大象传媒

Life as a child in an Anderson Shelter

In 1941 at the age of 4 wih the escalation of World War 2 my world changed.

The most dramatic change was the family鈥檚 nightly routine.

We lived in a bungalow and my sister Thelma 10 years old and myself were hurriedly woken from our shared bed by our parents, the window opened wide, and we scrambled out to cross a 3 foot path and descent 4 or 5 steps into our underground Anderson Shelter.

12 months previously I, as a youngster had watched totally perplexed as my father and uncle Steven had dug an enormous 鈥減it鈥� and then man-handled with, considerable difficulty, the sheets of ridged 鈥渕etal鈥� to make the walls and roof of an underground shelter. My father 鈥渁 stickler for perfection鈥� reinforced this with concrete and soil forming an overhead rockery. Of course our shelter was 鈥渄eeper than regulations鈥� and therefore concrete steps formed part of the design. No one else in our area had such a 鈥渟uperior underground model air raid shelter鈥�, hence our closest 3 or 4 neighbours all sent their children to join in our nightly occupation, together with their mothers when the bombing got really heavy.

We had 3 bunk beds and mattresses along 3 sides set at about 1-metre height with benches underneath. The children 鈥渟lept鈥� or not, on the beds and mothers 鈥渟at鈥� below the bunk beds.

A small primus stove, water, tea and provisions were at the ready, and this together with the sandwiches etc., made ready the night before (just in case) kept us going. Not much sleep was had by grown ups nor children, with the constant noise of overhead, droning aircraft and exploding noises around, which was very frightening.

No men were included in our gathering, as they all congregated in the 鈥楶hilips鈥� large concrete garage, where ladders and red buckets hung on the walls together with sandbags littering the floor. This was where my father spent his nights 鈥渇ire watching鈥�. Occasionally he popped across the road to see if we were all right in our shelter.

The lawn he crossed to do so, was sometimes covered in 鈥榮hrapnel鈥� and although I didn鈥檛 know what it was, I realised from the worried state of my mother, that crossing the lawn in the air raid was very dangerous and from that moment on, each time my father came to see us caused me 鈥渟ilently鈥� to descend into utter fear, only lifted by the sound of the 鈥淎ll Clear鈥�

My father told us we were on the flight path of bombers looking for Stewart & Lloyds Steel making factory, hence our precarious position.

However tired we were, the daily routine ground on. People went to work, my mum in a road transport caf茅, my dad in the J Thompson Engineering Company, then turned to making weapons. Children went to school.

I started school at the age of 4 and was the proud owner of a 鈥楳ickey Mouse鈥� gas mask. This was made of red rubber with 鈥榚ars鈥� and kept in a cardboard case with a string strap. I proudly wore this daily to and from school. No one else in our family had this model, as they all possessed the dull ordinary black gas masks.

We practised putting them on and off at school and had 鈥渁ir raid practices鈥�, where we were marched off in file to shelters which ran alongside the edge of our playground. Looking like tunnel/mounds covered with soil and grass, they were constructed using bricks and reinforced concrete. Inside benches lined the walls but they were damp, dark and smelly. Fortunately we only needed to take shelter during 1 or 2 鈥榬eal鈥� daytime raids.

My strongest memory of the shelters is when, with the war over, at the age of 10, a friend and I sneaked away to spend our playtime on the far side of the mound, totally hidden from everyone, sharing our playtime goodies. Alas we were often in trouble, not hearing the whistle and therefore late for class.

School was an 8/10-minute walk from home with the main Wolverhampton, Bilston Road crossing my route.

One sunny lunchtime, at the age of 6, I arrived at the main road to a scene of total pandemonium. People everywhere, noise and confusion, a frightening situation. As I tried to push my way through people鈥檚 legs to get across the road I was spotted by a policeman, who told me no one could go through, because of an unexploded bomb.

Even now I can remember the icy fear that gripped me, in my childhood world of knowing a little, but not understanding fully.

At least the Policemen held on to my hand, and asked me if I knew my identification number. I reeled it off; this number having been drilled into me since the age of 4 and if necessary would reveal my name, address and details of my family.

After what seemed an age my mother spotted us and I was duly handed over.

Mother said we had to go to my Aunty Alice鈥檚 house some 30 minutes walk away, as an unexploded bomb had been discovered in our area. Where exactly we didn鈥檛 know, nor what the outcome would be. I was terrified that our house would be blown up and we would have no home.

My elder sister was collected from her school and my father came to us at my Aunt鈥檚. I cant really recall just how many days we took 鈥榬efuge鈥� in what was a very small terraced house, with 2 bedrooms, a scullery, and the smallest living room you could imagine, with the toilet down a long garden path. Incidentally this was also the house I was born in, then taken over by my relatives.

It was just expected that Aunty Alice, Uncle Edwin and cousin Gerald would take us in for as long as necessary. Somehow these big upheavals and unexpected war happenings were quietly coped with and everyone just got on with their everyday lives, as best they could.

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