´óÏó´«Ã½

I was fifteen years old when Belfast was bombed in 1941. I had a twenty one year old sister who was a nurse with the Civil Defence Ambulance and was stationed at the Civil Defence Post on the Cliftonville Road in the north of the City.

North Belfast bore the brunt of the bombing that night. It was thought that the German pilots were confused and thought the Waterworks, ornamental lakes in a park on the Antrim Road, were the shipyard, Harland & Wolfe and the Aircraft factory on the south of the City across the River Lagan.

It was a dreadful night. After the sirens went we stayed in our home until the bombing and the ‘Ack Ack’ fire became so bad that my father said we should get out and go to the air raid shelter across the road.

I helped carry my 90 year old grandmother. I remember my mother taking off the pale pink eiderdown and putting it on the dirty cement floor so that my grandmother could lie on it.

The noise was terrible. We could hear the bombs advancing like a giant’s footsteps coming nearer and nearer. The shrapnel banged on the roof and the aircraft guns roared away.

When the ‘All Clear’ sounded we went back home to find a landmine had landed at the end of our back garden. Luckily for us it was a long garden, but our house was badly wrecked and the roof was missing.

The blast appeared to ‘go the other way’ and demolished a stable beyond our garden and killed the horses there. The stables belonged to the Co-op and the horses pulled the bread vans and milk carts.

The cat that belonged to the stables was at our back door looking for her breakfast and appeared to be uninjured.

We were trying to clear up the debris when, through the window I saw my sister coming up the steps to our front door.

At first glance I didn’t recognise her. Her face was black. She had no hat and her hair was grey with dust. The front of her nurse’s uniform was torn and stained dark red. Even her stockings and shoes were this dark blackish red.

When she came closer we saw she was literally covered with blood and concrete dust.

My father and mother took her out to what was left of our backyard and stripped off her clothes. Even her underwear was red. My father made a fire and burned every scrap.

My sister told us what it had been like that night. The area she was in was Duncairn Gardens and it was badly bombed. Air raid shelters collapsed, killing the people who had gone there for safety. The Co-operative Shop got a direct hit and killed the people inside. My sister crawled in to the shop under the fallen beams to help people out.

She was shaking and crying when she told us, but said she was going back as she had only come back to get clean clothes.

My father went with her to the Civil Defence Post and helped carry some extra clothes.

We didn’t see her again for three days.

Valerie Corbett.

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.