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‘Just before Christmas 1940, the blitz on Sheffield that we had all been expecting finally happened. For many nights we had gone to the local shelter in Stockbridge wearing our ‘siren suit’ with Wellington boots on our feet as the floor was always wet. The shelter was damp and smelly with one paraffin heater trying to keep us warm as we sat on long the benches waiting for the ‘all clear’.

‘My father worked in Sheffield. He used to build cinemas but these were luxuries so work on them stopped soon after the war began. The night the blitz began, my mother decided we would not go to the communal shelter. We stood on the blanket box and watched the flares fall on nearby Sheffield. After so many months of blackout and darkness, as a child I watched fascinated at all the light and the distant whistling noise of the falling bombs.

‘Mother then took us downstairs where we sent the night polishing the cutlery. In the morning father did not come home. Everything seemed to go on as normal. It was three days before he came home. He had been buried in a shelter. When he was dug out he went to help recover other who were still trapped. After that there was a 15 mile walk home with all transport out of action.

‘My mother must have been in torment during this scary time and my little brother Stuart is the product of the happy reunion.’

This story was submitted to the people’s War site by a volunteer from CSV Oxford on behalf of Joy Freeman (Nee Burrows). She has given permission for the material to be edited and published.

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