大象传媒

I can remember 60 years ago, more than half a century. How did I get to be so old? I was busy getting on with life and suddenly the days, months and years are flying past. I am very fortunate to have a long and happy life. Thousands of young men and women 'gave their todays' so that my generation and my children and my children's children could live in freedom and prosperity in a much safer world. Only one of these young people was known to my family: my Dad's uncle and best friend, Ernest Fisher, aged 28, of the Royal Fusiliers. A dispatch rider, he died of wounds inflicted by a sniper. Luckily my dad came back to us although his health and strength were affected by his experiences.

One of my earliest memories goes back 62 years. It鈥檚 the night we were bombed out.

To begin at the beginning. My soon-to-be-mother and father were married on the 11th September 1937 in St Paul鈥檚 Church at 11 o鈥檆lock in the morning. My mother wore a fitted pale blue suit and a gorgeous white silk blouse. My father wore his Burton鈥檚 suit, white shirt and stripped tie. Both families were present in their Sunday clothes.

Refreshments were served in the newly married couple鈥檚 first home, sandwiches and cake. The honeymoon took place in Newcastle in the best seats in the Odeon cinema.

Two other important events occurred that year: the prime minister Mr Chamberlain returned from Munich with a piece of paper promising peace, and Sunderland Football Club won the FA Cup. There was rejoicing in the streets, and the victorious team was cheered all the way to Roker Park. A young man called George was one of that cheering crowd.

I arrived 12 months and 4 days later. The short journey took many painful hours until I finally burst out into the world. Pain was considered a necessary part of childbirth, and character forming. My new home consisted of 3 pleasant airy rooms. There was a coal fire and a range in the largest room. No bathroom, no sink, no indoor lavatory. All clean water had to be carried upstairs from a tap in the yard, all dirty water carried downstairs in the zinc bucket. The lavatory was next to the backyard wall, as far from the house as hygienically possible. Downstairs lived my aunt and uncle, and their large, noisy children.

My pre-eminence as an only child lasted for 18 months, then my golden haired baby sister arrived. My mam was now fully occupied in washing, cooking and cleaning. These activities had been part of her life since the age of 12, and caring for a toddler and a new baby proved to be very demanding, just as it is today. I was fortunately a 鈥済ood child鈥�, and played happily with mam鈥檚 shoes in the bottom of the cupboard. Dad had moved from Dawdon pit into the shipyards, which had reopened when it became clear that war was coming.

One of my earliest memories is of a clear spring night in May 1943. Mam shook me awake, pushed my arms into my coat and told me to put my shoes on. Quickly she picked up 2-year-old Jean, fastening a blanket tightly round her still sleeping body. I heard my granddad shout, 鈥淗urry up, Lizzie, the air raid warning has stopped. Get the bairns in the shelter鈥�.

Footsteps clattered down the stairs along the passage to the back door. Moonlight lit the yard as adults and children stumbled into the Anderson shelter. Nana was always the last. Hitler鈥檚 bombs didn鈥檛 frighten her.

Adults and children squashed together on the benches fitted to the 3 walls. Grandad stood protectively in the open doorway watching the searchlights probing the night sky. Mam鈥檚 sister, Josie, held Jean in her arms, and I sat on my aunt Vera鈥檚 knee. Josie and Vera began to croon 鈥淛ealousy鈥�. Grandad had sung in Concert Parties in the 1930s when he was out of work. He had a powerful tenor voice.

Suddenly the drone of a Heinkal bomber was heard. Everyone fell silent.

Seconds later there was a tremendous bang followed by several loud crashes and the shattering and splintering of glass. Bricks and chimney pots showered down, clattering and clanging on the corrugated iron roof. Slates crashed into the yard cracking the concrete surface.

Grandad opened the door a crack, 鈥淎nybody hurt?鈥� That night we were all lucky. The corrugated metal roof kept everyone safe. No one moved until the All Clear sounded. Nana and Grandad stepped out into the fresh air. Broken glass crackled underfoot.

鈥淒inna let the bairns out yet, the back yard鈥檚 covered in broken glass鈥�, Nana shouted to Mam. The house was still standing, though there was a hole in the roof where the chimneypot had crashed down. The backyard wall and the lavatory had gaping holes in them, doors were hanging in pieces on their hinges. Neighbours began to collect in the lane. A few yards from the house, just visible, was a gaping black hole. Nana discovered she was standing 3 steps from the edge. At the bottom of the hole lay an unexploded bomb. Talk was they had been made by Polish prisoners who had filled them with sand to stop them exploding.

Two ARP wardens appeared at the end of the street. The corner house lay in jagged piles of bricks and rubble. The family were still inside the house when it was hit. The Home Guard arrived and roped off the area around the hole. The ARP wardens started to check every house. Before they reached number 4, Mam and Nana darted into the house to pick up clothes and purses. Mam wept when she saw her kitchen. Large black flakes of soot covered the clean nightdresses, vests and knickers, dresses which had been washed earlier that day, all black, all dirty. This was almost more distressing than a wrecked home.

Number 4 was declared to be in a dangerous state, the family must find temporary accommodation. Grandad knew one place where his 6 children, his eldest daughter and her 2 little girls would be welcome, at his eldest sister Mary鈥檚 home.

Mam managed to get the pram out, Jean was tucked up inside and I held on tight to the handle bar. My uncle Joe pushed the pram, and off we set to walk through Mowbray Park to my great aunt Mary鈥檚 home. The children looked upon it as an adventure, the adults had more anxious thoughts about the future. The streets were familiar to Grandad, Nana and Mam, they always walked everywhere. Tram cars were an unnecessary expense.

Aunt Mary and her husband were up and dressed. A pot of tea was made and the story of the lucky escape spilled out in jumbled words too fast to take in beyond the fact that they had been bombed out. That was my first lucky escape, but not my last.

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