大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site by A. Shufflebotham of Congleton Library on behalf of M. Jackson and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

This is a true reminiscence, but the author has changed the names of the people involved.

It was a cold, clear Tuesday evening in October.

The large squadron of German aircraft flew high over the city. Their target was the centre of Manchester. One young pilot, wearing his uniform of power, had a look of cold determination on his face. Being part of the squadron was comforting, until moments like this, when, with beads of perspiration on his face, the night flier had to make a quick decision. 鈥榃hat the hell am I doing in this place?鈥� he would wonder to himself, 鈥楪od, - does anyone really have a choice in this life?鈥� His facial expression was one of terror.

In the drab suburbs below, Mrs Robinson was reflecting on the last few weeks. The skies had been quiet. It had been quite a calm period, with hardly any air raid sirens. She wondered what the Gerrys were up to. Smoothing her large pinafore with her well worn hands, she looked at Bert, her husband. 鈥淲hat a relief those children are safely tucked up for the night,鈥� she said. 鈥淚t has been quite a day, what with your Elsie coming over with the kids, and all her troubles.鈥� Bert nodded, trying in vain to read the newspaper. The news was not good. The war was showing no signs of coming to an end.

Bert and Doris Robinson had a comfortable marriage, in the neat terraced house in Fallowfield. They had very good neighbours, in a friendly community, and Bert鈥檚 sister and family lived further down the avenue. Bert was a mechanic at a local garage. He was not very well paid, but was happy enough. In fact, everything was going very well until this terrible war came along, with the horror of the news, and the sadness as they learned of the death of friends killed in action. One frequently heard about people injured and killed in the bombing, here in Manchester. It was not in the newspapers, they dare not print too much, but word went round, and the names of people one once knew, were mentioned in the sad daily conversations.

Meanwhile, outside in the darkness of night, could be heard the drone of the approaching squadron of aircraft. Suddenly, the all too familiar sound of the Air Raid siren wailed into the night air. 鈥淐ome on Doris,鈥� said Bert, 鈥減ut out that light.鈥� And clutching overcoats from the peg behind the kitchen door, they trudged out into the back yard, slamming the heavy door behind them.

The Anderson shelter was built underground, at the bottom of the yard, and was now an accepted part of the scenery. It was hard to imagine just how it had looked before the war. There had been a well tended bed of flowers all along that side of the yard, with roses, wallflowers, michaelmas daisies, such an arrangement of colours, all gone now in these bleak times. Bert often wondered if the day would come when the flowers, once again, would take pride of place in his small back yard.

鈥淐an I have a drink Mum?鈥� said Jean, as they clambered down the steps into the shelter. She was the eldest of the Robinsons鈥� two children, a bright eyed girl with a clear complexion. 鈥淚t鈥檚 past nine o鈥檆lock,鈥� said Mrs Robinson wearily, 鈥測ou should be asleep by now.鈥� She opened the flask and slowly poured out the liquid into the cup. 鈥淣ot too much,鈥� she said, neatly turning the screw cap back onto the flask.

They were all quite used to the shelter. Bert had built a wooden floor into it and bunk beds for Jean and Margaret, so that each evening they would put on their sleeping suits, and climb onto the beds for the night. This was a good arrangement. At the beginning of the war, they carried the sleeping children from the house in the middle of the night, if the siren went. Now, with this routine, they felt safe, as safe as anyone could feel in these violent years of war. Jean passed the empty cup back to her mother, returning to the comfort of the warm blankets. Margaret stirred in her bunk. She had been asleep when the siren went, but now sleep was the last thing on her mind. Margaret, at six years old was still the baby 鈥� a pretty girl with a round face and dark hair, like her father.

The guns could be heard in the distance, amid other explosive sounds. Bert had a feeling that it was going to be a busy night. He was an Air Raid Warden, and his patrol was a local one. 鈥淩ight love,鈥� he said, pulling on his helmet, 鈥淚鈥檒l be off now, but I鈥檒l call back in about an hour.鈥�

As Bert closed the shelter door, Doris shuddered with fear for his life. It was bad enough in this hell, without being separated at times like this. The noises from the aircraft, and the explosions, were getting much louder.

