大象传媒

Should anyone ask what is the thing that stands out mostly in my mind about London and the war, I would answer 'milk bottles'. Living in a tall old regency house, among many now turned into small apartments, milk bottles always seemed to make themselves heard. Milk bottles fell from the upper window sills as bombs fell, they rocked, falling into small yards of the basement below. Basements, once used by the downstairs staff of these houses long ago, now housing the caretakers of the apartments.
Refrigerators were few in those houses; those who had them were fortunate if they were still running, althought there was little to put into them. If they were still running, although there was little to put into them. If they were broken, they remained unrepaired, few people left to mend them. So, before it was known vitamin B was destroyed by light, milk bottles sat on the window sill to keep cool.
One sunny afternoon I watched a rocket explode in the air above my head; with the force of the expolsion, down came the milk bottles from above. They, too, were casualties of the war.
The never to be forgotten Sunday earlier, the doodlebug raids were at their height. I heard one, watched it's flight, after the engine cut out, they usually glided for a time before they reached the ground. Then I heard one, watched it's flight, after the engine cut out, they usually glided for a time before they reached the ground. Then I heard another, taking no notice as the engine stopped only to think it will fall quite away from the area. I stopped what I was doing as i realised the darn thing was coming straight down. I moved quickly, removed a kettle about to boil on the stove, placed it on the floor and dropped onto the small studio couch away from the window. I lay some time, it seemed like an eternity, with my face buried in the cushions. It's falling to my left, I remember thinking, and what a weight! Then I heard a small bang, followed by a crash. The sound ws like the noise I heard once when a mighty oak tree had been struck by lightning splitting the great tree in half in one fearsome stroke. I heard shattering of windows and rumble, in a rather detached way thought, my windows wil fall out with the vibrations, frame and all.
The windows continued to shake but, open top and bottom, they held and the vibrations began to lessen. Then I heard the milk bottles left outside of the house opposite, empty, for the milkman to collect. They fell from the step and some rolled a short way down the porch only to fall and break as they fell down the outer steps. All was quiet, except one milk bottle continued to rock, as if it refused to give up. Then it too fell from the step but did not break; like a dignified old lady, it gently rolled down the sloping stone porch to the steps, slowly, one, two, three, four and five. When it reached the sidewalk it continued to roll into the gutter. All was deathly quiet. I arose from the bed, straightened the pillows and walked to the door, opened it, not a sound, the neighbours must be out, except for one piece of glass falling from a window downstairs. I returned to the room and started to laugh, slightly hysterically; I was alive and one milk bottle had somehow survived.

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