大象传媒

It all started from the fact that my father didn鈥檛 have a trade and was obliged to take any job he could get, which, in those days, meant simply labouring. He had been at sea in the Merchant Navy before he married my mother, but after that he settled down at home with jobs in the jute mills mostly.

Like many of his contemporaries during the depression of the mid-1930鈥檚, he was unemployed, staying at home while mum worked. Mum was a spool-winder and she managed to get a job, probably because women were paid less than men. Dad had been in work in Walker鈥檚 Mill when war broke out in 1939, but sometime in the next year he was made redundant again. However, with air-raid and anti-invasion defences going on apace, he managed to find employment in that field. 鈥淔ield鈥� is probably the operative word, since the job entailed going to various sites in the surrounding countryside, which were considered suitable for the landing of gliders in the event of an invasion. Dad鈥檚 job, along with the rest of the work gang, was to dig holes that were sufficiently deep to maintain a tree trunk in an upright position. They would then insert the trunks and re-fill the holes to support the poles. These artificial woods became familiar land-marks of rural and coastal defences.

However, such a job was obviously not of a permanent nature and, once their remit was completed about the end of 1940, Dad was out of work again. Then in January 1941, with military supplies production in full swing, manpower was desperately needed in the factories of the Midlands, where much of this kind of industry was based. So Dad, along with many others on the unemployment register, moved down there; Dad to one of the Daimler plants in Coventry, where I think they were manufacturing aircraft engines and various other military hardware. Coventry, an obvious military target, had been heavily bombed just two months previously in November 1940 and I remember reading in Dad鈥檚 first letter home, his description of the damage as 鈥済hastly鈥�.

Thus things proceeded until about the end of March 1941, when Dad wrote to say he鈥檇 managed to find accommodation for us 鈥� my mother, my sister May and myself - to enable us to come down and join him in Coventry. His reasoning for taking us there was that there hadn鈥檛 been a raid for months, so Jerry was probably leaving Coventry alone now. I鈥檓 not quite sure what the arrangements were, but we didn鈥檛 give up the rented house we were staying in here in Dundee. However, May, my sister, who was 14, and four years older than me, gave up her job. She had been working as an assistant in Wright鈥檚 printers shop, owned by the husband of her elocution teacher, Ella Wright, nee Rutherford. The shop also doubled as Maryfield Post Office, which is still there. However, my school teacher at Dens Road School was informed that I was leaving.

So, one Saturday morning around the beginning of April 1941, we set off with huge suitcases to the West Station in Dundee. This for us was to be a marathon journey, none of us having been any further away from home than Glasgow. Our train left about 8 o鈥檆lock and according to the information we had, it would be a journey of approximately 12 hours. I remember we had to change trains at Carlisle, Crewe and Birmingham, finally being met by my father in Coventry Station about 8 o鈥檆lock in the evening 鈥渢o begin a new life鈥�.

The accommodation he had found for us was in a vacant furnished house in Louden Avenue, along with a Welsh family, Mr and Mrs Ifor Thomas and teenage daughter Marcel, from Aberystwyth. I鈥檓 not sure about the house number, except that it was in the 90s, but its name was 鈥楥hez Nous鈥�. When we alighted from the taxi outside, May, who had done French at school, immediately translated this for us as 鈥極ur Home鈥� One of the first things we noticed was that there was no glass in the windows. It had been replaced with muslin in case of bomb blasts.

We shared the living鈥攔oom, kitchen and bathroom with the Thomases, but each family had their own bedroom. There was a piano in the living room and Marcel could play it, but unfortunately she could only play one tune, 鈥淒rink to me only with thine eyes鈥�, probably the one she was taught by her piano teacher.

After a good night鈥檚 sleep to recover from our long, tiring journey, we woke to a lovely spring morning. We spent the day exploring our new surroundings; seeing what the town was like; what shops there were etc. and, of course, looking at the devastation caused by the November blitz. The ruined cathedral was particularly moving.

