大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Deena Campbell from CSV Action Desk on behalf of Mr Donald Victor Johnson and has been added to the site with his permission. Mr Johnson understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

My story is of a small child born in November 1942 just after the 8th army victory in the North Africa Desert, I was given the name Victor to honour it. Some of the tale was told to me as I grow up.

It is about my father, who had a reserve occupation as a drayman with the local brewery of Greenall Whitley in St Helens in South Lancashire. He joined the AFS before I was born. The AFS change in 1941 to the National Fire Service, N.F.S.

I can remember a large fire brass bell on the wall over the stairs and this was rung to test it at 9am and 6 pm. When a fire call was received at the station this fire bell would start ringing for about three minutes, it was so loud that it could wake the dead. When this happened we all had to move out of the way, so he could get out of the house as quickly as possible putting his fire kit on as he went. This was kept at the foot of the stairs near the front door, which my mum would open for him. She also had some cotton wool handy to put on the bell to stop the sound waking the rest of the family up at night, with little success, we always woke up. He ran down to the bottom of the street to the fire station.

His fire kit helmet (tin hat) gas mask tunic and leather fire boots were kept at the bottom of the stairs and I remember one day jumping down the stairs and landing head first in his boots.

We had a dartboard for home entertainment and whenever we started to play, Hitler鈥檚 air force would always come to call; in the end we stopped playing darts till after the war.

He remained in the N.F.S until 1948 when the fire service returned to the local authority.

...I can remember my gas mask was in the shape of Donald Duck鈥檚 head.

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