大象传媒

I was five years old in 1941, the year that Liverpool suffered what is known as the 鈥楳ay Blitz.鈥�
I lived in Coleridge Street in Kensington with my mother Barbara, my father Edwin 鈥� who was in the A.R.P. 鈥� and Agnes, my grandmother. Our was a close knit community of small terraced houses that had escaped the worst of the bombing - until one unforgettable night when all hell broke loose.
My mother hated going to the shelter, so one evening when the siren began its mournful wail she decided that we were going to stay at home. She put two dining chairs under the stairs and placed me firmly on her knee as she and my grandmother settled themselves to wait for the 鈥榓ll clear鈥� signal.
The door was left half open and we sat in the dim light from the gas lamps in the kitchen as the noises from outside began to grow steadily louder. Gran鈥檚 gnarled hands caressed the beads as she quietly said her rosary and mum鈥檚 knees began to shake, jiggling me up and down.
Suddenly we heard a thunderous banging and crashing and mum screamed, 鈥渨e鈥檝e been hit!鈥�
The noise was ear splitting as what sounded like tons of masonry began to fall and then lights went out. Mum tried to open the door, but it was jammed and she and my gran began to shout for help. Thick dust began to seep into the tiny space and we coughed and spluttered as the noise gradually died down and we sat, helpless and petrifies, in an eerie silence.
I don鈥檛 really know how long we waited to be rescued, but eventually we heard faint shouts and a lot of noise. Gran still prayed and mum still cried as she held on tightly to me saying, 鈥淒ad will get us out love, it won鈥檛 be long now.鈥�
I clung to her, terrified of the darkness and the dust that hurt our eyes and made our throats sore.
Suddenly the voices and noises grew louder and eventually the door was wrenched open and someone shone a torch onto us. It was my dad, and I鈥檒l never forget the way he looked at us and he shouted, 鈥淭hank God, they鈥檙e alive!鈥�
His uniform was shredded and covered in dust, his helmet was missing and his hands and face were red with blood from deep cuts and scratches. He guided us through the narrow pathway that had been made in the wreckage and we crawled out to stand shivering on the pavement in the chilly morning air.
I remember staring in awe at the houses on either side of ours that had caved in onto us as they were bombed, entombing us in our makeshift shelter.
Some clothes, a clock and a table with shrapnel embedded in it were all that were salvaged from that ruined little house and we stayed with relatives in Huyton until we found somewhere else to live.

'This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by 大象传媒 Radio Merseyside鈥檚 People鈥檚 War team on behalf of the author and has been added to the site with his / her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.'

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