大象传媒

At the beginning of the Second World War, when France fell to the German Army of Occupation, little boats along the South Coast, Channel Island ferries and others transported the remains of the French forces back to England to fight again later in the Free French Army. As a child, along with family and neighbours, we witnessed the scene of weary, wounded soldiers, caked with mud, deprived of their dignity, huddled together in loneliness and despair. A sight not to be forgotten, coming ashore in orderly fashion, desperately seeking shelter. The crowd was silent in shock and sympathy. Even as a child I could feel the despair, the relief, experienced by us all, both Frenchmen and locals. They were housed temporarily in the old Vaudeville Theatre at the end of the pier, which during the war had become the Post Office for sorting mail. Here the soldiers slept until rehabilitated. Mean-while they walked the streets and watched across the bay to the channel, thinking of their homes and families. We children followed them with note-book and pencil, begging 鈥榓utographs鈥�. They would smile, talk to us in French or a little English and sign our books with messages of thanks, good wishes or just their names. If we were a nuisance they never showed it, and I still have my faded, battered little book to this day. It wasn鈥檛 long after before we were down at the quay side to see our friends from the channel isles, men, women and children forced to leave when the Germans occupied their homes, weary travellers as before, touching scenes. A little old lady carried ashore with shrapnel in her feet and a new born baby transported in a tomato crate. Every day was one of expectancy, not knowing what would happen next. As father was preparing for further perils at sea, he decided mother and I should go to the West Country with my grandma, to Bath, Somerset for safety. This we did, and soon after came the Bath Blitz. Fortunately we survived but many others didn鈥檛.

The Air Raid

Bombs were falling everywhere 鈥�
Windows shattered, dark despair.
Aeroplanes humming overhead,
Come to count their toll in dead.
And the children cried 鈥淗urray 鈥�
There鈥檒l be no school today鈥�.

Dust and rubble all about,
And whimpers rise above a shout,
Rescue teams upon the spot
Bricks and mortar, still red hot.
But the children call 鈥淗urray 鈥�
We鈥檙e going out to play鈥�.

Hot team and soup is on the site,
For every man and every mite.
Ambulance worker鈥檚 cheerful voice
鈥淐ome up love and take your choice鈥�,
And the children shout 鈥淗urray 鈥�
We鈥檙e on a holiday鈥�.

Mother weary faced and worn,
Mending curtains, badly torn.
Wondering when they鈥檒l see,
Their long lost family.
But the children shout 鈥淗urray 鈥�
There鈥檒l be no school today鈥�.

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