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...Then a most momentous and vividly clear event occurred which was to radically change our way of life for some considerable time.

On the twentieth of December 1940, at about midnight, a landmine was dropped by a German aircraft and exploded in a field about 300 yards from the house. At that time, Des, Freda and I were in bed in the front room, fast asleep. Mum was sat on the settee in the dining room, feeding baby sister Muriel, and Dad was cleaning his teeth at the sink in the kitchen.

I clearly remember being woken up by the explosion and sitting up in bed in a room full of dust. The windows had been blown in, the curtains hung bedraggledly on broken springs, plaster had fallen off part of the ceiling and walls, the bed was covered with plaster and glass, and that awful dust clouded the room. Des and Freda were also in the same quietly confused state. Dad dashed into the room, grabbed me, indicated to Des and Freda to follow, and as we were in our night-clothes and barefooted, on a cold December night, we walked out of the house, along with Mum carrying Muriel in the basket. (Our front door was missing — apparently it had been blown right through the house into the back garden). We left the house as it was — full of possessions — without doors or windows — totally unprotected.

Two doors away my father stopped to speak to a neighbour, Mr Alf Littley, who stood as if in a stupor, whilst his wife cried to him from her bedroom. Apparently, he had been fire-watching at his front gate, had watched the landmine float down on its parachute and had been temporarily dazed by the blast from the explosion. Meanwhile, his wife was trapped in the bedroom by a wardrobe which had been blown across the doorway.

In this bemused state we Neweys topped up the lane — our own purpose-built shelter forgotten — to my mother’s friend, Mrs Whatmores, where we all squashed into her flimsy garden shelter, built of old doors and timber. Evidently at that time, the company of friends in similar adverse circumstances was uppermost in my parents needs and thoughts. Other neighbours had also congregated there in force and the shock had caused many to have stomach upsets. Very quickly the wonderful Salvation Army appeared, bringing much needed blankets and hot cups of tea. I recall lying on the top bunk in the shelter, hearing the drone of aircraft and the bang of guns and listening to the comments of the men fire-watching outside. An angry cry went up from them when a neighbour, Mr Salt who had returned to his nearby home to collect his valuables, switched on his bedroom light, which immediately flooded the gardens because his black-out curtains had been blown away by the explosion. The light could have been spotted by the enemy — and everyone was ‘hot’ on black-out at that time.

Early the following morning, we were taken to see our devastated home — almost every roof slate was blown off, most of the chimney was missing, all window panes smashed to bits, plaster and rendering blasted off, and furniture broken and damaged by blast and flying glass, our Christmas tree lay on its side with most of the glass baubles shattered beyond repair. Later that day we were taken to my Grandmother Nicklin’s house in Cotterills Road, Tipton, where we were all to spend the next eighteen uncomfortable months before our war-damaged house was repaired.

In a way we were all extremely lucky in that none of us was injured. In fact, except that one person had a badly cut ear, everyone had escaped injury. I understand that fortunately, the bomb had landed on a bank of clay which cushioned the explosion, because, had it fallen on hard ground there would have been much death and injury. (I remember being taken back to the scene on the following weekend by my Uncle Alf in his car — probably my first car ride and a great thrill — and walking across the field with Dad to see the bomb crater. It was perfectly round, full of water and contained three or four dead chickens, and a big red cockerel!)

Unfortunately, before we had time to adjust to our new life we suffered a second trauma when a bomb was dropped quite close to Grandma’s and, besides breaking windows and damaging plaster there, it ruptured a gas main, which created a big problem in that the house relied entirely on gas for lighting and cooking. Sadly the bomb fell on a Doctor’s surgery in Toll End, killing the Doctor and his nurse.

The move meant of course, that I had to attend a new school and I was registered at Great Bridge Infants School. Before long I was taken very ill with a bad attack of chickenpox and as it was felt that our Coseley home would be repaired for us to return to before I was fully recovered from my illness, I was taken off the register at Great Bridge. (I remember that towards the end of my illness, when I was still covered in unsightly sores, I was taken to bathe in the local canal. Someone had said that it had good healing properties — (how very strange!) However, the long delays with the repairs continued, I recovered and had to return to school. This time I was enrolled at Locarno Road Primary School — a newly built school in a very poor and rough area. My stay there though was quite short because we soon returned to Coseley and I to my old school.

This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Sarah Evans of the ´óÏó´«Ã½ Radio Shropshire CSV Action Desk on behalf of Alan Newey and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

See more of Alan’s stories:

• 1) Mickey Mouse gas masks
• 3) Back home at last
• 4) What a marvellous coincidence

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