大象传媒

6 o'clock Saturday evening and the little Co-op shop in Gresham street shut shop with the best Christmas display that could be arranged. George, the manager said that this would be the last big Christmas in the shop for a while until the war ended, and then in reply to may question of what the war was like, he replied "Don't ask sonny."
I was the shop's boy - 16 years old and full of everything life had to offer. Frank Smith of Higher Openshaw, Fred Philips of Clayton Vale, Joe Flanaghan of Stuart Street and of course George Lowe of Cheetham Hill were the complete staff of no.33 branch Beswick Co-op who did not have any idea of what was about to happen as we all set off for the weekend.
Saturday night I went dancing at the Lido, then on Sunday I helped Dad with the Runcorn run for Mayfair milk, then went home for dinner. I had a ticket to a concert by the Joe Loss Band at the Apollo Ardwick Green that night. At about 7 o'clock the air raid sirens went off and the management announced that the band would carry on for anyone who wished to stay. By 9 o'clock the noise of the bombing was too loud so the band gave up and everybody left the cinema and were ushered in the air raid shelters. My friend Audrey and I did not want to be held in a shelter so we slipped out into the Midland Road and set off for Clayton via Bradford, using all the back-alleys we could. An incendiary firebomb slowed us down for a time but we both eventually got home, first to Bradford then I set off up Ashton New Road to Clayton where I ran into hundreds of people coming down the road who were evacuating an un-exploded bomb area. This panicked me but I got home to find that all was well.
Dad was standing on the garden path reading the newspaper in the light of the fires burning in the city centre three miles away and the rest of the household were inside the Anderson shelter when I joined them. There was the usual back-chatting across the gardens from the neighbours in their shelters when there was one hell of a bang. Dad, who would not usually come into the shelter came in head first, looking terrified. Then, all went quiet and back to normal, with everyone glad to hear the all-clear so that they could catch a bit of sleep before work time.
On Monday I was due at Ancoats Hospital for a check-up of my cut finger which was all healed up and well. So, without any thought I set off on my bike, got to the outpatients department and went inside, where I got a shock - the waiting room was full of corpses everywhere. A nurse asked me what I wanted and I spluttered a lot of nonsense and ran out of hospital a very frightened little boy.
I set off to go to work again on my bike but as soon as I got within the beginning of Gresham Street I had to get off my bike because of all the glass on the road. When I got to the shop, I found all the front of the shop had gone and all the stock was spread out all over the road. A policeman asked me who I was and after replying that I was the shop-boy, he said "That's good, I can get off now.", leaving me in a daze.
The doors to the rear of the shop were still there so I went into the rear of the shop and found all seemingly normal. I tried the electric light and the water in the Geyser and as all was all right, I went upstairs into the dining room where I found that the windows had gone and most of the contents of the room had gone too - except for a strange thing - a 7lb mince meat jar full of salt in the centre of the table with the tea pot behind it, which was still in one piece. This prompted me to make some tea as the iron kettle was still downstairs and the gas stove was working. After making lots of tea using jam jars for cups and serving anyone who came by, I felt a bit better and when the rest of the staff eventually arrived and the cleaning got under way, I was in a trance.
After being kept busy, I settled down and it was when there was little else that could be done that the police came and asked the manager if he could borrow the shop bike.
"Take the lad as well" Mr Lowe replied, to which the police gladly accepted and I found myself on another never to be forgotten experience. The land mine, as the bombs were referred to, had gone off in the middle of Oliver Street, destroying some 100 terraced houses and damaging many more. The rescue men were searching the rubble and as they found possessions, they placed them by the house so that they could be taken to the rescue centre where that family had been taken, if they were unharmed by the bomb. I was then to load the possessions into my carrier bike and deliver them. The job took all of the rest of the next day and I knew most of the people who lived in the area.
In two or three days I certainly grew up very quickly and fully understood what Mr Lowe had meant when he said, in answer to my question about what war was like,
"Don't ask sonny."

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