大象传媒

Early on Saturday afternoon, the 24th September, my sister and I soon began to realise that our eagerly anticipated visit to the little Odeon cinema was becoming a non-starter. Mother would not go out without her hat! Father had been on ARP duty throughout the previous night and was having a well-earned and well-needed sleep. 鈥淚鈥檓 not disturbing your father to get my hat鈥� said mother, 鈥淲e鈥檒l have to wait for him to wake up鈥�. We waited and waited but father slept on. By now we had missed the start of the cinema programme so mother suggested an alternative: shopping at Mr Mepham鈥檚, the butcher, in Upper Bedford Street with a walk home via Queen鈥檚 Park. Then the air raid siren sounded! 鈥淲e鈥檙e not going out now鈥�, said mother, emphatically. And that was the end of our outing!

As the wail of the siren died away, we heard the horrible, unmistakable sound of exploding bombs, too close for comfort, and immediately scuttled for the shelter of the hallway where there were no windows. The noise and terrific vibrations of the explosions meant that it was very near at hand and father immediately went back on duty to cope with the nearest incident: extensive damage to Rock Street and the Mews behind, with many severe and fatal casualities. News began to filter through as to the extent of the damage and we discovered that the little Odeon had suffered a direct hit. So, too, had the butcher鈥檚 shop in Upper Bedford Street and Mr Mepham had been killed. Our Caretaker鈥檚 wife and children had been in the Odeon cinema 鈥� Mrs Miles had extensive leg injuries and her 9-year old daughter, June, had severe thigh injuries but little 7-year old Philip was nowhere to be found, nor was his name on any of the casualty lists. Thinking he might have run home in panic, and be hiding somewhere in the block of flats, I decided to do my own search while his father was out looking in the neighbourhood and the hospital. Having been born and grown up in the building and knowing every inch of it, I decided to take the lift to the top floor and work my way down. Conscious of the warnings I had always been given never to go near the lift if there was a hint of fire, I was horrified to see as the lift ascended a fireman, axe in hand, on every floor I passed. Apparently they had been called to suspect smoke from our roof which turned out to be, not incendiary bombs as first thought, but the down-draught from a chimney nearby blowing along our roof. Little Philip was found later in the hospital with bad finger injuries. He had been admitted under the name of Mills instead of Miles.

Both children eventually recovered and were evacuated to the safety of Yorkshire. Mrs Miles, after many months of treatment, eventually had to have her leg amputated. We felt very fortunate that our mother鈥檚 refusal to go out without her hat had probably saved our lives.

This story was submitted to the People's War site by volunteer Sue Craig on behalf of Pam Piercey, and has been added to the site with her permission. Pam fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

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