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In 1939 when World War 2 started I was almost 5 years old, my brother Alan was 2 years younger. We were born and brought up in the Birkenhead area in Cheshire. We were told that Dad was going away with the Eight Army serving with the Long Range Dessert Group. We were taken by Mum to say goodbye at what I seem to remember was a leisure area called The Oval, close to Bebington/Port Sunlight. All the soldiers were in uniform behind a big metal fence. We didn’t see him again for over three years.

The Germans were dropping bombs every night aimed at Liverpool and Birkenhead Docks and hardly a night went by without the sound of sirens warning everyone to take cover. Mum who was only 4ft 10ins and weighing 6 ½ stone was recruited as an Air Raid Warden and so her sister Lilian and Uncle Tom looked after Alan and I in the evenings until she (Ida) came home safely.

One night there was horrendous bombing and we were in the basement of Aunty Lil and Uncle Tom’s house along with their own four children. Mum was with us that night. Suddenly the ceiling split and the coal fire from the dining room or lounge above started to fall on us, terrifying everyone. I don’t know how long it took but suddenly firemen were everywhere and we children were all taken out through the coal shute which most houses with basements had in those days.

When we were safely outside it was eerie, out of a whole row of houses ours was the only one left standing. All of the other houses had been flattened and many people died that night. How lucky we were.

Shortly afterwards Mum, Alan and I were evacuated to Wales where we stayed for about a year before returning to Birkenhead.

When Alan was about five I decided to help Mum by saving her some money. I cut his hair off throwing it under the bed hoping no one would find it. He had to wear a hat for a month before the barber could make him look more presentable.

Dad came home after three years or more, we were having a cup of tea at Granddad’s house, Mum was sent to the kitchen for milk, there was such a scream when she found Dad hiding in the kitchen. We eventually went home to our flat. I vividly remember seeing Dad kneeling on the floor holding Mum, both were crying their eyes out. Alan and I thought we should join in so we cried too, we were all so happy.

After Mum died in 1988 I found a Christmas card addressed to her from Dad whilst he was in the Middle East. It was carrying the badge of the SAS but I know nothing more abut that part of his military service. I also found a Certificate from the people of Norway thanking the members of the British Armed Forces for their help in the Liberation of Norway, 8th May 1945. It was sent to James Robinson personally along, no doubt with many, many more, nevertheless something very special.

Memories of the war will never leave me. It was a dreadful time but there is so much to be thankful for. My biggest regret is that I never sought the opportunity to ask about Dad’s War but I have to wonder if he would really have told me. Perhaps for him it was best forgotten.

This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Diana Wilkinson of the CSV Action Desk at ´óÏó´«Ã½ Hereford and Worcester on behalf of Barbara Middlemass and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.

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