大象传媒

Saturday, 7th Sept 1940

This was te worst day of my life, for on that first Saturday in September, 1940, the Blitz began. The Blitz was when the Germans switched from daylight raids on military targets to heavy bomber raids at night on the main cities. This
was what Churchill referred to as the 鈥楤attle of Britain鈥�. a battle in which civilians found themselves caught up in front-line warfare for the first time.

That first raid took London completely by surprise. Many buildings were hit, five hundred died and every railway out of London south of the river was cut. It was one of the worst raids suffered in the war. Until recently I had been unable to talk about it; now it just seems like a bad dream, but one in which every detail sticks in my mind.

It was on that day, of all days, that my mother and father decided to take me to the cinema, the first time in my life I had seen a film. I could not imagine what a film was. My father tried to explain, but it made no sense: I had no idea what would happen in the cinema. Our destination was the Odeon in Woolwich, a bad choice, for it lay just up the road from Woolwich Ferry, opposite the Royal Docks and close to the main gate of Woolwich arsenal. Since the purpose of the raid was to wipe out the City of London and the dockland industrial belt along the river, we were caught right in the middle.

It was the early evening performance so we must have got to the cinema at about four o鈥檆lock. The film had just started when a caption appeared on the screen to warn the audience that the sirens had sounded. A few people got up and walked out, but most stayed put. We had paid some 9d (3p) for our seats and did not want to throw good money away. The noise of the air-raid soon drowned out the film. We could hear bombers overhead and bombs exploding nearby, the rattle of anti-aircraft fire, but most worrying were the bells and sirens on the fire-engines and ambulances that roared past on the main road outside. More and more people walked out. I guess the cinema ended up about half full.

But I was far more worried about the film than the air-raid. By this time air-raids were old hat: a film was something completely new. I was too young to understand the difference between reality and make-believe. To me what was happening on the screen was real鈥攁fter all, I could see it with my own two eyes, so it had to be happening. The film was called 鈥楾he Bluebird鈥�. I can still recall one scene quite vividly of a small boy and girl (Shirley Temple actually), dressed like Hansel and Gretel, running through a burning forest. Trees were crashing in flames behind them. This really scared me: I was certain they were going to get killed.

Then a stick of incendiary bombs came through the roof.

We were lucky. I can remember a lot of vivid white smoke and there was a peculiar smell, which was probably the burning magnesium in the bombs. Then there was total pandemonium. People were screaming and rushing for the doors. I saw people on fire.

The thing I most admired about my father was that he was completely unflappable. Not once did I see him lose control. Consequently he was a good person to have around when there was a real emergency. When everyone else was panicking, he would remain calm and apply common sense to the situation. And that is what happened on this occasion. My mother and I just wanted to rush out like everyone else, but my father held us down in our seats and said, 鈥� No, don鈥檛 move. It鈥檚 suicidal.鈥�

So we were forced to remain there and watch the chaos around us for what seemed a long time, though it was probably only a minute or two. Then, when things had quietened down somewhat, my father said, 鈥淎lright. Let鈥檚 go,鈥� and we walked out into the foyer.

It was in darkness, but one could see what was going on from the light of the searchlights and fires outside. There were wounded people lying on the floor and couples crying. There were also three officials blocking the doorway stopping anyone getting ut into the street. I鈥檓 not sure whether they were police or air-raid wardens, but they had tin hats on and dark uniforms. So we stood there, like everyone lese, uncertain what to do, again for what seemed a long time, until a HE bomb landed on the shops on the other side of the street. There was a deafening bang and a tremendous 鈥榳hoosh鈥� as broken glass was flung across the room. The blast knocked the three doormen flat on their faces: I do not know whether they were killed or simply knocked out. My father shouted, 鈥淛ump,鈥� and we jumped over them and ran down the road to a surface shelter. It stood in the middle of the street by Woolwich ferry.

It was, of course, crowded, but somehow we managed to squeeze in and were stuck there for some six hours. It was impossible to talk because there was so much noise going on outside, and every time a bomb exploded nearby the whole building rocked. I remember an air-raid warden coming in with a bucket of cold water and an enamel mug. He asked whether anyone would like a drink. I said, 鈥淵es, yes please,鈥� but my mother said, 鈥淥f course you don鈥檛 want a drink. Don鈥檛 be silly,鈥� and I never got my drink. I think she was worried that if I had a drink I would be demanding next to go to the toilet...

The all-clear went at about eleven. We went outside and stood on the riverbank. It was an unforgettable sight. There were wrecked and burning buildings all around, and an orange glow in the sky almost turned night into day. From St. Paul鈥檚 for a distance of about nine miles down the river virtually every building was ablaze. On the other side of the river, a little higher up the Thames, a warehouse was burning. As we watched its wall slumped down into the water. There were barges drifting down the Thames on fire. There was also a sickly sweet smell, which, I have since learnt, was probably burning sugar in the warehouses.

Then we walked up toward the main crossroads. I saw a boot in the road with something sticking out of it and paused to look. My mother dragged me away saying, 鈥淚t鈥檚 only an old shoe.鈥� But it wasn鈥檛: it was a shiny-new boot with part of someone鈥檚 leg in it. At Beresford Square a tram appeared miraculously. We jumped aboard. I can remember the sound of the metal wheels grinding the broken glass in the street as we went along, but then my memory goes a complete blank: I think I must have fallen asleep.

My father told me, years later, that we only covered about 200 yards on the tram, because the street was blocked by firemen鈥檚 hoses. We had to walk some five miles home and didn鈥檛 arrive till just before dawn. No doubt my parents thought the house would be just a pile of rubble. In fact it was completely untouched. I do have a vague memory of me staggering about in the middle of the street like a drunkard and my father telling me to walk properly. I was whining that I was too tired. I just wanted to lie down in the road and go to sleep. I think he must have carried me most of the way home.

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