大象传媒

It's May 1941 - The Battle of Crete, which marked the first large-scale paratroop invasion in history, was being fought, far less momentously, in bomb scarred Sheffield I was born, the youngest of five children. Raymond is ten, Maurice eight, Mavis five, and Barbara is three. I was just four months into gestation during the blitz of December 13th 1940. But I do remember the devastation that Sheffield suffered during the war.
I know our memories can play strange tricks - can I really remember with such clarity, running down to the Anderson shelter in the dark, stumbling on the path, being picked up in a strong pair of arms and rushed to safety? The terrifying wail of the sirens, and inordinate fear of the barrage balloon, just above our house? I have strong pictures in my mind's eye that no newsreel could have provided. I can remember the addresses of the various houses we lived in, the neighbours, the games we used to play, even the clothes I used to wear! But certain things can become a little 'shuffled around' in our memories, and although I'm trying to ascertain the accuracy of names, places, events, it's entirely possible that my memory may stumble a little.

I was born in Sheffield in May 1941, the youngest of five children, Raymond is ten, Maurice eight, Mavis five, and Barbara is three. We live on City Road in Sheffield, in a tall Victorian terrace house, the once white stone now black, with the years of smoke from the steel mills. The front garden is steep, and many steps lead up to the front door, (however did Mum get the pram up and down all those steps?) but we always use the long, narrow, echoing passage that leads to a small yard and the back door. To the right of the yard is our lavvy, it has a large wooden seat 鈥� big enough to accommodate two small bottoms in an emergency! A long chain hangs down from a tank of water, and I have to climb onto the seat to reach it, when I pull it I have to jump down quick and get out of the way, other wise the water that flushes the toilet splashes over the top of the tank and showers me with cold water! Its walls are whitewashed on the inside, and neat squares of paper hang from a string. (Toilet Rolls? What are toilet Rolls??) We have a small plot leading off from the yard towards a high wall, well, it鈥檚 high to me, anyway. I鈥檝e often skinned my knees in an attempt to climb high enough to look over into the brickyard, and the hills beyond. Dad has dug over a small patch in the hope of growing a few vegetables, there鈥檚 a black smoldering mound where all the rubbish is burned, I found a pair of shoes that had belonged to one of my sisters, on the mound, waiting to be incinerated, but I saved them - I love shoes I do 鈥� none get past me! Our house has a large kitchen, there鈥檚 a big wooden table in the middle, which we hide under when the bombs are dropping and we haven鈥檛 had time to get to the Anderson Shelter, which is at the bottom of our small garden. Mum is very careful about keeping the blackout curtains in place, not a chink of light must show through to give away our position to the enemy! There鈥檚 a big balloon over our house 鈥� it almost touches the chimney, it reminds me of an elephant without any legs and it frightens me so much I try not to look up at it, but I know it鈥檚 there - and I wish it would go away! I cling fearfully to my Mum when I hear the awful wail of the sirens (I can hear them still), and wait鈥� there always seems to be a long, long silence 鈥� just before the bombs drop鈥︹�︹��..

There is devastation everywhere, but somehow we get used to it, I鈥檓 too young to understand the significance of it. 鈥淢rs so and so鈥檚 got hit last night.鈥︹��.鈥�, friends, neighbours 鈥� some homeless, some lost forever. I can鈥檛 remember when the sirens finally stopped, when the 鈥榖alloon鈥� went away ..................

To be continued..

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