大象传媒

Note: This story has been entered by a volunteer on behalf of Delphine Higgs. The author has seen and agreed to the People's War House Rules.

At the end of the summer term 1940, sadly, my school, East Bristol Central School closed down and the three Central Schools in the City were lumped together and divided into Junior Commercial School and Junior Technical School. Our new building was to be in the tall, cold, dreary old Castle Green School just off the bottom of Castle Street. Near home for me but I was forced to train for Commerce and not Art as had been intended. Above all, we had lost the inspiration of our headmaster, A.H.Russell, the Maths Magician. It was a great mistake to close the Central Schools, they took the pupils who had just failed to pass the City Junior Scholarship for the Grammar Schools but I understand, and believe, that in the final examinations the Central Schools achieved better results than some of the Grammar Schools 鈥� and that wouldn鈥檛 do, would it?

So there we were. Our form room was at the top of this old building and we had to run down many flights of stone steps to reach the brick air raid shelter in the small girls playground. Apart from our satchels and gas masks, we also carried with us little fold up seats made of metal and canvas so that we had something to sit on in the shelter. I spent many hours in that surface shelter waiting for the All Clear, it was cold and too dark to read so we just chatted and passed the time.

However, on one morning things were very different and we understood that formations of planes were bombing the north side of the city. We could hear the attack taking place but until we were allowed to go home we didn鈥檛 know that there had been a terrible attack on the Filton Aircraft Works. Many of the men, who were not called up to serve in the Forces worked there and their families were beside themselves with worry. There was no news and time dragged on. At long last a trickle of workers started to arrive home, footsore, cold and weary. They were questioned. 鈥淲hat has happened鈥�, 鈥淗ave you seen my husband, son or brother?鈥� The news was never good and from their appearance they had obviously been through a traumatic experience. My Aunt and Uncle were staying with us at the time and Uncle Bert had been at work there, we waited. At last he arrived home, still dazed by the sights he had seen , he had had to detour and walk miles out into the country before turning back into Bristol wearing his working clothes and some old slippers. He was home just in time for the evening air raid and Mum served his dinner in the cellar.

By this time the cellar shelter had been rearranged, we were spending so many of the evening/night hours down there waiting with very little activity, that it was decided to bring our beds down and hopefully sleep. We squeezed in a double bed for Mum and Dad, a double bed for my Aunt and Uncle, two camp beds for neighbours and a settee for myself with Bob, the dog, sleeping near my feet. There was hardly room between the poles to get out of bed. So for a few short weeks we all had a good nights sleep. It was quite usual, in the evening, at this time, to see our neighbours carrying mattresses and bedding through the streets to the surface shelters. The catch phrase was, 鈥淭ake up thy Bed and Walk鈥�.

Life became more interesting at school when our Shelter positions were changed. Instead of going to the playground shelter we were directed to the underground shelter. The underground shelter was down three long, steep, damp flights of steps to three cave like chambers with damp earth floors. Very old and ancient, with what seemed to be curved old brick roofs and a very mouldy smell, but very safe from Hitler鈥檚 bombs. We were told that when Bristol Castle was in use, the Great Hall was situated on the site of our school and that these chambers were where provisions were stored. In our gruesome minds, such an idea was too bland so we called them the Castle Dungeons. Whenever I walk down Lower Castle Street (Castle Ditch) going to Broadmead shops, I notice the wooden gates that have been erected in recent years. Immediately behind those doors, if you could turn to the left, is another door and that is the entrance to 鈥淥ur Dungeons鈥� where I spent some happy hours during the war. It was a good wartime experience that I鈥檓 glad I had.

