大象传媒

'This story was submitted by Catherine Garvie, 大象传媒 LPM in Scotland on behalf of Gretta Miller-MacMillan-Smith and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.'

I remember one October during the War when we got the chance to help pick potatoes. My hand was up, we received 5 shillings a week and took about half a stone of potatoes home with us on the Friday. Riches indeed!

By this time my father had joined up. He was in the Air Force. One day he was offered the job of running the battery factory at Oldham. He had volunteered the day before (42 yrs old - he lied about his age and was in the First World War at 16 yrs of age).

I was one of a big family. There were nine of us. I never felt afraid during the War until one night after all the older ones had either joined up or gone to First Aid Post. We were with my mother. The bombs were falling thick and fast. My mum was praying "Oh! God, this night help us". Then she decided we should all be in the shelter. We ran down to the one in the middle of Glebe Street, the shrapnel falling all around us. I can still see it striking the ground, imbedding itself in the tar macadam. I was carrying my brother at this time. Bertie would be only two or three years old.

I think the first bombs dropped in Renfrew. Queen Street was first, the Masonic Hall was hit. Our neighbour, Mrs Stewart (they had the farm)was blown from one end of the barn to the other landing amongst the hay!! She had been milking the cows at the time. The next bomb was a direct hit (where the bakery is now). An old couple, Mrs and Mrs Smith lived there. They were alright, sheltering under a table. Not so their son and a warden who had gone to the front in a lull to see if his parents were alright. They were both blown to the back of the shelter and killed. The old couple were not even injured.

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