a wounded soldier in hospital and mother staying in a Church Army Hostel while his life was in danger.

Now we had entered on another war with those same 鈥渟quare heads鈥�. Living in a shop on the corner of Sussex Street and Alfred Street in The Dings, St. Philips, Bristol, it was obvious to Mum and Dad that, should there be air raids, we were not in a very good position amid the railways and heavy industry. Of course, it may never happen, but it was sensible to be prepared and the Government was trying to encourage this by distributing Shelters of various types.

Amongst many of the local people this was not taken seriously. Anderson Shelters? What! dig a hole in the back yard and hide in a tin box covered with a bit of earth Worse still, replace the dining table with a metal box with wired sides and crawl into that? What do they think we are, animals in the Zoo? No, the idea was not popular with our neighbours, anyway it may never happen.

The Government was also prepared to reinforce cellars, where properties had them, and my parents opted for this at the risk of being regarded as scare mongers. I was twelve years old at the time and it appealed to me to help clear up our two dark dirty old cellars, as long as Dad dealt with the cobwebs and spiders. Only one of the small cellars could be reinforced and this was the one under the shop. Workmen quickly arrived, and a corrugated steel ceiling was fixed, held up with steel poles which could be raised to the required height by screwing them up. At first they lifted the sagging floor too much and the shop doors wouldn鈥檛 close but this was soon put right. We also had to have escape routes. On the Sussex Street side, on the pavement, under the shop window was a small trap door with a tiny room beneath it, this was the Coal Hole and the workmen enlarged this and fixed a much larger trap door and a metal ladder leading up to it from the cellar. There were two other gratings which were tidied up. Lastly, we were provided with another escape route in case the building collapsed and we were trapped underground. A low opening was made into the cellar of the house next door, a door fixed and padlocked. The Government couldn鈥檛 have done more.

Now it was our turn to get working again. The remaining buckets of coal were removed from the Coal Hole and transferred to a bunker Dad had made in the other cellar under the house. My father had electric lights fixed in both cellars and power points, then the walls were roughly plastered. Time for Mum and myself to get started so we whitewashed the walls and used up the remains of old white paint on the ceiling and old green paint on the poles. Dad fixed the old decorators trestles on top of the coal bunker and made provision for a place to brew cups of tea, store water, keep a supply of emergency food, a torch, candles and matches, the picnic spirit stove, and a pickaxe, spade and other tools in case we needed to dig our way to safety. We were lucky in having a second hand furniture dealer next door and she soon discovered a roll of old red lino at the back of her garage (the garages were previously stables) then with the help of a sack or two of sawdust from Ms. Adams, The Sawdust King, we levelled off the stone floor and laid the lino. From the house we brought down any chairs and stools we could manage without, a small electric fire and a little table. We were finished, we had done all we could do if the worst should happen. Our dirty old cellars were looking quite attractive. At a worrying time the project had been very therapeutic.

Nothing really happened for months during the phoney war, but things were being planned. Air raid shelters were dug in the parks and brick and concrete ones built in the streets together with large water tanks and Wardens Posts. Gas Masks and Ration books were issued and people trained to deal with all emergencies. We kept sacks or buckets of sand or earth handy, near our doors, in case of incendiary bombs and little green painted tables appeared at the side of the roads and we were told they would change colour if there was a gas attack. Window panes were crisscrossed with sticky paper to prevent shards of glass flying about if the windows were shattered and of course heavy blackout curtains had to be made and hung to prevent even the least little bit of light from escaping. What more could be done?

In the countryside road signs were removed in case any German parachutists landed and were trying to discover exactly where they were, beaches had piles of stones on them to prevent gliders from landing and there were road blocks on the pavements of the roads leading into the cities and towns. For ourselves, we had the blackout to contend with and for a start we found ourselves bumping into people and lamp-posts, in other areas we could get lost as we couldn鈥檛 read the street names. As a young person I found it rather exciting and, at first, the blackout seemed good fun. I particularly noticed the night sky, it had never looked so beautiful, and we would try to pick out the Plough and the North Star.

Life went quietly on with lots of activities to watch. The Air Raid Sirens often sounded, often a practice or false alarm, at school we hurried to our allotted Shelter until the All Clear sounded. After a heavy rain storm one day, we found the underground Shelters were flooded and the school then had to make arrangements for pupils to run to the neighbouring houses. With one thing and another very little school work was accomplished. So life went on and on, and we watched the barrage balloons go up and down, up and down.

We were told to leave our clothes tidily folded at the side of the bed ready to dress quickly if it were necessary. This done we slept the sleep of the just. Suddenly a dreadfully loud screeching noise......WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT NOISE? We jumped out of bed and fumbled into at least some of our clothes. Don鈥檛 put the light on because the blackout curtains have moved, we could see the stars through the window. 鈥淕et down the Cellar鈥�. We tried but we couldn鈥檛 as Mum had collapsed with a heart attack on top of the stairs and for a short while she couldn鈥檛 get her breath or move. Slowly, urging her to take her time, and sitting on one step after another, we reached our cellar and settled Mum safely on a chair. Dad immediately unlocked the exit doors and we could hear people running and shouting in the street.

There was a big fire in the direction of Old Market Street and at least one bomb had fallen at the end of Sussex Street on the corner of Folly Lane almost next to the huge gasometer. Friends came rushing in down the steps through the back garden entrance and others came over the garden walls in Alfred Street, through next doors cellars and crawled in that way. Lastly a bedridden old lady was carried along and slid on the ground to what was hoped to be safety. In that small cellar haven, under the shop, that night we sheltered thirty four people, all scared and wondering what would happen next. And that was the start, but we didn鈥檛 realise then, how much worse it would get when the Blitz鈥檚 started.

After the All Clear sounded, a lot of us went up to Folly Lane to see just how near one of the stick of bombs had fallen to the gasometer, it had been a very near thing and we thanked God that we were still alive. The bomb had fallen on an old derelict factory so no real damage was done, just debris and a hole in the ground. News came back through the Warden鈥檚 Post that the fire was Beavis鈥� s Mineral Water Factory in David Street, opposite the Shepherds Hall and behind the 鈥淪tag & Hounds鈥� in Old Market Street. Everyone was stunned. No-one slept the rest of that night!

Next day there was a great demand for Anderson Shelters!

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