大象传媒

DISCLAIMER:
This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Phil Sealey of the Somerset County Museum Team on behalf of Hazel Lowson and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions

鈥淚 liked the rectory. It was old and interesting and sat humped in the middle of a large, untidy garden; dark clumps of cobwebbed shrubs loomed everywhere, offering secret hiding places. I liked the clucking chickens, strutting in their glossy feathers, which laid tasty brown eggs for me to collect. I loved the pretty ducks that somehow managed to keep spotlessly clean in their incredibly muddy pond. I was very happy with my new surroundings.
I felt safe in our little village, and was lulled to sleep each night by the pulsing beat of the German bombers passing over us on their way to bomb London - poor London. But one memorable night, to the shock of the village, some lazy German bombardier decided that instead of facing the heavy flak in London he would drop his Molotoff Bread Basket of incendiary bombs on us.
The shouting woke me and made me run to the window and pull back the curtains. I looked out onto the strangest sight - the garden was lit with an eerie green light and everywhere fires were spurting and fizzing. It looked like an illustration I had seen of Dante鈥檚 Inferno, a picture that I had found awful, but fascinating.
I heard my Mother running up the stairs. 鈥楺uick, into your dressing gown and shoes and down to the air raid shelter鈥� she urged. The air raid shelter was unused by us to date, but of course, I had explored it and found it to be horrid: dark, muddy and inhabited by large hairy spiders. No way! I thought, but I let my Mother usher me there. I recognized it was no time to protest. She left me with a blanket and then ran to help others. I, of course, came straight out again to see what was going on.
It was a very exciting scene, an alien world. Bushes flamed prettily and the spurting fires were like marvellous fireworks. People ran about and I listened to their taut voices: 鈥楧on鈥檛 put water on them, idiot鈥�! 鈥楾hey鈥檙e phosphorus鈥�. 鈥楿se sand.鈥� 鈥楾here isn鈥檛 any more鈥�. 鈥楾hen use earth, for God鈥檚 sake don鈥檛 touch anything, it sticks to you, oh God, that鈥檚 the Wilson鈥檚 house going up鈥�
I looked. I could see the bright glow he was talking about. I knew the Wilson鈥檚. They had a new baby girl; she was lovely, so small, and so perfect. My heart lunched as I realized it was not just exciting, it was dangerous. People might die. People I liked.
The rectory was not burning. We had been lucky, but others in the village had not been so lucky, but the Wilson鈥檚 and their new baby survived. When morning dawned we had a group of weary fire fighters in the rectory kitchen, drinking tea and eating toast. I got up very early and went hunting for souvenirs. I had learned from school, where swops went on all the time, that bomb souvenirs had great value and we might not get another direct hit.
I didn鈥檛 find much until I got to the duck pond, but there safely wedged in the mud where two unexploded incendiary bombs. I couldn鈥檛 believe my luck. I carefully prised one out from amid the squawking ducks. I washed off the mud and examined it with interest. It was about two feet long and its nose was blunt, like a cigarette end. No pointed nose cone, but it DID have three fins, which I thought was good and had great bargaining qualities, AND there were two of them. I cleaned up my first one and gave it a bit of a polish and then trotted off to the kitchen to show off my treasure.
Well, what a panic, you would have thought I was a fox entering the chicken coop. Grown-ups can be so stupid. I knew bombs couldn鈥檛 go off unless they were dropped from high up. They took my treasure away from me, made me tell them where the other one was AND told me off; really it was so unfair鈥�

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