大象传媒

"This story was submitted to the People's War site by Nona Dougherty of the GMR Action Desk on behalf of Agnes Platt [nee Watts]and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions."

My first recollections of my childhood are the sounds of German bombers droning overhead, which, after a while, seemed to be in rythmn with your heartbeat! Air raid sirens sounding solefully, yet urgent and being wrapped hurriedly in a blanket and taken downstairs to the air-raid shelter in the back yard.
Our shelter was a small home from home. The walls were brick and topped with a heavy thick slab of concrete roof. Inside the walls were whitewashed and there was an electric light and a small electric fire. There were two bunk beds with blankets and eiderdowns taken from the beds inside the house. Our family's Sunday clothes hung around the walls. I do not remember ever being cold or hungry or thirsty so ample provision must have been made by my Mother. I have been told since, that the routine for air raids was, always have clean water in a container for drinking purposes should the mains supply be damaged, a small but adequate food supply and a change of clothes. Most important items were gas masks and identity cards. Once inside, I always felt safe when the shelter door was closed and the black out curtain pulled across.
Then came the shrill whistling noise of the bombs falling and the waiting for the explosions and vibrations along the ground and the sound of breaking glass blown from windows with the blast - holding your breath as they seemed to be coming closer. Eventually the sounds and vibrations rolled away and the sirens sounded the "all clear" and we stopped holding our breath and went back inside the house and returned to bed if it was only a short raid. I would look up at the sky it was bright orange and red from the fires of the bombed buildings - I stopped looking up at the night sky for a very long time. I used to hide my face if I was taken outside after dark.
I remember my Gran., who was blind, mumbling to herself and cursing Hitler as she picked her way up the back yard. She always had a small brown attache case.
We lived on the border of Salford and Manchester in Lower Broughton, which was an industrial area and the air-raids became more frequent and heavier.
My Dad was a lorry driver for Stott's Motors in Higher Broughton during the day and an air-raide warden at night. The manager at Stott's thought it better if the drivers took the vehicles home at night in case the depot was bombed. Usually after tea we would all get into the back of Dad's lorry with the blankets, eiderdowns, a couple of suitcases and off we went. Our destination was Belmont near Bolton. We went to the Weight Arms, a public house that opened it's doors to anyone who wanted refuge from the blitz. It was a great adventure for me jogging along in Dad's lorry and sleeping on the floor of a pub!
We could hear the German bombers going over to Liverpool and Manchester. As they crossed the Pennines, the anti-aircraft guns would open fire to try to stop them. Some people would shout "give it to 'em lads". I was told that my Gran was given a tot of whisky by the Landlord - I don't remember her mumbling about Hitler when we went there! Thankfully our house, 6 Albert Street was still standing and not damaged whenever we returned.
Soon after, we moved to a cottage near Bury. By this time my Brother was growing up and wanting to do his bit I suppose, so he joined the Home Guard. The real heartache came when he was old enough to join the Navy. My Mother seemed to cry for weeks and weeks, even in the street when we passed where he had worked. However, he did write regularly and always cheerful letters, with a mention of "Sis" and little matchstalk figures drawn at the bottom of the page holding a skipping rope outside 32 Bank Top, our house.
There was a prisoner of war camp just below the cottage in the valley called Wharf, where they held German and Italians and it was a common occurrence to hear heavy footsteps outside at night when the British guards were looking for missing P.O.W's. in outside lavatories and sheds!
Then the "Yanks" came. They put fences and gates up all over the place. Mother had to get a Pass to go to the shop and mobile butcher that came near to the camp.
Whilst out playing one day a small plane arrived and landed in a field nearby. Children came from all directions to take a look. It was the Yanks own mail plane and had a large picture of a Betty Grable type painted on the side. Underneath it was written "Pistol Packin' Mama". This caused great delight and we were then entertained with a low flying display as the pilot looped the loop, giving the officers a joyride! We had to duck as the plane flew low above the lane where we lived.
The next flying object we encountered was V1 flying bomb!
We were awakened one night by a low flying aircraft [so we thought!] and I remembered the same shivering feeling as I put my dressing gown on to go downstairs. Dad went next door to see if our neightbour was up and he was - under the kitchen table! - and informed Dad it was a "Doodlebug"!
This we soon realised as the engine stopped, a long silence, then a loud bang in the distance. When Mother and I went into Radcliffe the next day, we saw where the Doodlebug had fallen. As we walked down that street I saw Christmas cards fluttering in the windows of the house as there was no glass in the windows - it was all over the street.
At the end of the street a factory building had been cut completely in half as though sliced by a giant sword! The factory made dinghies and life jackets for the armed forces, all of them bright orange, and all strewn about. There were crowds of people as curious as we were.
Sometime during this time we received a Field Card informing us my Brother was safe and well. We didn't realise he had been involved in the Normandy landings on D-Day and into the Mediteranean Campaign - more tears!! At last the war ended. I am glad to say the family was still intact. Overall we had not lost anyone or anything!
My final recollections are the huge bonfires we had on V.E. Day, with dishes of black peas which I had never tasted before, and bonfires were something I had never seen or hear before!
On a visit to see relatives in Lower Broughton, another suprise, flags and bunting hung across the streets, some had been saved from the coronation of King George VI in 1937.
Shortly afterwards we moved back to Salford to be near the rest of the family.
The final icing on our Victory Cake was when our Sailor came home!!

All of the above are Agnes' own memories and as she was only 18 months old when war was declared and her parents and sister now deceased, she does not remember any specific dates to go along with her memories.

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