大象传媒

THE LONDON OF A SIXTEEN YEAR OLD (1941-2)

1941. I was sixteen years of age, living with my mother in Maida-Vale London, my sister and brother had been evacuated. Dad was in the army.
I was working in an office at the NCR in the Marylebone Road.
To me the war was a nuisance, I had the attitude that all the awful things happened to other people, but not to me.
One evening, when an air raid started and I soon I realised that our area seemed to be the target. First of all a lot of incendiary bombs came raining down all around. I suppose now, looking back, I was rather stupid, but I run out down the steps of our apartments. I could see an incendiary bomb had fallen right outside but had not ignited. I don鈥檛 know where I got the strength from but I picked up a sand-bag and threw it on the bomb. My poor mother was screaming at me, from the door, to get back inside. I ran back to the top of the steps and I could see a fire raging, about fifteen doors up the avenue, on the other side of the road. To my mothers horror I run back down the steps to have a look. My mother called out to me again. I could hear the distress in my her voice and went back up the steps. As I got half way up a bomb fell onto the middle of the fire. If I had continued up the road I might not be here today telling my story. At the delicate age of sixteen I suddenly grew up, realising that I could have easily been killed and how cruel I was being to my mother and that I too was a target for the Jerrys.

Two nights later a bomb fell much nearer. All the doors, including the front door, were blown off and our main room was covered in soot from our coal fire. That was a nightmare, the apartment was considered un-stable, and the council moved us to the White City flats.

First we went to Havelock Close, where once again, we were blasted out. This time it was a doodle bug, windows all blown in, all curtains ripped, furniture damaged and crockery and glass every where, oh and yes more soot. We had stood in the passage that night praying, as we heard the engine of the doodle-bug cut out, asking God to forgive our sins and except our souls.

We then moved to the flats across the road at Blacksland House, where a few weeks later, another doodle-bug came down. Being the far end of the block, we didn鈥檛 catch it so much of the blast, only few smashed windows. We stood outside in the dark. It was awful to watch as they were bringing people out and laying them on the pavement. I never knew how many had died that night. My sister, Connie, who had returned home from evacuation helped as we took trays of tea out to the helpers and any of the injured who were able drink.

When I looked back I feel we must have had a guardian angle, looking after us.

As I write this it is the 5th Nov. and the fire works are very loud outside. I still feel myself cringing and jumping even after nearly sixty years. Low flying aircraft flying at any time sends a shudder through me.

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