Marcel worked in the telephone exchange of Car Bodies, a local engineering firm, and she was sure May could also find a job there. So next day, Monday, May went to enquire and was told to start the next morning.

Mum, May and I went into the town later for groceries and on the way home Mum spotted a primary school just down the road from where we were staying. It was called Radford Road School, after the area, Radford Common, nearby which it was situated. It was an imposing, red sandstone building and Mum decided that she would make enquiries regarding me being admitted to the roll.

The rest of the day went without incident until about 8.30, when the sirens sounded. Dad said not to be too bothered, as the usual practice was to wait until you heard the sound of anti-aircraft guns before making for shelter. We never heard any guns, so we went off to bed and slept soundly all night. Next morning, May went off with Marcel to start work in Car Bodies and Dad was, of course, at work also, so Mum and I were on our own. We learned that Birmingham had been the target the previous evening; hence the reason there was no gunfire.

The rest of the day was almost a repetition of the day before - in town again, having lunch at a British Restaurant, which were commonplace eating-houses all over the country at the time. Mum took note of what grocers there were, since we would have to register with one. This was a wartime regulation. One grocer would hold the family鈥檚 ration books and supply the family with their allocation of rationed foods in exchange for the appropriate number of coupons from the book.

Nothing untoward happened the rest of the day and we settled down in the evening with normal family pursuits. Then, as on the previous evening, about 8.30, the sirens sounded. Again we dismissed them, waiting until we heard gunfire. We didn鈥檛 have long to wait. That was the signal to move, so we put our coats on and went outside. The night sky was a red glow and we began to run towards the underground shelter on Radford Common, about half a mile away. Not long after setting off, just having turned into Wylye Road, I think it was called; a street leading down to the common, the incendiaries began falling. I saw an Air Raid Warden drop a sandbag on one, just a few yards from me. Dad said 鈥淐鈥檓on, in here meantime!鈥� It was the home of one of his work colleagues. We were hardly inside, sitting in the hall, when another incendiary bomb fell in the garden, just outside the front door. Through the open door we could see the huge fountain of coloured sparks emanating from the thing and I, in my youthful innocence, voiced my opinion, 鈥淥h, what bonny lights鈥�. 鈥淵es鈥�, replied Dad, 鈥渂ut so deadly too鈥�. Directing me behind him for protection, he and the man of the house got out the stirrup pump and, using the slightly open door as a shield, directed the jet on to the device and extinguished it. (See poem in 鈥淐oventry Blitz 2鈥�).

Once this was achieved, we set off again toward the shelter, arriving there a few minutes later. We found the place quite full, but managed to find seats just inside the door, on one of the long wooden benches lining the walls. The shelter was no more than a series of brick-lined tunnels several feet underground. It was cold and full of cigarette smoke and the cries of young children. Apart from that, there was the noise of the guns from outside and the regular whine and blast of high-explosive bombs, several of which seemed very close. Whenever one of those 鈥渘ear things鈥� occurred, the cry went up 鈥淒ook, loove!鈥� and we all ducked our heads in obedience.

Since I was wearing sandals, on several occasions I felt the blast from one of these bombs thump into the insteps of my feet through the spaces in the duckboarded floor. Sleep was impossible. May couldn鈥檛 put up with the stuffy atmosphere and went out to stand by the entrance for some fresh air. She came back inside about an hour later and informed us that Car Bodies was on fire. She had gone out for a walk in the midst of the raid. The gentleman whose house we had sheltered in earlier arrived at the air-raid shelter soon after us and said that another incendiary had hit his back bedroom after we left. The dangerous situation we were in was starkly brought home to us soon after, when an air-raid warden arrived with a huge dent in the front of his steel helmet. His headgear had obviously saved his life from whatever fell on him. He looked ghastly and no wonder! (Continued in 鈥淐oventry Blitz 2鈥�).

Walter Blacklaw via Dundee Central Library

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