大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War website by Julia Shuvalova for GMR Actiondesk on behalf of Frank Lomas and has been added with his permission. The author is fully aware of the terms and conditions of the site.

We lived in Salford, in the street called My Street. Our father was in the army, and our mother did not work. I was 9 in 1939, and I was the eldest. My siblings were Ella, Roy, and Rodney. We were evacuated to Chorley, where we stayed in Wherlton, a small village. We spent around six or seven months there, and then we returned to Salford.

At the bottom of the street there was a communal shelter, which overlooked Salford docks. It was within a three-minute walk from us; we used to go there at night. There was a trap door, which we opened once and saw 'fireworks'. I was scared to death and never opened the door again. Then we reinforced our cellar, and so never had to go to the shelter again.

Once sparkles went out one night; the corner of the house was smashed and the fire went to the yards. The air raid warden began to throw bags of sand over the fence.

Once in the day our mother went to Manchester with the youngest brother. There was a burning smell all across the city. When the sirens started, they went to the shelter.

Another time explosions went out because a land mine fell on the school. In the morning we saw an enormous crater in its place. As children, we were obviously happy because this meant there would be no lessons for some time. This was Stowell Memorial School, which was situated in School Street. The famous steeple at the roundabout in Salford belonged to the church, to which this school was attached.

During one of the air raids four or five children were killed in the shop bombing on Eccles New Road, near where Rodds is located today.

In the daytime lads were exploring the bombed houses for coalfire to sell.

Our ration coupons gave us sweets and clothes, and were kept in a ration book. When the air raids eased off, we began to go to Manchester to meet the Americans, who would give us chocolates and chewing gum.

In summer we once went camping at Bollin Valley, in Altrincham. We got up early and saw paratroopers dropping from the aircraft. This was a huge surprise as those were our first paratroopers.

Our father was in Africa and Italy with the 8th army. He was demobilised from Italy and returned home about half a year after the end of war. At first, I did not recognise him: he was a huge man, with neither beard, nor moustache.

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