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In the event of an Air Raid, during WW2, the Wardens were really busy, ensuring that people were off the streets. We had been warned that if the sirens went off we should go to a place of safety. Prior to the building of air raid shelters the best place was under the stairs in our houses, although those who could not afford it had built an Anderson shelter in their gardens. Some built a cage type contraption under their dining table; others would shelter in their cellars. If you were not at home the local railway stations were used. Church Halls and other public buildings were also utilised. Should a bomb fall in their vicinity, the Wardens would quickly assess the situation and contact the emergency services. They would assist casualties who were able to escape, and assist the Emergency Service in their duties. Members of the Women鈥檚 Voluntary Services would attend to provide hot drinks at a reception centre, and also give shelter and comfort to those who had lost their homes.
Within days I volunteered to be a Warden. In the early thirties I had joined the Army 鈥� The Kings Regiment 鈥� but had been discharged as medically unfit in 1938, due to accidents whilst playing rugby for the Army so at that stage I had not been called up for military service. As I had military experience I was quickly promoted to Senior Warden of Sector 59. My fianc茅 and I brought forward the date of our wedding to 18th November, but spent the night of the 17th on duty as someone had failed to attend the shift. We were unable to go away on Honeymoon.
Things were relatively quiet till Christmas, but in the New Year things started to hot up. I well remember the first time the sirens went off for real. It was just after midnight when we were awoken by the dreadful wail, and shot out of bed. I very quickly got dressed and went out into the street to be met by dozens of windows being lit up as people opened their curtains to see what was going on. I shouted 鈥淟ights!鈥� at the top of my voice, and the lights quickly disappeared. I dashed across the road to my sector post, suddenly turning around to ask my wife if she would bring a 鈥渃lean pocket handkerchief鈥� for me when she came to the Sector Post. Searchlights filled the starry skies, but fortunately, for that night at least, Liverpool was not the target. Anti-aircraft fire from the Royal Artillery, the Docks was a main target. We were also protected by thousands of Barrage Balloons that were deployed to deter low flying aircraft.
Things were reasonably quiet for a while, but we still carried out our duties. My wife had by then become a Warden and my eldest sister had become an auxiliary nurse. We tool First Aid exams and my wife came top with 98%, but instead of being congratulated, everyone asked how she had lost marks. Another duty was to distribute gas masks to everyone. They had to be shown how to fit them on correctly. In addition the Wardens had to go into a gas filled room and remove their masks for an instance so that they would smell gas and be able to recognise it in the event of a gas attack. One Warden wore a coat with a fur collar and unfortunately the smell of the gas clung to it for quite a while. Another duty undertaken was the distribution of Stirrup Pumps to various houses in the sector. These would be used to put out fires in the event of incendiary bombs being used.
Soon, of course, Liverpool was on the receiving end of the bombing raids, and our duties altered. I recall well spending one night watching Mossley Hill Parish Church burn after a direct hit. The inside was completely gutted. I found this a very harrowing experience, as I had been a member of the church and an enthusiastic Boy Scout in my youth. One evening a bomb hit a road about 100tyds from my home, demolishing several houses. By now I had been called up, but was home on leave and was able to go and help in the rescue operation. The following morning a neighbour drew my attention to something in the gutter at the front of the house. It was an incendiary bomb, which had lodged in the gutter, having failed to go off. I carefully removed it and placed it in a bucket of water. Fortunately, it was duff. We sent the fin to some cousins in Canada, carefully concealed in a rolled up newspaper.
When I was called up I was actually, surprisingly, posted to a local Searchlight unit. I was temporarily based less than a mile from home at Liverpool University Playing Fields. If I was not on duty I was able to go home (unofficially). Later I was stationed near Whitechurch, Crewe and Sandbach. Whilst at Sandbach, I became friendly with the farmer and his family who farmed next to the Searchlight site. They were extremely kind and allowed me to go to their house for a bath, followed by a wonderful farm tea. When I came home they gave me eggs to bring home 鈥� a luxury as by then food rationing had begun. From the searchlight sites we could hear the sounds of the bombs dropping from many miles away. We knew when there were going to be air raids, but obviously not where. If I knew of an impending raid, and I was able to get to a telephone 鈥� no mobiles in those days 鈥� I would telephone home and in the conversation give a coded message 鈥渇un and games tonight.鈥� One night we had a very special job to do. An RAF aircraft was limping home. All we knew was that it was damaged and unable to navigate its own way to its base. All up the country searchlights were put up into the sky, thus creating a path of light for the pilot to follow. We later heard that it had reached base and landed safely.

In 1942 I was transferred to the Indian Army, being stationed in India and later fighting in the jungles of Burma鈥︹�︹�ut that鈥檚 another story.

By Judith M Kincaid

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