大象传媒

I was one-year-old when it started, living in a back to back, demolished now of course, and seven when it finished. The air raid shelter for the whole street was a large reinforced concrete blockhouse, complete with bunk beds, lighting and provisions. My father was a sergeant in the home guard; it was his job to see everyone safely in the shelter when the air raid siren sounded.

I remember after one raid, walking with my dad to the corner of the street to watch the Fire Brigade putting out the incendiary bombs that had fallen. I was startled to see the firemen's wellington boots suddenly burst into flames as the heat from the fires dried them out and the phosphorus on them ignited. Us kids went round collecting the bits of shrapnel embedded in the window frames, still warm to the touch.

I can vividly remember the searchlights criss-crossing the night sky looking for German aircraft and the A.R.P (Air Raid Police) shouting "Put that bloody light out!" during a blackout. A neighbour banging on our door and shouting "Salmon at Mason's! Salmon at Mason's!" (Our local Grocer) my mother trying to pull on her coat and running as fast as she could down the street to get in the queue before the salmon tins ran out, shouting at me "Bring the ration Books!!"

Thinking back, the war was just a word with no real importance, "What's for dinner mom" and playing were my top priorities. I wonder if most people only remember the happy times about their childhood, whatever the circumstances? ....

.... I Know I do.

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