So life went on, different but in routine. We always made a point of listening to the 大象传媒 News on the wireless and it was with horror we heard of the raid on Coventry. If they would bomb a Cathedral, they would bomb anything, and the civilian loss of life! Dreadful! Up until then one regarded wars as fighting between our soldiers and the enemy, civilians didn鈥檛 really get involved. No wonder children had been evacuated from London and some other big cities, how safe were we? We checked again to see that we had done all we could to protect ourselves should it happen here. In addition, mother filled the bath upstairs with water and covered it with a clean cotton sheet. For a little longer, not too worried, we slept at night.

As a thirteen year old I was still allowed to go out in the evenings with my friends, provided I didn鈥檛 go further away than running distance back home if the Siren sounded. My friend and I, Irene, used to go to St. Gabriels Church in Easton with our school friends, but this was out of bounds, too far. We fancied two angelic looking choir boys but that was that. However, on that fateful Sunday evening we set off up The Batch, Midland Road, in our Sunday best and I remember standing on Smele鈥檚 corner (greengrocer) and looking down Old Market towards Castle Street. We walked along West Street, passing Holy Trinity Church, wondering if we would meet any of our friends. We intended to return through Barton Hill, which of course we did, but at the furthest point away from home the Siren sounded and we started to run for dear life. We were not afraid of the possibility of bombs but we had gone a bit further away from home than our parents would have approved of Oh dear! We ran like we had never run before in our lives, my best hat fell off and the Sirens ceased as we made our way over the old twisty Days Road Bridge by the gasometer. There was completed silence, except for our pounding feet, as we made our way down Folly Lane into Sussex Street. The drone of aircraft, then everything was lit up with the first flares. I dived down the garden steps into the Cellar Shelter, too out of breath to speak.

There will be many tales of the actual First Bristol Blitz, there is little I can add, none of my family were killed or injured. Many will remember George Jones of The Dings, who bravely climbed on to the top of the huge gasometer and no doubt prevented a massive explosion. He was awarded the George Medal. As we huddled together that night listening and counting the sticks of bombs as they fell like great plodding footsteps, we wondered if the next step would be on us. They say you don鈥檛 hear the one that hits you. That night the choking grit and dust that came with every bomb was like fog which settled on us and made us filthy. One large nearby bomb blast came from the back of our property, split the building down the corner above the shop door and took the windows out. One shop window was full of china and
Glassware but as the window went 鈥渙ut鈥� and was not blown 鈥渋n鈥� none of the crockery was broken. From that time on it wasn鈥檛 safe to use the top floor of the house.

Hours later the All Clear sounded. We all made our way up the back garden steps into Sussex Street becoming entwined with wire and finding the streets deep in rubble from the bombed houses. The brick surface shelter, next to the Wardens Post opposite Henry street, had been hit, the slab of concrete roof falling on the occupants and trapping Mr. Trudgeon. We now realised that the wires entangled around our legs were the telephone wires from above our house. As we looked around and up the whole world seemed to be bright orange, red snow was falling or was it large pieces of burning confetti? We just looked 鈥� stunned.

Black figures began to stumble about 鈥淎re you alright?鈥� 鈥� 鈥淵es, are you?鈥� The brilliant orange light was frequently slashed with bursts of yellow from explosions. We looked down Alfred Street, across the railway and we could see that the L.M.S. Goods Yard was on fire from end to end. Drums of Oil had been stored there and one by one they were exploding causing the yellow flashes. With such a large fire nearby we could not see our town burning, nor the houses and shops of our near neighbours. Those who were able, were doing what they could to help others but I stood mesmerised. As we were removing the china goods from our shop window, neighbours were gathering around Mr. Longdon, the licensee of 鈥淭he Bunch of Grapes鈥�, who was standing on a pile of debris making a speech. 鈥淭his has to be revenged鈥�.

Before we could assess the whole damage to our home the Siren sounded again and down the Cellar we scrambled. Dad managed to make us all a cup of tea, Mum opened a tin of biscuits and I found our dog who had climbed on to Mum and Dad鈥檚 bed and wormed his way under the bedding. The poor old dog had been as frightened as the rest of us.

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