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The Blitz, as it was called, must have been a terrifying experience. I came to London shortly afterwards and survived the constant scourge of the Incendiary Bombs.
I was young, and although I knew they were capable of causing fires, damage and death; I wasn’t afraid. They were only small. They fell on the roads and pavements and could be extinguished quite quickly and easily with a bucket of sand. I regarded them with a confidence born of ignorance. But I could, however, be afraid of people. A certain N.C.O. in our billet, (this being a house in the Sloane Street area,) terrified me. She was ‘Streetwise’ as they say, and she made me seem rather pathetic, or so I saw it.
One night, I arrived back late and this certain N.C.O. was on duty. I was only a little late and had a good excuse, but although she let me off, she made certain that I knew she had a hold over me, thereafter. Then came another night.
Again she was on duty, and this night, the bombs were falling. She was terrified. With what I now see as stupidity, I volunteered to go outside and take her turn of duty. This entailed, watching for the firebombs. She was intensely grateful and from that moment on, her attitude changed towards me. It was lovely.
Towards the end of the war, we had to put up with the ‘Buzz Bombs’. You could hear them as they flew over and then the sound would just cut out. There was a deathly hush as they fell earthwards.
I was in London briefly at the time on a course. We were in class during one raid. We heard the ‘Buzz bombs’ coming over. The man taking the class was wonderful. He carried on with his lecture as if nothing was happening but a younger man who had been wounded in the Middle East, (his back was unnaturally straight as a result,) was not so calm. As we heard the ‘whoosh’ of the bomb dropping, he fell to the floor crouching and frightened. It made you realise something of the effect of these bombs. It was quite a sobering experience.
May Livingstone.
Heaton. Lancashire.

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