大象传媒

By Iris Wagstaff

Come on Girls get out of bed.
those were the words mamma always said.
Down to the basement we must go.
The warning of bombs told us so.

Off we went all bleary eyed.
Siren suits on gas masks by our side.
My sister and I were all of a dither-
mamma holding baby, her mouth in a quiver.

The air raid shelter was a real cold place
stone walls all painted white.
We sat on benches wooden and hard
with nothing but candlelight.

We had to be quiet, not a word was said.
As the bombs rained down I would bury my head.
Most of the time we would sit and stare
Wondering how much longer we'd be there.

There were adults and Children from our terraced row.
Though I don't remember seeing any men.
I thought they must be all away in the war
come to think, some dads we never saw again.

This is the World war II to which I refer
When Anderson Shelters had been dug.
The one in our back yard to where we should have gone
was hit with what was called a " doodle-bug".

My uncle Vic who was loved by most
went to do his shift at the air raid warden post.
We saw him go " billy can" in hand
He was proud to do his duty.
I waved him off and he called to me.

"Be good you little beauty"
It was so sad, he never came back.
His name is carved in stone on the " Wicker" plaque.
The post took a direct hit that night
from a bomb that had us cowering in fright.
On the city memorial where his name appeared
should read " to a lovely man who was so endeared".

There we sat, each with favourite toy
my sister and I, our mamma and little boy,
is this really all that life is about,
going to the shelter, in and out
like clockwork nearly every night.
The sirens gave us such a fright.

Then came the sound of the "all clear".
"Come on girls it's cold down here".
The same old trek up those awful stairs
my legs like jelly on each tread,
I wish that I was Peter pan and
could fly to my room straight onto my bed.

The sky looked so sinister,
Huge balloons up there. Filled full of gas- the enemy to deter.
We saw many a dawn as we retraced out steps,
back to our beds- tired out- no one relaxed.

A few near misses made mamma decide.
Enough was enough- full of anguish inside.
Three children to cope with out her there on her own.
Father at war- made her feel so alone.

On one of those dawns after leaving the shelter,
we were shepherded into some kind of club.
It had been a bad night. We were all given water,
ladled out of a communal tub.

This was the end of the line for our mamma.
We never went back to our home.
We trekked for a few miles uphill all the way.
Feeling tired and exhausted; I remember to this day.

Siren-suited as always, gas mask by our side.
My sister and I close to Mamma- one at each side.
Such a caring lady clutching a baby, her eyes full of fright, some inner strength came from within and supported her that night.

When we reached the main road at the top of the hill.
There were no signs of life-everything was so still.
After what seemed a lifetime, came out of the blue.
A bus that looked mucky but inviting too.

We boarded and it seemed we were in it for hours, though it couldn't have been more than two.
Took us out of the city which had been devastated, into the country where we had folk related.

Mamma knocked on the door of the house of our gran.
Told her we'd fled the troubles and needed a room.
The look of relief on her face said it all, and she welcomed us in. It was cozy and warm.

Never again seeing the white of shelter walls,
sitting in candlight, smelling the mould.
Awakened from slumber as the sirens wailed on, feeling so sickened and so very cold.

We stayed there with gran for two years or more
forgetting the anguish and pain.
Aching pierces my soul as I think of those times.
Re-living those moments down " Memory Lane".

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