大象传媒

On the night of September 17th, 1940 our house was struck by the largest bomb yet to be dropped on the London area. I was downstairs sitting on the bed playing cards with my father. He threw me on the floor and himself on top and yelled to my mother, who was knitting, on the other bed "Get down".

The next thing I recall was a lot of dust and the ceiling being about 4 ft from the floor. Incredibly, the light was still burning. Mother, clutching her knitting, led the way to what had once been the hall and front door and we emerged unscathed into the street, neighbours coming to our aid.

Suddenly my father realised mother was missing - someone had seen her going back into the house. The ARP wardens, commendably quick on the scene, intercepted her as she re-emerged, still clutching her knitting. The head warden started to admonish her for entering the house, bits of which were still dropping into the street; she held her hand up and said [as only she could] - "Young man, in our hurry to get out we forgot to turn the light off. Now, we don't want to make a target of ourselves if they come back, do we?" "Well, no madam, but . . .". She held her hand up again and said "It's my husband they're after, you know. They've never forgiven him for winning the last war".

At the time I couldn't understand the laughter, whilst all around bombs and shrapnel continued to rain down around us. It was the first of four bomb incidents we were to have during the blitz and after.

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