大象传媒

My father, John E. Johnson, was a regular soldier in the Duke of Wellington's Regiment so from a very early age my mother and I travelled with him from country to country, place to place. We spent a long time in India, idyllic until Sunday, 3rd September 1939 and war was declared on Germany.

We were stationed at Borden, Hampshire awaiting a posting to Singapore, before war was declared, this was halted which proved lucky for us. My life changed dramatically, my mother and I went to live with my grandmother in Southsea, Portsmouth. An Anderson shelter was erected in the garden, it was made of corrugated iron covered with earth on which we planted a few vegetables to help the food situation. It wasn't long before the bombing started, we spent many hours, especially nights in the shelter with a lantern for light and flasks of hot cocoa.

If we could get to school we would have to go, after a bad raid we would have to make our way over rubble and smouldering buildings. On several occasions we would hear one or two of our classmates had been killed. We seemed to take it all in our stride, I can't remember crying.

It was the 9th January 1940 or 1941, it was my parents wedding anniverary, my father sent a telegram saying "My thoughts are with you". We had no idea where he was or what was happening. Little did he know we would be running for our lives. It was a bad night for raids. The neighbours took a direct hit, our neighbours were killed, our house was cut in half. We were in the shelter but we were not prepared for what we found when we emerged people running, shouting and Portsmouth was alight. The Germans had firstly bombed the water mains and then sent in the planes with incendiary bombs, althought it was dark the sky was bright red. With no water the buildings were left to burn. At the same time my father was waiting to go on a mission behind enemy lines in France. When he learnt that Portsmouth was being blitzed and burnt he didn't know if we had survived - I often wonder what he was going through.

On that night we eventually gound a space on the common to rest remembering this was a cold January night and we had my elderly grandmothma, and the clothes we stood up in. From somewhere we were given blankets. We were out of water for 48 hours. Water was rationed for babies and cooking. We looked dreadful like everyone else, streaked with dirt and smoke.

People were leaving messages on stakes telling anyone who maybe looking for them where they would be. We left a message for my father so he could find us and know we were alive - which he did.

Life went on, we found a house to rent, the bombing continued, it became a way of life. I started college, Underwoods Secretarial College. My father came home on leave occasionally. He never mentioned what he was doing and we never asked.

We know it was 6th June 1994 when a lot of vessels converged on Portsmouth to invade France. I never thought my father was on one of those vessels. He landed in Normandy D-Day +1. He survived the beach landing but was badly wounded further in land. We received the usual telegram saying my father was missing presumed killed. The V-2 bomb was on the scene then so our doors were left open so people could use our shelter and who should hobble in on crutches - my father who was on his to Queen Alexxandra Hospital, Portsmouth. The ambulance man took pity on him and let him visit his family. He didn't know he was reported missing. He was awarded The Oak Leaf for bravery and was mentioned in Despatches. He was made Major and until he retired he was a Commandent of a Prisoner of War camp at Workkshop, Nottinghamshire.

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