大象传媒

SECRETS OF THE FAMILY EXPOSED TO THE WORLD

Between the last of the sunset and the warning siren, to the all clear, and the early morning mist, mayhem had rained down upon the city, mixed with the smoke from charred homes and burning buildings, we faced the devastation of the night鈥檚 bombing.

All through the city they were roping off streets of stricken silence. The diversion of blocked thorough fares into byways. The tinkle of broken glass being swept up.

In 1940 we had the first war time ruins, stark windowless houses that looked like blind spectres. Houses with their fronts blown away, each giving the appearance of a doll鈥檚 house opened up. The rest of the walls, roof and staircase left standing.

The secrets of the family exposed to the world. The tumbled bedclothes on the brass and iron bedstead, the chamber pot under the bed, the unwashed shaving brush and razor by the wash-hand stand, and below, last night鈥檚 washing up on the draining board.

The parlour with three piece suite, the dining room suite, always (until Hitler) kept immaculate for Sunday best and special occasions, now all awry and covered with dust and debris.

Before the war, all the years of struggle, scrimping and saving to bring this together. The hours dusting and polishing, the make do and mend. The carefully sewn curtains and cushion covers, embroidered by hand.

The best china, the canteen of cutlery, presents from a happier time, now gone forever. Box Brownie photographs now all turned to dust.

Down the road, at the corner, there is a clock tower. It was stopped, the chimes stilled. As in a time-warp, the hands were to remain at that time until after the war. For many souls the time on that stark black and white dial was Doomsday.

All this a mad moment in history.

Then in contrast, around the corner, a few streets away, there was a park, the morning sun shining on the green grass and flower beds ablaze with autumn colours, a gentle breeze rustling leafy trees.

Over the pond, graceful ducks floated by, the birds twittered and sang, flying in the sky that some hours before had enemy planes flying low, dropping bombs and the Ack Ack guns had filled the air with acrid smoke.

A solitary man walking his dog, man鈥檚 best friend, maybe his only friend now. This peaceful oasis, as though a million miles from mayhem, death and destruction.

Eve Smith

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