大象传媒

1942
I am Ten years of age as I recall, it was a very rainy day my clogs let in water as usual. They were a wooden clogs with a steel bands nailed around the soles, they would have been alright in the tulip fields in Holland but a pit village in Co Durham well I ask you! It was three quarters of a mile to school, everybody walked or ran in those days, to school anyhow.
As I ran I noticed men building small houses in the side of the road. I thought they were houses, actually they were a new type of Air raid shelter built just like a small house with a very thick roof made of solid concrete.
We were told every time you heard the air raid warning siren, you must run to the nearest shelter where ever you were, I remember one Thursday, during the school holidays, the siren sounded. We had a very large shelter near our home in Thornley, Co Durham. My friends and I had to dash into this shelter it was the only time I can remember we were actually bombed by the the Germans they dropped their bombs in the fields to the North of the village.
As soon as we entered the shelter we made a bee-line for my friends mother,鈥淟izzie鈥�. They owned the local sweet shop. she always had a jar full of Barley sugar sweets, but to-day was different. Sweets were the last thing on our minds, as the bombs dropped the noise was terrific the steel sheet on top of the shelter's escape hatch, was jumping up and down making things even worse. Everybody was screaming blue murder, we were scared stiff to be honest .It seemed to go on for hours, the noise and the shouting. I clearly remember a young girl, Armstrong, I think was her surname was really in a bad way she missed her mam, the way she screamed out for her. she was the worst through it all I felt very sorry for her.
Then as suddenly as it had started it stopped just as quickly, and everybody, looked at each other not daring to breath, then, just as if somebody had put a shilling in the meter everybody started talking at the same time. One woman said 鈥淚 must get home now, Jim will kill me if his tea is not ready when he comes in from work鈥�. I often wonderd why a few of the folks had a smile on their faces, even after all that had happened. Another lady said with tears in her eyes 鈥淚 must go and see if mam and dad are OK but the A.R.P. WARDEN would not let her out of the shelter until the all clear was sounded.

Another Sunday during the war some of my neighbourhood friends and I were walking up the 'Cut', an old disused railway line near the public house called The Half Way House. (The Grapes and Barrel, as it was called before that) Now it is called The Crossways Hotel.
Next to the pub was a Dog Track for Greyhounds to race on. We were only kids, so being Sunday, it was closed. So my friends and I decided we would look for some of the betting tickets the local bookmakers would use but, instead we found a whole lot of trouble. As kids do. We came across some loose pieces of turf, under this turf, were some planks of wood. The planks were covering a hole and in this hole was a steel dust bin. I took the lid off the bin. Inside was a lot of empty bottles all empty but ONE which was smaller than the rest it had a very strong clasp on the cork as I remember, just as well as it happens. No matter how hard we tried, we could not get the top of that bottle. So off we went running back down the Cut with this bottle and stopped just short of where a lot of the local miners and others were gambling. The Old 'Pitch and toss' game with two pennies. They didn鈥檛 give us a second glance, as we sat down near this small boulder about fifteen yards away. Then it happened. Oh boy! did it happen.
I was seated opposite my mate. A boy named Bobby who was trying very hard to knock the top off it. The next moment all became a blur, all I remember were flames everywhere. All the men who had been gambling started to run in all directions, as they new the flames and smoke would bring the police very quickly. That was not the end of our escapade that awful Sunday. Some of the men were shouting at us and pointing at my mate Bobby, his stockings were on fire (In 1942 school boys still wore short trousers up to the age of 14 plus). It was then I felt a stinging pain on my left leg, my leg was on fire. I beat at the flames with both hands and ran like the wind to get back home As did Bobby I learnt later. He lived only a few doors below us in our street in Thornlaw South. When I arrived home my mother could not control herself. She tried very hard to console me which mothers do when their son has a bad experience. My hands hurt as much as my leg, if not worse. I had used both hands to put the fire out on my leg, Dad had gone for the doctor. Everything was calming down a bit and mam decided to sooth my burnt leg and hands with olive oil bad move, as soon as mam but the gauze soaked with the oil on my leg it burst into flames again that really shocked Mam. We had to wait for the doctor.
The family learnt later it was some kind of bomb a Molotov Cocktail it was called. A weapon to throw at a tank or armed cars or something similar. Once air gets to the contents of the bottle, it bursts into flames.
We were told at school, in no uncertain terms by by the Assistant Head Teacher. Who also happened to be a Major in the Land Defence Volunteers, (L.D.V.) that it was the only 'Molitov Cocktail' they had to defend the village.
Dad nearly had a fight with the major of the L.D.V.( Later the 'Home Guard'), the way the Major went on about the only bomb that they had. Dad said it should have been more secure and locked some where safe until it was needed.
I regret what I did, and I think I have paid for it, my left leg still as the scars to remind me of that awfull day over 60years ago.

Don.

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