大象传媒

At six o'clock the sirens sound
And all the family goes to ground
Helter Skelter to the shelter
Chairs and gas masks follow suite
Father enters - minus boot
Shouting out the old refrain
"The lousy *'s here again"

In the recent reminiscences of wartime in Bristol I have been threatened, badgered and coerced to write a few of the many instances which befell the lot of the Messenger Boys of Wardens Post G3 Bloomfield Road, Brislington.

The short poem was beloved of the Messengers, but I dare not write any further verses, as it was, we got a severe ticking off from the Senior Warden - (ole white 鈥榓t)

The Warden Service, as is well known, did wonderful work throughout the length and breadth of the land. The Messenger Boys also came inf or their fair share of rough stuff - in this particular area the boys were mostly Scouts from local troops 5th, 127th and 145 Bristol and nothing very much happened until the blitzes commenced - true we had trained, we knew the location of every shelter - every road, street, track land and short cut in the district, and two or three of us had a pretty good knowledge of the city highways and byeways - which proved very useful as time would tell.

All messengers were on Rota. One on every night - all to turn out in the event of a raid - on the occasion of the first blitz one of the boys, Bob Crewe, didn't show up until about midnight, briefly apologising for his late arrival. He later explained, under pressure, that at the commencement of the raid he had been in the Colston Hall, and had immediately left to report for duty - all public transport was at a standstill - his problem was to get from the centre of the city to his post some three or so miles away - he set off on foot, half running, half walking, and he said he seemed to be followed by bombs and incendiaries all the way, he was turned from his main route by the intense fires. He circled around the Horsefair, down through the Arcades, and was blasted through the top arcade by a bomb - down to the bottom of Castle street and back through Barton Hill, arriving at the post with his shoes almost burnt off of his feet, his coat singed, and covered in smuts and dirt - Bob was all of 5foot, and had a wonderful knack of going to sleep standing up.

Hary Hancey was another good lad. He had a battered old white racing bike, and would come belting down to the Post on his worthy steed singing "Rumple Stiltskins" - Fred Dix, Ivor Lansdown and several more could tell of hair raising rides in the Raids.

Now it's a funny thing but almost every time Jerry7 dropped any eggs, the electric suppl7 or tye pone lines were hit. Whilst the Wardens patrolled thier sectors - checking on every shelter, assuring and reassuring - watching - -waiting - ready for any emergency, the tenuous link between sectors - ARP HQ - the police and others was maintained by the Messenger boys - It was found, not surprisingly, that one could not carry a car or motorcycle over a pile of rubble, a collapsed building, blown up road, or bomb crater, but a 鈥榖ike was easily transportable.

One particularly busy night all contact was lost with one of the sectors in the Totterdown Bridge area, around which some heavy H.E had been observed. Two messengers ere sent off to make sure all was well - one riding about 100 yards behind the other, just in case of accidents you know - the Wardens at Totterdown Bridge post were all out on incidents having had a fair old pasting and we were assured that all was sell by an imperturbable lady telephonist who offered us a cup of tea - the numerous 鈥榗uppas' we were offered makes the mind boggle - fresh instructions were issued - the centre of the city was cut off, and nothing had been heard from several of the sectors, fierce fires were burning and several fireengines from outside had been called in. Go and find out what was happening - make contact with central wardens and police and report back. They pressed on, straddled by a stack of bombs at Three Lamps - blown off bikes - reported one unexploded seen to crash into large house near railway - no one believed them, and the ruddy house blew up at midday next day - down past Temple Meads station - through Victoria Street and Temple Church - many fires , debris in road watch for falling masonry - passed by a fire engine hurtling into the centre of the blaze - an occasional tin hatted warden or policeman would give an encouraging wave - Bristol Bridge - hole in bridge, parapet damaged - overturned fire engine - body of fireman lying in road - ambulance appeared like magic driven by an elderly lady who seemed quite unconcerned - Broad Street - Wine street was completely impassable - back lanes to Pithay, policeman stopped them and requested them to contact Wardens post in Portland Square. Through Blackfriars - Wilder Street - Portland Square to a scene of tragedy - the post had received a direct hit. Back to report to policeman in Bridewell street who then commandeered them to take an out of town fire engine to big blaze at Avon Street - bikes on engine and a rather hair raising bumpy ride - paper warehouse well ablaze - firemen were from Somerset, well trained, completely in control of situation - pointed out nearby river to them for their pumps and left them nursing a ruddy great fire in a prime target area, having been given a swig of cider which they produced from heaven knows where. Headed back for G3 as fast as they could - full tilt into a pulsating hosepipe across road - rear rider muttering something about district being very untidy - curled up under tin hats as another stick of bombs exploded nearby in St. Philips - in an inexplicable moment of silence a wavering voice from Fred's tin hat "Ha ha, missed me!" Reported back to Post Warden, old Bo' Bennett, one of the nicest blokes, he wanted he wanted to know if we's been on a Sunday School outing - all the tea was gone - all wardens were out, and there was a feather bed on fire in a house in Martingale Road - Hary and Bob had been sent to HQ at Knowle.

Ivor Lansdown appeared covered in dirt and smuts and insisted uon going out again to check on an old lady who he knew was alone in her shelter at th top of Conway Road.

Harry and bob came back from Knowle HQ in record time taking a short cut through Arnos Vale Cemetery - a brew of tea as the raid tailed off and the wardens came in one by one to report all was well - Bob Crewe again going to sleep standing up.

Space does not permit all the stories - but one must be told, of the unexploded bomb in the courtyard of Arnos Court - then a Convent with a large population of nuns and girls, what on earth the girls were doing there we never did find out - however we found an unexploded bomb in the courtyard, very near the shelters - raking out a very frightened nun, she was almost as scared as we were, we pointed this out to the dear lady but could only extract a series of fervent "Hail Marys" we said in no uncertain terms that the thing was likely to go off as it was a ruddy great bomb and that if she didn't mind gong to heaven, we did, in fact we weren't quite so sure about it as she was in any case we hadn't had our supper so would she please pull her finger out and get something done - a quiet voice from behind us calmed the frightened nun - the Mother Superior had appeared, and with that calm grace and dignity that only nuns seem to carry organised the evacuation, and we returned to the Post to report the UXB and to confess to the Post Warden that we had sworn at a nun, and would he please apologise to the Mother superior for us, pleading sheer fright. This he did the next morning and the good nuns sent us each a small Sacred heart with the message that all was forgiven and that they would always pray for us - Post Warden's comment was was that we bloody well needed praying for!

Allan Howells, An old messenger boy.
Died February 8th 2001

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