大象传媒

ON BEING BOMBED OUT.

On being bombed out one had a certain status. The Government had no time to deal with you and that was accepted. But relatives and friends gathered round , with lots of sympathy, food, shelter, clothes, and even furniture .All this as long as you did not talk about it . It just was not done, very bad form, and any mention of the subject brought glazed eyes and a frantic effort to change the subject . One could talk about the rationing, people would tell with bated breath where they got a piece of extra cheese off the ration ,but bombs, no.

In the summer of 1940 I was 16 in the School Certificate class. But hopes of success were slim, I was too excited about the war . At school we all cheered when the Air Raid Siren, it meant we could play around in a very interesting shelter and skip the lesson. Our teacher said that one day we might stop praying for air raids
We lived in Portsmouth, and for the past 6 months we had been frequently attacked by the German Luftwaffe, first by day but as winter drew on by night. My parents tried to evacuate me but I was just old enough to resist. So I lived in a thrilling world, of interrupted lessons, and sleeping in a cellar at night with a picnic of sandwiches and a flask of tea or cocao. We did this on a regular basis to save getting disturbed at night as the air raid warnings were so frequent My parents kept a Newsagents shop and had to rise early for the papers
One quiet night I sneaked out to see my pal Jack and we drank a bottle of Port between us. I had a job to walk back to the shelter and my poor Mother had to hide me from our neighbours under the blankets because I kept talking.

