大象传媒

I was just 8 years old on the 29th December 1940 and I was sitting in the basement of my grandparents house at 92 Dalyell Road, Stockwell, listening to the bombs falling all around and occasionally something hitting the roof. It was getting late and as my Dad had work the next morning we thought we had better make a move.
When we got to the street level my parents could see the red glow over London and they thought it was serious and immediately left for home, (Queensbury, Middx.) We walked to Stockwell Station with our old dog, and as was the custom that during a raid the booking office was closed and the escalators had stopped. When we got to the platform and climbed over the people sitting there, much to our surprise a train came in and we rode as far as London Bridge. We had to get out there as the train didn't go any further due to the flood gates being shut.
Dad was anxious to get going so Mum said we could walk to Moorgate and pick up the tube from there. Mum knew the area as she used to be a secretary for a firm called Keetings in Fenchurch Street.
As we went up the stairs to the street people were all perched everywhere and they said the police will not let you out. When we got to the top there wasn't a policeman to be seen but the fire was raging and thick glass all over the pavement.
We started off and as we walked over London Bridge the wind blew Mum's jaunty little hat off and it went into the Thames. As we looked over the bridge I can remember my father saying "look at that the tide is out, the Germans certainly knew when to strike!
When we got to the end of the bridge I can remember seeing firemen hammering away at the safety barrier at the top of the steps so they could get their hoses down.
By the time we got over the bridge the fire was intense, flames pouring out of buildings and the corners just breaking off in a shower of cinders; fortunately the wind was behind us so we didn't get
them in our faces. Dad saw a taxi and was going to use it when it burst into flames and all the buses were burning too. The poor dog collapsed and Dad threatened that if he died he was going to leave the body in the ruins. I could hear people banging and shouting as we passed a pub but Dad said we were not stopping.
Finally when we got to Moorgate Station all singed with blackened faces, the tea ladies gave us the milk for the next morning鈥檚 tea and they gave the dog some too.
When we got to about Wembley Park a man in the tube said it was only a little fire and my Dad was so angry he nearly knocked his head off.
I only suffered singed hair and blisters on my feet as I had on a very long raincoat and beret.

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