大象传媒

Memories of World War 2.

I was born in 1939. My uncle claimed I was not born at all but dropped by the Germans.

Any memories I have are necessarily vague, possibly more like memories of memories coloured by the recollections of other members of the family.

Living in Portsmouth for most of the duration I can still smell the cold dank cellar and later the earthy air-raid shelter having been roused from a warm bed in the middle of the night.

There was the familiar sound of the siren, a constant drone of aircraft overhead, and what sounded like the metallic clatter of falling bricks. Strangely, I have no memory of explosions although neighbours' houses were disappearing over night during the bombing.

We were adopted by Sandy, the cat, when presumable his own home was destroyed.

Specifically, I have a memory of being taken to the kitchen door by my father late one bitterly cold night and being shown an aircraft being tracked by a searchlight beam. My father explained that the searchlight would follow the bomber until it was over the sea and then shoot it down so that it would not crash onto the houses.

I recall being shown a lump of shrapnel by my uncle who pointed to the hole in the landing ceiling where it had come through.

I can remember Bert, the builder, who came to replace the conservatory windows. I can also remember the cast iron porch and the railings being taken away.

We were a naval family. My father was on HMS Rodney when they spotted the Bismark. Luckily for my father, after the Bismark had taken few pot shots, they made a run for the open sea and the Rodney just couldn't keep up. After the fleet had closed in, my father was allowed to come up on deck to witness the eventual kill (He was an ERA.) - and promptly lost his cap over the side.

My uncle was on the Ark Royal when she was sunk and later served on the Belfast.

The only casualties in our family were an injury to my uncle's finger (He would have made a good cricket umpire as the tendon on his index finger was severed.), and our tortoise which disappeared after the air-raid shelter was filled in.

Life seemed quite normal at the time. My mother and my aunts listened to the radio a lot, were always complaining but otherwise just got on with things.

One story I have been told since is that, as a child, I kept on about "those German flowers". Nobody knew what I was on about until one day in the park I pointed them out. They turned out to be anemones.

Memories can be sights, smells, sounds and tastes. After the war the taste memory must be bananas. Having been told throughout the conflict how marvellous bananas were and one day we would be able to get them again, when they finally arrived our disappointment knew no bounds. How small they were and what a peculiar taste, nothing like we had imagined!

Transcript of memories of 94 year old Ivy Hooker from Hamble
...."There was the bomb by the oil tanks in Hamble. They dropped it and it hung suspended between two tanks. It could have blown up the whole of Southampton. I can't remember the outcome."

(When shot at by German fighter pilot) .... "I was running to the air-raid shelter. They moaned at me because I always left it to last. I can see his face. He looked evil. Also, they were told that if they got away, which he obviously had, from the bombing raid, to follow the railway line. That would lead him to the nearest town. He would then know where he was."

(At the aircraft factory) ...."He fired through the factory. He never - all those bullets - hit anybody - most peculiar. They told us to take immediate cover under our machines but nobody did. Anyway they all got down the shelter."

"....That was Aunty Ethel and them. They got this pig from a farm, which they shouldn't. They took it in a pram and they set it up like a baby with a bonnet and everything on. They left the farm and got stopped by the police. And he looked in and said, 'Oh, that's a fine boy you've got there.'"

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.