大象传媒

I was five years old and living in my home of Liverpool when WWII began. My family comprised of a 7 year old sister, Beryl, my mother and a father in the Naval Reserve - so he was immediately absorbed into the war effort. His infrequent appearances caused major upheavals in our lives. We went where his ship docked, and refits, etc, meant we were at least twice away from Liverpool for long periods, Southampton 1941, Plymouth 1944-45. But Liverpool was his ship's home port for the first half of the war, for it was attached to the North Atlantic convoy routing. So during the war period, we alternately came to and went from Liverpool, and consequently my sister and i experienced a diversity of schools and shelters. Both of them had a profound effect on me but initially shelters predominated. In hindsight, I've realised that the styles of shelters we hid in could define to some extent the historical progress of the war. The cupboard under the stairs at home in Liverpool was the rist such. Possibly sharing it with mice, along with the smell of polish, prickles of stiff brushes, and dusty dusters, i found very off-putting as we crouched for what seemed hours in the dark. But worse was to come, in the form of beetles and spiders, with my next shelter experience, the Anderson.
Reinforced corrugated iron sheeting set deep in a hole in the garden, with the roof also protected by deep-packed earth, the Anderson remains my most memorable shelter. Principally for all the hours we spent in its dark, smelly, earthy dampness, listening as Beryl and i lay on our bunks to the guns, bombs, and Grandma's false teeth clicking as she demolished apple after apple. She and Grandpa had escaped the bombs and invasion fear of Great Yarmouth to come to Liverpool. Grandmas favourite supper was kippers. The bombers must also have liked them - they always came the nights she indulged. Thinking back to the obvious dangers of bombs etc, these were compunded by the electric bowl fire, it element centrally upright that Grandpa had fixed in the shelter for warmth. The flex went overground from the Anderson doorway to the House. The local school brick shelter with its reinforced concrete roof stays in mind, mainly for its pungent smell. used mainly for rehearsals of what to do when the sirens go, its mixed odours of cat urine and damp cement were overlaid by a pervasive cold, all held in by the doorway's pinky-red gas curtain.
During 1941, we were living in a rented house in Southampton also with an Anderson shelter. I remember feeling real fear there as the Germans Stukas gave a banshee wail as they dived. They couldn't be pulled out of the dive until they reached a certain height from the ground, when they could release their bomb loads.
London was the doodlebugs and our Morrison shelter which was just large enough for two growing children to lie down and sleep. I was really frightened there too, listening to the rockets engine. Fearing it would cut out as it passed above the house. The need for shelters decreased as the war moved to its end, but running in tandem with our safety experiences throught had been school life. for me, once the schools had been temporarily closed as the war started, there was a teacher visiting at home. In Southampton i received primary teaching in a hut when the school building had been bombed. In Plymouth i went to a newly built secondar school. Horrendous - identical quadrangles created orientation difficulties, there were many academic tests, their results being added up in a personal journal each week to find who in the class was the best, middling or worst. When VE Day came and everyone had a 2 day holiday, my delight was unbounded. Not for what VE Day meant to the rest of the world. No, it allowed me to escape that school. I never went back. Whatever my father was doing for the Royal Navy in Plymouth, immediately finished and we all went home to Liverpool. Amen.

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