大象传媒

When my sister and I were children in the 1960s, and there was a thunderstorm in the middle of the night, Dad would wake us up and take us downstairs until it was over. Storms reminded him of a terrible experience he had during the war, in June 1944, when a doodlebug flattened his house, and he was caught in the blast. Some years later he wrote about the incident. This is what he remembered:

"I was twelve years old and lived at 27 Reporton Road, Fulham SW6 in the house I was born in. I had come home from school. It was late afternoon and I was playing in our back yard when I heard the flying bomb approaching. It was one of many that day so I did not pay too much attention to it, but as it got louder I looked up and saw it coming over the row of houses opposite. Suddenly it started to dive towards me. I ran into our house shouting to my mother and father. We managed to reach our passageway which had been reinforced with corrugated sheets and scaffold poles. My grandfather also joined us from his room off the passage. And I remember quite clearly that the engine of the flying bomb had not cut out as they normally did. It just got louder and louder until the explosion.

The next thing I can remember was someone picking me up and saying 'alright, son. This is Sandy Pearson. You will be alright now.' He lived at the end of our road and was on leave from the Navy. I was placed on a stretcher at the end of our turning to await the arrival of the ambulance. It was then I realised my face was wet with blood and my eyes would not open.

I was eventually taken to Fulham Hospital and there I was put to sleep and my face stitched. When I came too I remember being very sick and my face was bandaged so I could not tell if I could see. The next day I was taken with my mother to a hospital in Windsor. She told me that Dad was still in Fulham Hospital with a broken hip and cuts. Grandad was in a rest home with minor cuts. Mother had a broken arm and cuts. My recollection of this hospital was having the bandages removed and each day a nurse would bathe my eyes to try and remove the dirt and dust. After a while I was able to see, thank God.

Eventually we were taken to Hinchingbrook House, part of which was being used as a convalescent home for casualties of the bombing."

Dad's home was destroyed. He later found out that scavengers had stolen what little furniture and belongings had survived the blast, except an antique clock that belonged to his Grandad. It remained damaged until recently when a younger relative finally had it restored to its former glory. And, for the first time in sixty years, it tells the time again!

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