Reading the history of the 2nd. World War one would assume that this period must have been a very anxious time. Disaster was close .
. So that very precarious period could have been a bit depressing. However, on the contrary it was one of the most wonderful periods I have ever known. The atmosphere was euphoric . The Germans were regarded as comic figures goosestepping around wearing coal scuttle helmets shouting achtung . The fact that they had conquered most of Europe in a few months was ignored. The word Blitz was adopted into the English language as it had a nice descriptive sound. The retreat from Dunkirk was regarded as a victory. Casualties were rarely mentioned. I remember only one reference on this subject when someone who had just been in a daylight raid on the harbour, said `there were lots of people injured and some dead, some seriously`. This statement was regarded as very funny.
There was a rumour that British bombs captured by the Germans in the retreat from the continent were being dropped on Portsmouth. A friend of my Parents lost his house and with the rumour in mind said `well at least they are very good bombs!`
It may have been my youthful imagination but there seemed to be a strange order of merit regarding bombs. If the house was burned down by incendiary bombs, it was considered of no great interest, if destroyed by high explosive bombs ( H.E`s) fairly normal, but if flattened by a huge parachute land mine that was really something.
Then came the time when silly boys stopped praying for air raids. It was a January night 1941. The bombing started at dusk and the first bombs put out all the lights . Continuous incendiary bombs set whole streets alight. Then H.E bombs and land mines were dropped on the fires. I was not thrilled anymore, I was scared. As we sat in the cellar we could hear the whistle of bombs and the the 鈥渃rump 鈥渙f the explosions and feel the viberation of the earth. One particular sequence, I remember when the whisles got louder and the tremours got more violent first on one side then across to the other side of us as the line of bombs had straddled our position.
At about 10 PM it went strangely quiet. There was no all clear siren, as all the power was out . Someone asked my parents if they would go upstairs and see what was going on. The cellar was under a big department store and they went up to the first floor to find the building was alight, so we all got out.
We were greeted with an awesome sight. Kings Road, which was one of the town`s main shopping centres was burning all down one side, and to get back home we had to run a gauntlet on the opposite pavement slippery with broken glass ,threatened by high blazing buildings. As I started a soldier ,taking out a cigarette said to me `got a light mate?` Then as I ran a whole side of a building collapsed into the road, I will never know how near it was .I saw a lady laying on the pavement ,a couple of wardens looked at her ,one said `she`s dead` at that moment she sat up and started screaming.
We got to our home just off the main street. The place was still standing but badly blasted. The shop
was a wreck, all the goods strewn on the floor mixed up with the glass from the windows. The whole scene was lit up by the flames of the shop burning fiercely opposite. The Bush Hotel on the corner was ablaze ,but the Landlady had gone back in and was clutching the cash register and would not leave, my Mother went into the burning building and persuaded her to leave ,much to the relief of an anxious Warden Meanwhile I had gone into our shop to retrieve the money . As I had my hand in the till a special policeman appeared and for a moment I thought he might think I was looting. But the poor man seemed dazed and asked me if I had seen his wife. I had no idea who he was. Then my friend`s brother Bill popped in , looked at the remains of my Dad`s lending library and said `can I borrow a book Pete ?`
Mum and Dad made me promise to meet them in an air raid shelter on Southsea Common, if things got hot again, . This shelter had always figured in the family plan because it was about half way to Old Portsmouth where some very old and dear friends lived and it had been arranged that if things got really bad we would all meet there.
So I went round to my friend Jack. His house was in tact, and having a basement they always stayed at home. I was there for about half an hour, when without warning the bombers came back. I expect the family tried to persuade me to shelter there but I was always obstinate. I borrowed Jack`s bike and set off for the Common.
I could not go direct as the fires had closed the way, so I turned away at first. After all it was my local area . I had not gone far however, before the noise made me dump the bike and pop into a street surface shelter. This sort may seem more vulnerable, but you have the comforting thought that you may go quickly and not be buried alive under tons of masonery. The shelter was packed and I could only stand in the doorway. Everybody was very quiet at first ,then suddenly a woman had hysterics and made an awful row. I dont know why, really, I just went outside again and rode off . No one tried to stop this stupid boy, everyone had their own problems. I rode a circuitous route avoiding the streets on fire, after all I was a newspaper boy and knew all the dodges. I can only remember riding as fast as I could avoiding broken glass and debris and aware of the great noise. I don`t think I saw anyone the whole journey which was long enough with the detours.But I arrived and found my parents in the shelter. Now I have been a parent myself I realise what a relief it must have been for them. It`s only just occurred to me, now..
Our friends were there were there, 鈥淯ncle鈥� Jim , 鈥淎untie Vera and their daughters Betty and Valerie The common was ringed with fire, an incredible scene of destruction . Even the roller coaster on the side of the blazing pier was on fire Peering out from the shelter door was my Uncle Jim, who was a great musician who had played the piano years before for the silent films said ` all very dramatic but one misses the incidental music.`
Daylight came and the raid finished .We arranged with our friends to go back to their place in Old Portsmouth if our house was unusuable .Then we went home. But it was gone. All that was left was a small square of rubble. I could not believe that small space had been my home for nearly all my life. It must have been flattened by the blast of an H.E.in the 2nd raid.. The space it left seemed so small, I could not believe the house I had lived in nearly all my life could only leave a tiny square of rubble. It was a bitter blow to my parents, not only was it their home but also their shop and means of livelihood I remember it was about this time that my mother opened her mouth to tell me to take the bike back when someone threw out a smouldering eiderdown from a window and some feathers went into her mouth. I rushed to help her as she spluttered and pulled out the hot feathers , then she turned to me and started laughing. She always had a great sense of humour .
We set off towards old Portsmouth to Jim and Vera`s house. We got about half-way when we met them .Their house had gone as well.
We walked out of town, carrying a small bag that Mother always took down the shelter with her ,it held all the important family documents. I have it still.
We travelled up to Maidenhead to relatives, getting lifts and local buses. No official help was ever found. I think our arrival was a complete surprise ,phones and communication were not great in those days.
We were given a great welcome .Everything we needed, but it was all from the family . We eventually got a clothing grant from the government but that was all. The next night we went over to Marlow and met more family ,all evacuated from London , they took us to the local pub, where there was an impromptu dance
My mum and dad were dancing less than 48 hours after losing everything. My Dad, always good for a quote, said `I`m dancing with tears in my eyes`, which was the title of a popular dance song at that time. My Dad had had a rough time with war, in 1916 he was very badly wounded in the Battle of the Somme and then this loss in the 2nd.war.However he recovered well getting a new job and eventually buying a house in Marlow without any help from anyone.

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