大象传媒

ONE BOY鈥橲 WAR (Part 2)THE BLITZ

In August 1940 I returned home to West Bromwich after being evacuated for almost a year to a village called Alrewas. Although Alrewas is only a short car journey away these days it seemed a million miles to an eleven-year-old living away from home.
Although I had been quite happy at Alrewas, I wasn鈥檛 sorry to be back home again. Sadly, I lost contact with Reg and Ray who had been my best friends and constant companions for the past 12 months.
Back in the Midlands, seeing all the barrage balloons, anti aircraft guns, important buildings protected with sand bags and other preparations for war, I was filled with a sense of excitement over what the future might hold. My parents, like many other families, were stocking up with food, candles and other essentials. The radio programs, when not featuring Sandy McPherson at the 大象传媒 theatre organ, were constantly being interrupted with bulletins giving advice on what to do in an air raid and in the event of a gas attack.
My uncle had made blackouts for all the windows, it being a routine task to put these up each night and woe betide anyone who left even the tiniest chink of light showing if spotted by the ARP wardens. For extra protection he made wooden shutters for the front room windows, which was rather fortunate as a large piece of shrapnel hit them one night, which would otherwise have come straight through the window where we were sitting. Remarkably, I still have that piece of shrapnel to this day.
We never bothered with an air raid shelter at first, for reasons best known to my parents probably because they often flooded and were very cold in the winter Later on though as the air raids became more intense we had a Morrison indoor table shelter which was made from heavy steel sections.
After I returned to West Bromwich, I had to continue my education at Spon Lane school. On my first day there I met a boy I knew at Holy Trinity school before being evacuated, his name was Eric and we were to become firm friends.
In early October, London and Liverpool were the main targets for the German bombers, but it was not until October 13th that we received the first of several serious raids when Birmingham and West Bromwich were hit.
At the time we had two lodgers staying with us, one an old lady who we used to call 鈥渢he old blossom鈥� and her companion we called Aunt Helen. As we had no air raid shelter, my parents decided the safest place was in the pantry which was situated under the stairs, so me and the old blossom had to go in there while the others sheltered in the hall. The old lady was a hilarious sight sitting there quite unconcerned and regal looking with an enamel washing-up bowl on her head.
As the raid developed with the German planes overhead and the A-A guns firing away, there came a sound like an express train coming over the top of the house followed by an enormous explosion. I remember to this day seeing slivers of broken glass coming under the pantry door from a window that had blown in. The next minute pandemonium had broken out, apparently the bomb had exploded on the pavement outside, rupturing a gas main and flames were shooting up several feet from the ignited gas The air raid wardens were hammering on doors demanding spades so they could pile earth on the fracture and hopefully stifle the flames. Next morning I noticed a large hole in the roof of the house opposite us where a paving slab had gone through.
That night West Bromwich District hospital and several houses were hit with resulting loss of life. There was a particularly tragic case of a policeman鈥檚 family who were in their Anderson shelter when it took a direct hit killing all the occupants. It was said that it had been a land mine and judging by the devastation it caused, demolishing an extensive area to rubble, this was no doubt true. The next morning they found the policeman鈥檚 daughter 200 yards away. Land mines were a much-feared weapon that floated down on a parachute and caused immense damage. Several were dropped on London, sometimes getting caught on obstructions and left dangling ominously a few feet off the ground, thereby proving very difficult and dangerous to diffuse. At least one bomb disposal engineer was killed when attempting to do this.
A stationers shop close to us was also hit and the local lads had a great time next morning scooping up pencils, rubbers and other booty lying around.
In the mornings after a raid, we used to tour round the local streets to look at the bomb damage and it was strange to see houses, that you had known for years, no longer there. Often, there would be one or two people looking on and talking in hushed tones, saying things like 鈥減oor Mrs. so and so, was dead when they got her out鈥�
The raids had their brighter moments for us however as when the AA guns had been active, the shrapnel from the exploding shells was highly collectable. The shiny pieces of jagged metal in all shapes and sizes were like gold and anyone lucky enough to have a piece of nose cone, was the envy of his friends.
At the height of the raids, my uncle had the bright idea to take us in his van out of the built - up area to somewhere near Halesowen. We had an awful journey there crawling all the way with the masked headlights making it difficult to see more than a few yards, eventually parking in a field and settling down to try and sleep. Unfortunately we got very cold and the owls in a nearby wood kept hooting all night keeping us awake. So in the early hours, tired and miserable, we made our way back home. Needless to say, we didn鈥檛 do that again, preferring to risk being bombed than spending another night like that.
As time went on we became more complacent about the raids and sometimes when the sirens went, didn鈥檛 even bother to get up, preferring to stay in our warm beds. If we heard planes overhead however, that was a different matter. My granny was staying with us one time and she would never get up during an alert saying 鈥渄on鈥檛 worry about me I will be down soon enough if a bomb hits us.鈥�
One could always tell when a raid was imminent because around about teatime, the radio programmes would suddenly go quieter and continue on reduced power. A short time later, the sirens would sound. I cannot explain why, but when this happened, it brought not fear, but a sense of excitement and anticipation as to what may follow in the night ahead. I have to admit when there was no indication of an impending raid, I was secretly a little disappointed, and selfish I know. My greatest fear I think, was hearing enemy planes directly overhead, with their unmistakable sound of unsynchronised engines and holding my breath, willing them to pass over and not drop any bombs.
About once a week at Spon Lane school we were excused lessons for the afternoon and the teachers organised games of American softball in the playground. I think it was probably a government initiative for schools and was intended to take our mind off the war. It was certainly very much appreciated by us.
About this time, Eric and I decided to join the local scout troup and we went camping with them to Steakenbridge on
two occasions. In the event of an air raid alert, we were all instructed to shelter under a nearby railway bridge which rather defeated the object as it were.

