- Contributed by听
- lewishamwarbaby
- People in story:听
- Elaine Bain
- Location of story:听
- Bognor Regis & London
- Article ID:听
- A2170432
- Contributed on:听
- 03 January 2004
I was born in Lewisham,South East London in April 1940. Shortly after my birth, my father joined the London Fire Brigade and mother and I moved from London to my Grandparents home in Bognor Regis, Sussex. We moved thus because the County of Sussex representeded a safer and secure environment for both mother and baby. She and I then, became evacuees. However, the second World War wasn`t about to let us off scot free. We were but a few miles east of Portsmouth, a naval port, and besides, we were placed quite firmly on coastal fringes on which German binoculars were almost routintely trained. I grew,into my formative years, expecting to be overrun by a terrifyingly sadistic enemy. A darkly clad, heavily balacavaled germanic enemy which swore to mercilessly spear young babies with already bloodied bayonets. I clearly recall flooding panic on being lifted from occasional warm beds, wrapped severely, harshly, in prickly horse hair blankets, being rushed tumbling downstairs, heralded, by urgent shrieks from unidentified female relatives, to my steadfast Grandfathers Anderstone Shelter in the back garden. Cold night air hitting my face as I emmerged from the house, legs bare, unclad feet. This middle night ordeal resoutely accompanied by low pitch drones of overhead aircraft, accompanied by shimmering ribbons of white light in the sky, as search lights struggled to identify incoming aircraft. I recall
each segement as its particular quota. The dense stench of earth, acrid waft of oily perfume as lamp fuel catches the throat, clunk of shelter door, and the huge breath of fear within the wake of a bomb blast, the silence thereafter.
Later, a doodlebug, this whinning satellite hovering
in the sky within a hands grasp, a shining beacon in bright blue sky. Then, silence. Within this pause, hands reaching for me, dragging me inside a hallway, and within the hallway, into a staircupboard, and then an extreme explosion which ensures tiles from the roof tumble into the cupboard and slates land at my feet.
I return to London in 1947. I have no idea who my father is, am unsure how to approach him and immediately feel he does not like me. I live amongst bomb sites and pretend to be part of a family which no longer exists.
漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.