大象传媒

This is the continuation of the story just sent in on 12 June by Pauline Sutcliffe.

Soon the sirens became a way of life - 'hurry grab your gas masks', 'hide under the desk' or 'quick, into the shelter'. Everyone bundles up with pillows and blankets, nervously listening to the bombs going off all around.

At one stage we used to go every night at 6pm to the Hulme Town Hall and with hundreds of others sleep on mattress' until the next morning. Mum prepared a flask and sandwiches and dad would meet us from work.

When that too was hit we then took cover in Aunty Mary and John Moore's cellar just around the corner from home (Ribston Street). On one of the worst nights of the Blitz, the house next door was hit and in darkness we gingerly picked our through the rubble to the shelter in Pickering Street. Manchester was ablaze that night, searchlights picked up enemy planes; there were fires everywhere. People were very, very frightened. Your eyes met utter devastation the next day. I remember sweeping the footpath with a small child's brush and passers by laughing at this little girl doing her bit to clear up Manchester.

I remember the shouts that went up 'bananas are in the shops!'Mum and offsprings queued for hours. She left them on the pram canopy and by the time she had shopped elsewhere we had scoffed the lot.

I remember being evacuated on my own to Great Harwood and feeling very lonely and deserted.

During the worst of the bombings we moved to Birchvale, near Hayfield, with another family and shared a two bedroomed cottage. There were six old stone cottages adjacent and only one outside long drop; no electricity or gas, but according to Mum the peace of mind was well worth the lack of amenities.

One day a stray German bomber flew very low over Birchvale and I vividly remember seeing the pilot as I was on top of the moor, and could quite clearly see his goggles and watched him turn his head to look at us waving to him - we had never seen a plane before. Dad screamed for me to get down and the villagers were out with their 'blackbird' guns trying to bring it own. The plane dropped a bomb on a neighbours house killing a girl who was playing a piano at the time.

We stayed in Birchvale and moved back to Manchester in 1944 and enjoyed the street parties not long afterwards.

Then life took on a normalcy again, some men returned, other not and life went on and on and on.

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