- Contributed by听
- Peoples War Team in the East Midlands
- People in story:听
- Leslie Wormsley
- Location of story:听
- Derby
- Background to story:听
- Civilian
- Article ID:听
- A4453346
- Contributed on:听
- 14 July 2005
"This story was submitted to the site by the 大象传媒's Peoples War Team in the East Midlands with Leslie Wormsleys permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions"
Up until August 19th 1940, the people of Derby had become accustomed to regular air-raid alerts lasting most of the night, listening to the German Aircraft drone overhead on their way to targets mainly on Merseyside and thankful that the only explosions were that of our own Ack Ack guns. The inevitable thoughts in peoples minds were, when will the bombs fall on Derby and who will be the unlucky ones. Only the pilot of that single German Aircraft on that night of 19th August 1940 would know why he chose to release his Salvo of twelve bombs at that time, but to the residents of Regent Street it was a decision which brought them to the harsh realities of war. Six of those bombs screamed down onto the 85 neat terraced houses in the street. Destroying 14 and damaging many more. The other six bombs fell close by hitting the Queens Hall, Haselhursts the Ironmonger, 4 houses in Litchurch Street, High Street and two fell between Reginald Street School and Derby High School for girls.
I lived in the middle of Regent Street and was sheltering in the cellar at the time and the memories of that day are still vivid in my mind. I remember the scream from my mother as the whine of the bombs became louder and louder. The upheaval of the floor and sudden darkness as the lights went out. The period of utter quietness which followed owing to temporary deafness. The sparkle of the coal-dust in the air when my father lit a candle. The sounds from outside of the rescue services descending upon the street. The tears in my mothers eyes as she saw her brand new curtains cut to pieces. (She didn鈥檛 seem to worry about the front door being part way up the stairs and half the windows and slates missing). I remember the compulsion to watch them dig out an elderly couple who lived across the road opposite two who arrived with hardly a scratch. They had crawled under a strong table in the front room and the whole floor had sunk into the cellar. The shock of seeing my friend Cyril Davison鈥檚 house destroyed and the relief when I found him, safely protected by an Anderson Shelter. The precarious climb of a rescue worker who retrieved a coat containing all Cyrils fathers money which was on a wardrobe balancing on a ledge which was all that remained of their bedroom.
The sorrow that was felt for an old lady whose house was completely destroyed, standing watching whilst men searched for a tin trunk which she said contained her 鈥渢reasure鈥. When it was found and opened, it moistened a few eyes, for laying on top was a large Union Jack. This was quickly hoisted to a high roof beam over the wreckage.
The tragic figure of Mr Bentley, our streets Chief Air Raid Warden and Manager of the London Road Co-op store, who was roaming around with a bandaged head. His wife and daughter had been killed.
The laugh we had when another of my friends, Alan Eley, showed me his outside toilet. In the space where it used to be was a crater resembling an ornamental pond with a fountain of water right in the middle. We estimated that the bomb must have gone right down the pan. The look on my mothers face when on answering a knock at the back door found herself face to face with the Mayor of Derby. She had a moan to him about the curtains and he gave her 拢5 out of a relief fund.
I remember the soldiers with fixed bayonets guarding each end of the street keeping out anyone but residents and the feeling of being a celebrity as I was allowed through the guard and crowds of sightseers to fetch buckets of water. The water mains had received a direct hit, and residents were paying 3 pence for a bucket of water which to me was good business, paying much better than my paper round.
I still think about the fact that the all clear sounded about five hours after the bombs had dropped and we had been out in the street doing what we thought we had to, completely oblivious that the alert was still on.
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