大象传媒

My name is Margaret Thomas. This is just one incident of many experiences whilst growing up during the war. I started school at six years old due to the fact that the schools were being bombed. This was In Islington, north London.
My father was in the A.R.P and did forty eight hours on duty and forty eight off. Due to this fact he often had premonitions of what was to come so on this night he had told my mother not to let my brother and I sleep in our own beds but to put us downstairs in the scullery on a make-shift bed because he felt very nervous.
The first thing I remember was waking up on the bed which was full of glass with a hole in the wall where the water tap had been. My brother also woke up screaming as there was no sign of my mother. We called out for her amidst the noise, the sky was alight and we were very frightened. We made our way to what used to be the stairs only to find them gone and still no sign of my mother. After what seemed an eternity during which we could hear the neighbours screaming and the dust and dirt was choking us-the neighbours were pinned to the ceiling.
The best sound that I have ever heard in my life was my father鈥檚 voice calling our names which was 鈥淧eggy and Jimmy鈥�. He had broken away from his squad because he knew we had copped it. He was the first person down the street and on his way to our house, which was no longer; he had to pacify people who were screaming for help. He told them the 鈥淗eavy Mob鈥� would be down shortly with equipment. They were already watching our street, which was called 鈥淏rittannia Row鈥� which was situated just off of 鈥淓ssex Road鈥�, as there was already an un-exploded time bomb in the street. However that bomb never detonated because it was a land mine that buried my mother.
My father had to slide down to get to us and then because my brother was younger than me my father told me to stay where I was whilst he picked my brother up and had to scramble back up. I was absolutely terrified of being left on my own. Then my father came back down and carried me up as well. All the time asking us where we had last seen my mother. We had no idea where she was.
My father told us afterwards that 鈥渟omeone up there鈥� told him where to start digging with his bare hands. It was a large house on three floors with a space both sides of the front door and one side of the door used to stand a large rocking horse. This was the only thing that was evident amongst all the debris just the top of the head and this is where my father started digging.
He sat us outside on the street and he eventually found my mother and she was in a shocking state. At first he thought she was dead but when his friend came down, his name was Douggie and he was the leader of the group wearing a white helmet. They picked my mother up and with us in tow had to get onto the main road where there were some shops still standing and propped my mother up whilst Douggie tried to bandage her face. She had shrapnel in her eyelids, nose and mouth and her eyes where just like red jelly. The ambulances started coming to ferry the injured to 鈥渢he royal fever hospital鈥� in Liverpool road where my mother stayed for six months as she had a fractured patella and she wore a cast on that leg when she came home.
The amazing thing ,I think, was that at the time when this happened my mother was about three months pregnant and she got home just in time to have my brother, Brian, at home. Needless to say I did not eat any red jelly for years and years because of the association with my mothers poor face.

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