The scout camp at Steakenbridge in the 40鈥檚
Rationing of foodstuffs was at its height as were clothing, sweets and other luxuries. Newspapers were reduced to a single sheet and cigarettes and tobacco were in very short supply. When I, as a regular customer and whose job it was to go to the local paper shop for the family鈥檚 requirements, the girl assistant would look round the shop to see if anyone was looking, reach under the counter and then furtively slide a packet of ten players in my direction with instructions to put them in my pocket before anyone noticed.
In the course of his work, my uncle used to drive up to Derby once or twice a week, which took him past Fradley airfield. He used to tell us that he often saw the American Flying Fortresses, which were based there, returning from daylight raids many riddled with holes, sometimes with feathered propellers.

Later on in the war the Fortresses were moved elsewhere and the airfield turned over to training bomber pilots flying Wellingtons or 鈥淲impy鈥檚鈥� as they were affectionately known. Eric and I used to cycle from West Bromwich to Fradley and spend the day watching them take off and land, flying just a few feet above our heads.
It was not an unusual sight around this time to see low flying British aircraft over the town, probably to serve as a morale booster. They would tend to frighten the life out of you as they suddenly appeared flying over the rooftops and making a hell of a din. One day however, this practice was to end in disaster when three mosquito aircraft, flying in abreast formation and at very low level, crashed. Eye witnesses said that two of the mosquito鈥檚 wing tips touched and moments later both aircraft plummeted into houses in the Trinity Road area killing a number of people on the ground as well as the crews of the aircraft.A girl who was out riding her bicycle and who later became my wife, watched the planes flying over and actually saw them collide.

There was great excitement in the town when they held the big parades. Our scout troop took part and was joined by other scout troops from around the area together with contingents from the armed forces, nurses, fire brigade, air training corps, boys brigade and many others. We were paraded round the local streets, lined with hundreds of people and led by several bands, finally ending up at the town hall where dignitaries took the salute.

After twelve months at Spon Lane school, Eric and I took an exam. and passed for a two year engineering course at the KTC technical college in West Bromwich.
After this I started work as a draughtsman at an engineering firm in Smethwick. Their small factory at the time was, amongst other things, engaged in machining axle clamps for Halifax bombers as all companies had to do their bit for the war effort.
The war in Europe finally ended and great celebrations took place on the official VE day. It was a marvellous time, shops and showrooms were emblazoned with lights and neon signs, the church bells were rung, bonfires were lit and there was dancing in the streets. Eric and I decorated our bikes with flags and ribbons and rode around visiting the various street parties and joining in their fun.
As the war with Japan was also nearing its end, some of us decided to join the air training corps, the 481 squadron based in St.Michael street. I think we all had romantic aspirations of becoming spitfire pilots. In September 1945 we had a week at Tern Hill RAF station. We were billeted in a wooden hut which was ok except there was no electric light fitted to the bit of flex dangling from the ceiling. One of the lads, obviously a budding electrician,decided to do something about it, so he climbed through an open window in one of the airmen's huts whilst they were on duty,disconnected the electric light fitting and refitted it in our hut. Later that night after returning from a hard days graft,the airmen found they had no light and came bursting into our hut which they suspected housed the culprits, and ranted and raved at us in no uncertain terms but we all pretended to be fast asleep making heavy breathing and snoring noises etc. until they had left. During our stay at Tern Hill we had been promised a flight next day in one of their Anson aircraft. I had never flown before and was over the moon with excitement. Unfortunately for us, the night before, all hell broke loose on the station celebrating VJ day. The regular service men, based on the station, discharged all the fire extinguishers, chopped down the ceremonial flagpole and made a bonfire out of it. Needless to say, the chances of our promised flight had gone down the drain. I will always remember our CO addressing us saying 鈥淚鈥檓 sorry chaps but I鈥檓 afraid you鈥檝e had it鈥� ---- end of story.

Eric (right) and I in the late 40鈥檚

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.