大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Sabrina Parkar for Three Counties Action on behalf of Jean Allen and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

It was the 30th August 1940, and I was, a ten year old school girl, going home form school at 3.30 in the afternoon. It was a scorching hot day, and was going home to pick up my swimming things, as I was going to the public baths. I knew my mother and two sisters were out, but my father would be home, as he was on night work. At de-havernandy aircraft factory, in London. I had been told to wake him up. I had only been in for ten minuets, when I heard a roaring noise from outside. I ran to the back door and saw a number of aircraft with black things falling out of them. They were bombs, I ran back into the house, ran up stairs to tell my dad. He was out of bed and told me to get into the shelter. I got half way down the stairs when all hell let loose. We had been direct hit. I don鈥檛 know how long I laid there, when I heard my dad calling me, we heard people calling, and after 2 hours they got him out. He told them I was buried and about 2 hours later I was pulled out. My right leg was hanging off there was about 1鈥� of bone and 3鈥� of flesh holding it on to the top half. They put me in the back of a car. A man and a woman got in , to hold my leg together. I got to hospital and that was the start of much surgery. I had about five operations, and four years later plastic surgery was planned. But that went all wrong and had to be removed. So I have still got a very large scar, but it has never stopped me doing the things I wanted to do. My dad died aged 79, and just before he died they dressed his wounds. His never healed up. The only thing that affected me since it happened is that I suffer from claustrophobia.

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