大象传媒

I was born in 1940 in Bridport, Dorset. As a telephone engineer, a reserved occupation, my father was not called up so I was fortunate to have him at home. He joined the Home Gaurd and I remember him going out in the evenings in his uniform, the gaiters facinated me.

My earliest memories are of running down the stairs to the air raid shelter. This was a metal Morrison shelter that stood behind the sitting room door. Before that was installed my parents sheltered under the stairs. My father liked to stand on the front door step during a raid. From there he a vantage point looking over the rooftops of the town and down the valley to the sea 2 miles away and obviously enjoyed watching the searchlights panning round. I can remember my mother shouting at him to come in before he got killed. Even at an early age I could identify the aircraft by their distinctive engine noise - 'one of ours' or 'one of theirs'.

Our neighbours, in the adjoining semi, had moved from London to escape the air raids and refused to have a shelter on the grounds that Dorset couldn't be as dangerous. However, as soon as the siren sounded they were knocking on our door to share our shelter. Their son, a few months older than I, wet the bed. After several nights of visits from the neighbours and the overwhelming smell of stale urine, I announced "Your boy stinks". In my child's mind I knew immediately that I had said something wrong. It was the last time the came into our shelter but had one excavated in their front lawn.
The radio was very important, we listened a lot and I remember having to sit quietly for my parents to listen to Tommy Handley and ITMA.
With most of his friends in the Forces my father did his bit to help especially as he was one of the few people who could obtain petrol. When they had weekend leave due he would empty the equiptment from the back of his green GPO van and set off the 15 miles to Dorchester. He would wait under the bridge of Dorchester West Station. As the train slowed down on its approach, his friends would leap from the train and down the embankment, thus avoid paying for a ticket. On the return journey, with so much weight in the back, his van couldn't get up the hills especially Stoney Head, so they had to get out and walk to the top.

From our house it was a short walk to the main street, the A35 south coast road. Each shop we visited we seemed to have to queue. It really pleased me when our surname letter was displayed at the butcher's, that meant we could have liver and I liked liver. All the shop fronts were boarded up with just a small square of glass through which to look into the dimly lit shop. Crossing the road was always a problem. At times there seemed to be a continuous stream of convoys passing through. There would be truck after truck of equipment, tanks or soldiers. Some just sat with doleful faces, sometimes you would hear a mouth organ being played or on others there would be young soldiers hanging out of the back waving, wolf whistling or shouting at the passers by. I found that quite frightening.

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