大象传媒

We moved out of Liverpool, dirty, smelly, warm - hearted Liverpool, just before the outbreak of the Second World War. My father had fought in the 1st World War, must have realised war was imminent and perhaps thought the family would be safer in a village outside the city. Or perhaps he just wanted a nicer house;I never knew

My father was a dhobi man - a washerman - and the family laundry - Wrigley's - was doing well enough to move from the cramped premises on Boundary Street, Liverpool to a new steam laundry at Millar's Bridge, Bootle; close to the docks which were the treason for Liverpool's existence and its vulnerability to air attack.

There were no washing machines in those days, so almost everybody sent their washing to the laundry. The very poor used the municipal wash house, the merely poor tied the dirties up in a large bundle and took it, frequently balanced on top of the housewife's head, to the laundry. However, much of the laundry's trade came from shipping; including, during the war, the Royal Navy. The proximity of the new laundry to the docks gave it a considerable commercial advantage - but it was a situation that was to have dire consequences.

The war began. But it made, at first, little difference to the family's life. We, father, mother, me 11 years old and little sister aged 9 lived our lives as usual.Father went to work and on some nights had to take his turn at fire watching duties. The children went to school. And we all grumbled about the blackout.

To be honest, I rather enjoyed it. Schooling at the local grammar school was often disrupted by the air raid sirens, but what the heck, siting in an air raid shelter talking to your mates was a darn sight better than conjugating Latin verbs. Even after the fall of France and the start of the Blitz there was much exitement. Shrapnel to be collected; even, if you were lucky(?), an incendiary bomb which had failed to ignite. There were tank traps and block houses along the Leeds and Liverpool canal and Dad, inevitably, in the Home Guard, you could visit him guarding a bridge over the Cheshire Lines railway. Best oall, I could go down to the Albert Dock with Dad and see the former American four funnel destroyers of 1st world war vintage; horribly unseaworthy craft, but with four smoke staks, infinitely attractive to an eleven year old. Dad, as the dhobi man was given gin in the wardroom.

By the winter of 1940 - 1941 p[eople were becoming rather worried; even we children detected a change of attitude - less defiant, more resigned. The nightly air raids continued. Some, few, would leave the city at night to seek shelter in the countryside. WE sheltered an evacuee, a timid little girl in a pixie hood who, despite or perhaps because of our best efforts returned to Bootle after a few weeks to endure what was to become known as the May Blitz.

The period of the 2nd May to 8th May 1941 was the worst of the Luftwaffe's aerial bombardment. My father went to the laundry on the 4th May for his night of fire watching duties. He did not return home next day, but no one was worried; he was often late andin any case he was immortal! It was 48 hours before we learnt the truth. One of the many bombs directed at the adjacent docks destroyed the laundry and adjoining Air Raid Warden's post My father and the wardens were killed instantly.

Of course Wrigley's Laundry was not a military target, nor I believe was there any animostity on the part of the Germans towards a former infanty sergeant. Like most the inhabitants of Bootle he was just in the wrong place.
Nearly 4200 men, women and children were killed on Merseyside during the Blitz.
4200 and my Dad....
I wondered what happened to the little evacuee?

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