大象传媒

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I'll always remeber the night of Aug. 31st, 1940. Together
with my parents, I lived in Lodore Road, on the Pendragon Estate, near
Bolton Junction. Father was in the Bradford City Police, so he was, of
course, on duty when the air-raid sirens went. I was asleep in bed when
the sirens went, but my mother, who had expected my younger sister to be
born that day, carried me downstairs and outside into the Anderson
shelter which had been erected in our back garden. Before long, our
neighbours, John Willy and Mary Ellen Horne, joined us. They were an
elderly brother and sister, who kept a haberdashery shop at Undercliff.
I remeber the dank, earthy smell of the shelter, sitting ther in te
candle-light with the sound of bombs falling; the way they whistled as
they descended, then the loud "crump" as they landed. Each one sounded
louder than the previous one........I remeber the way my mother wrapped
her arms around her stomach, as if to protect the unborn babe......
As day began to dawn, Father arrived home, his uniform smelling so
strongly of smoke; he had been involved in the rescue of people from
bombed houses in Idle. Together we walked to the edge of the hill which
overlooked the city, which was burning in the valley below us. And what
caught my imagination was the way the flames reflected off the pall of
smoke which hung so heavily over us, turning the sky to a sullen red.
Very scary stuff for a seven-year-old!

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