大象传媒

This story was input by Robbie Meredith of 大象传媒 Northern Ireland's 'Big Yellow Bus' on behalf of Mildred Davidson, the author. The author understands and accepts the terms and conditions of the site.

My father was a fireman and ambulanceman in East Belfast, down near the Albertbridge Road, and, as children, we lived in the fire station. I can remember being woken up by the fire siren going off, but, even though the city was very dangerous during the blitz, I loved living in the city - the noise and the bustle.

At times, however, we had some lucky escapes. One night my brother was sitting at the front of the station when a bomb went off nearby. Well, he was blown from the front of the station to the back, but, amazingly, what happened was that he ended up at the back of the station lying cross-legged on the ground. He could never remember anything else about how he got there, but he was very, very lucky.

Anyway, Belfast eventually became too dangerous for us to stay in, so I got evacuated to a farm up in Ballymoney. I hated it! Even though the city was dangerous I liked the noise and all the life going on. I just couldn't cope with the quiet up in Ballymoney. It was also difficult for us as a family, because my brothers were evacuated to Dunmurry, so we were split up and I didn't see them for nearly five years.

I didn't see my mother or father too much either. I was allowed to visit them for the odd day here and there, but I didn't come back to live in Belfast until I was thirteen years old. I was glad to get back but it took a while for all of us to get used to living as a family again.

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