大象传媒

This is an extract from Haydn William's book 'Angels in Hobnail Boots'

The family and their neighbours have gathered in the air-raid shelter. The night they were: Bombed Out.

Once again we settled down for another long session; most of the women seated on the benches, the men and older children standing around in groups. Normally I kept close to Mammy and her little group but somehow tonight I had ended up sitting in the centre of the shelter immediately beneath the single electric light. Then they came, a faint drone was heard first. The steady throb of the diesel engines as the German bombers drew ever closer. It was a sound we had become accustomed to over the past eight to nine months but the dread and fear that it brought was as strong as ever. Everyone was quiet and still, any youngsters still chattering were told to hush. Did we feel that if we could not be seen, or heard, that the bombers could not find us? It had worked in the past so we remained silent and daring only to breath softly; we prayed that once more the hunters in the sky would fail or find other targets.

Suddenly, all the demons of hell were upon us. First, the eerie whistling of the high-explosive bombs as they hurtled towards us. We had never heard them so close before. Then, a hush, before simultaneously we felt the shock waves and heard the thunderous bangs as they impacted on to their random targets. The air-raid shelter was shaken violently with flakes of concrete and dust raining down upon us from the ceiling; but the building, this new shelter that had replaced the older smaller one, only weeks before, stood firm. Shocked and frightened, all those standing turned and scattered away from the centre pushing and pressing each other against the walls. They were all terrified, frantically clawing at the concrete, some dropping to their knees and screaming prayers to the heavens. "Lord help us, Lord help us, forgive us Lord", they cried. They were praying to a God they had long ago forgotten.

I sat alone now in the centre of the shelter; fascinated by the sight of the single electric light bulb which was swinging violently on the end of its flex; randomly throwing its light, then casting swirling shadows over the terror stricken people. They continued their crying, screaming and praying long after the explosions had ceased; and the light bulb slowed its swinging and dancing on its flex until it stopped and died. The sudden darkness hushed the frightened people and silence reigned momentarily. Then one small child began to whimper and cry and then another as the stunned people stirred themselves from their fright. Soon there were a lot more tears and sobbing as mothers hugged their children and neighbours clasped and held each other close, forgetting their petty quarrels and prejudices, with loud cries of "Thank God, thank God. Oh, thank you Lord".

If my faith in a greater God was ever put in any doubt, or questioned, in the years that followed; I stop and think back to that night when people claiming to be atheists or agnostics but facing almost certain death will pray, yes beg and even scream to God for their salvation.

This story has been entered on the People's War website by Terry Greenwood on behalf of Haydn Williams who has given his written permission so to do.

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