大象传媒

In 1940 I was 13 and living in London. We were a Newcastle family, specifically High Spen, and had gone there a couple of years before the war with my fathers work.
The Battle of Britain was at its height at this time and there was fighting overhead every night. At school I was also in and out of shelters most days. On one Friday in the middle of August I was sent to another school of infants to help them serve the midday meal, but none of us got any that day. We sat and comforted the young ones, singing songs to keep their minds off the bombs, all in a huge shelter underneath the school.
When I got back to my own school by close at 4pm, we were met by the headmistress who told us she had been phoned with information warning that they were expecting a lot more enemy planes, and we were asked to go straight home.
Being 'sent' like this and being thirteen, my friend and I dawdled along, wasting time and more on chewing gum machines and shop windows, as we were fed up with the sirens going all day. Suddenly a plane started diving towards us and we just thought it was one of ours, but just then a fireman rushed up, grabbed us - one in each hand - shouting 'run kids, run! He is firing up this Avenue' So we ran as hard as we could, away from the strafing of the road and roof tops. The fireman then pulled us into a large coal cellar, which was full of firemen. They gave us lots of cups of tea in the two and a half hours we were there.
At thirteen, life is an adventure, and so it should be, but I did some growing up to reality in that time, listening to their laughs and jokes intended to soothe us, yet a the same time they faced more danger every day helping people all the time. My mind drifted to one of our headmistresses favourite hymns 'England's green and pleasant land' and I felt sure there would be a more peaceful world to come, more so with our European neighbours.
Then the all clear sounded and we set off home again at once, my friend reaching her gate first. I hurried further, over the brow of the hill and saw my father running towards me. I have never forgotten the look on his face. I was his only child. I was told off and proceeded to tell my parents that we had tea and biscuits with the Fire Brigade and we'd been alright.
I am sure this had just added to the pressures, resulting in the decision two weeks later to send me back north to my mothers family. Then just three weeks after that, my parents returned here, their home being bombed, twice in fact, the second time being a direct hit. They both went into Vickers Armstrong and worked there until the war ended.
I am 78 now, and to think that it has become a more co-operative world. I am thankful for that, and all the wonderful people of many lands that I have met since that thought of peace in the shelter.

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