大象传媒

It was on Good Friday 1941 when German bombers sneaked into Bristol without being picked up by the Anti-Aircraft, dropping their bombs on the way out. The house next to ours had a direct hit, which brought down our back kitchen, burying my father who was preparing my grandmother's supper.The rest of us - mother, grandmother and great-aunt were all in the kitchen unharmed. I made my way round to the back of the house and with some difficulty identified our back garden, which was just a hill of debris. I climbed up to the back of the house calling to my father and eventually heard a faint voice answer me.I asked him if he was alright and he said" I don't know" and then I heard what I guessed to be the death-rattle. An air-raid warden arrived shortly after and I showed him where my father was buried whereupon he told me not to get hysterical - hhow else would one feel at the age of 20?
I spent the rest of the night with friends of my sister, in their shelter, where the mother moaned every time there was a bang. I just wanted to find out about father and I had no idea where the rest of the family had been taken. The police arrived early next morning and took me to the local police station for identification.
That day I made my way to one of father's brothers on the other side of Bristol, who had a car. He and my aunt drove me to my sister's cottage about ten miles out of Bristol where my two sisters were living away from the bombing, as the elder was expecting a baby and the younger had a one-year old. Her husband, who was in the RAF was killed a few months later on his solo flight at night.
It was a very sad 21st birthday for me .

This story was contributed by Pam Halliday.

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