大象传媒

Air Raid on Bristol Aeroplane Company Works

Rita Harris

On the 25th September 1940, my sister Brenda and I went to Upper Horfield School as usual. Brenda went to the junior school and I went to the infants school. I was seven years and one month old and she was nearly ten. It was the day of the big daylight raid on Bristol Aeroplane Company works at Filton about fifteen minutes walk away.

Children had been previously asked to bring a stool to school for use in the air-raid shelters, and my father had made one for each of us. I remember being told to collect my stool, and as I lined up in the playground with my class to go to one of the brick built surface shelters, I waved to my sister waiting patiently with her stool ready to march to a different shelter. As far as I can remember, this was the first time that we had used the shelters at school. The attack seemed very close and the numerous explosions and bangs very loud. There was a man in our shelter who tried to reassure us by explaining to us that the noise was 鈥渙nly Purdown Percy鈥�, an almost mythical anti-aircraft gun. This was sited on part of what is now Lockleaze Housing estate. Some of the boys in my shelter had to be restrained from going outside to see the action. We had all heard tales of 鈥淧ercy鈥�. I do not remember being particularly frightened.

Many years later I was told of my parents experiences on that day. My mother was in the garden when she heard the drone of aircraft and saw a large formation of planes heading north. A neighbour called a warning to her to take shelter, as they were not 鈥渙urs鈥�. She then had to wait not knowing what was happening to her girls, or at the factory where my father worked, the obvious target. There was no Radio Bristol or television to keep people abreast of events, and very few had telephones. After we came home safely, she had hid her anxiety from us. As men began to drift home from the stricken factory she stood at the front gate to ask of news of my father. The replies told of damage and confusion but no firm knowledge of him. Many hours later he arrived home tired and dirty. The shelter he would normally have gone to, had received a direct hit. As he knew many of the people inside as friends and work-mates, he had stayed on to help to free the casualties. Unfortunately his particular friend, Mr H, who was a married man with two boys, one a little older than me and one a bit younger, had not survived. A short while after the raid, his wife gave birth to a baby girl, who would now never know her father.

In September 1990, which was on the fiftieth anniversary of the air raid, I attended a commemorative service at Filton Parish Church. This was to remember and reflect on the events of that day, and those who had lost their lives. The church was packed with civic dignitaries and many people with their own personal thoughts and memories. My own parents were both dead by this time, and I felt I represented them in honouring the memory of Mr H who I also remember well. I am sure my dad would have approved.

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