大象传媒

Contributed on behalf of Agnes Smith [nee Dudley]

It was no secret that my father enjoyed his pint of beer. Every evening he would walk across the road to our 鈥榣ocal鈥� armed with his jug. There he would have a pint whilst the publican filled his jug which he would bring back for Mum and himself to have with their supper.

As the war progressed beer became one of many commodities in short supply and often our 鈥榣ocal鈥� was the proverbial pub with no beer. So my Dad would keep his 鈥榚ar to the ground鈥� and when he heard that a pub had a delivery he would set off with a couple of bottles in an old shopping bag. He didn鈥檛 seem to mind how far he had to walk to get his bottles filled as long as he got there in time to get his share.

We lived in Erith Kent very close to the factories and industries which lined the River Thames. I remember one particular night started off with a raid not too heavy and a little distance away. So when our 鈥榣ocal鈥� could not oblige he decided to chance that the raid would keep its distance and set off to another pub where it was rumoured that a delivery had recently arrived.

He was gone quite a long time and Mum and I were getting worried that he had got caught up in the raid which was getting closer. Eventually he arrived home looking very serious and so we didn鈥檛 ask as we thought he may have witnessed terrible things [a natural hazard in those days] on his way home. Eventually he was able to speak about the tragic happenings of the night.

He had got to the pub safely and in time to get his two bottles filled before they ran out. As he left the pub the bottom of the old bag gave way and the bottles hit the pavement unscathed. But before he could pick them up they rolled off the kerb and into the gutter where they did smash. He had watched as his daily 鈥榤edicine鈥� seep down the drain and that seemed to have concerned him far more than any air raid. My Mum whispered to me, 鈥淚 wouldn鈥檛 be at all surprised if hadn鈥檛 tried to lick it up glass and all鈥�.

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