大象传媒

I remember living near the canals in Coventry and seeing dead dogs floating along, they had probably been hit by debris from bombings, so we stopped walking there. We had our bomb shelter under the stairs and many a night we'd be woken by the sirens and have to go rushing down the stairs to our little cots in this tiny room. Dad worked at a factory so he wasn't off fighting, which was, of course, a great comfort.
Coventry received a lot of bombing and after one particularly rough night we got up to see that my aunt and uncle's house opposite was just a pile of rubble; they had taken refuge under a heavy dining-room table and were very lucky to survive. Then there were the times that we were walking along doing our shopping and the sirens would go off and we'd have to run to the nearest shelter, often directed by Air Raid Wardens. Once there, my mother would worry about my older sister, Ruth, at school and also my father at the factory, which would have been a prime target. I really don't know if I felt terrified as a child, I know that lieing in bed listening to the planes overhead, in Coventry and in the country, I could always tell which sounded like a 'jerry' and which was friendly, and would worriedly lie there hoping I was right! So I guess I was quite frightened. I also had nightmares periodically until I was in my 40s.
We had a lovely, modern, house in coventry. Indoor plumbing, bathroom, lots of tiles. However, when we were evacuated to Barford (I actually don't remember the exact year) things changed. We, mothers and children, were taken on a school bus and because my father had a car he was able to follow behind. We were dropped off at the village hall and Barford residents came out to meet us. We were 'adopted' by Mr. and Mrs. Bister, a couple with no children who lived in a quaint thatch-roofed cottage. We had to get our drinking water from a pump in the garden, and the bath was filled up with warm water that had been heated in a kettle and large pot. In spite of that, we had a great time and were happily scared-to-death by a neighbor who, after the death of her husband or son, in the war, had gone a little crazy. She would sit on the bucket lavatory (another new experience for us after mod cons) kicking her heels and singing. All of this lack of conveniences must have been quite traumatic for my mother who had been used to a very modern house. However, shortly after our evacuation the house was destroyed by a bomb.
We stayed in Barford, moving to a flat on the village estate (they called it a bothy) and then to one of the houses on the estate, where we had to climb a hill to get pails of water for drinking from the 'big house'. Actually I'm not sure if this was just when our kitchen pump was not working or if it was constant. We had lots of room, enjoyed the farm and the land girls and watched Italian prisoners being marched up the hill to the prisoner-of-war camp nearby. We also watched our own English troops marching by and waved and smiled at them. A land far-removed from the war-torn city of Coventry. I remember hearing about the cathedral being bombed, and listening to the voice of Winston Churchill with his radio broadcasts. The voice had a very comforting effect.
Barford turned out to be a very good spot for us, we ended up in a small cottage by the river Avon. I moved to America when I was 20; the rest of the family remained in and around Barford, except for a younger sister who joined me here.
The war years - while I would never, ever want to repeat them, did, nevertheless, have a special feeling of being connected with everyone, whether it was discussing the war, rationing, or how to use our rations sparingly.
I hope that this little story helps spark some memories in anyone who reads it. Thank you for reading it.

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