Margaret began to cry. Doris gathered her in her arms, and clambered up onto Jean鈥檚 bunk, pulling the blankets around the three of them. They huddled together, swathed in the dark brown blankets, a grim picture with their faces so fearful, and Margaret still whimpering.

Mrs Robinson began to pray. 鈥淥ur Father鈥� 鈥� the children鈥檚鈥� hands appeared from beneath the blankets, and they put them together to pray, as they did so often. Suddenly, there was a long, terrifying whistling sound, and a loud explosion, which was too much for the ears to cope with. The earth shook, and a bomb exploded. Each minute seemed like hours, as the noise of bricks hurtling overhead, was heard.

The terror and grim determination of the pilot was over. The violence of mankind had passed from one nation to another, and now 鈥� that terror was present in the Air Raid shelter in Elm Avenue, Fallowfield.

The children screamed as Doris tried to calm them, holding them tight. She was so scared she could hardly move her limbs to cope with her little ones. The noise was receding, but bangs and screams could be heard, although the explosion was finished. They were still intact, but Bert, where was he? 鈥淥h Mum,鈥� cried Jean, 鈥渨as it our house? Where鈥檚 Dad? Why doesn鈥檛 he come back?鈥�

Doris gently put Margaret鈥檚 crying body into Jean鈥檚 arms. 鈥淗old her love,鈥� she said. Climbing down off the bunk bed, she slowly made her way up the shelter steps. Her heavy legs would hardly move. She opened the door slightly to look out. The sky was glowing, and the strong smell of smoke wafted in though the crack in the door. The noise of crashing bricks, amidst loud shouts and screams could be heard.

Opening the door just a little bit more, she peered out into the smoking atmosphere. The house was still there. The bomb must have fallen in the next avenue as the glow was coming from that direction. Closing the door, she returned to the children. 鈥淚t鈥檚 alright鈥�, she comforted them, 鈥渙ur house is still there, and we are safe.鈥�

Finding some inner strength now, she soothed Margaret, and dried her tears. Still sobbing, she was hysterical. She could only hold her, and gently weep with her, her own face hiding in the blanket. 鈥極h Bert鈥� she prayed inwardly, 鈥榳here are you? God help him.鈥�

鈥淲hat鈥檚 happened Mum?鈥� cried Jean, 鈥淗as a bomb fallen in the avenue? I wonder if it has fallen on our school鈥�
鈥淵es,鈥� said Doris, in a calmer voice, 鈥淚 think it was a bomb, and it looks like one of the avenues has been hit. We are alright, and Dad will be back soon, he will tell us what鈥檚 happened.鈥�
As she gently stroked Margaret鈥檚 head, she became calmer. 鈥淧erhaps we should get dressed,鈥� said Jean, 鈥渢here may be somebody out there we can help.鈥� At ten years old, she was quite adult at times. 鈥淣o,鈥� said Doris, 鈥渨e must all stay here and keep calm until I am sure that it is safe. Dad will be here soon.鈥�

As she kept repeating these words, she was aware of a dread growing in the pit of her stomach. 鈥楶lease God,鈥� she prayed again, 鈥榖ring him home鈥�. Suddenly the shelter door flew open. 鈥淓veryone alright in here?鈥� It was Bill Sutton, a neighbour. 鈥淵es,鈥� choked Doris, 鈥渂ut Bert, he 鈥� he鈥檚 not come back. I am so worried鈥�. He鈥檚 OK鈥� said Bill, 鈥渉e is helping with the injured. A bomb has fallen on Parkside Road, it鈥檚 made a right mess. They are getting the people out and coping with the fires鈥�.
鈥淭hank you,鈥� said Doris, 鈥淚 was so worried. Yes, we are alright - just scared out of our wits, but safe, thank you Bill鈥�. Bill closed the shelter door, and went on the check the occupants of the other shelters.

Doris was suddenly very tired. The shock was too great, her mind was racing, and the children were now becoming quite excited. The fear had passed. They were still alive, and Bert was alright. The swathed figures in the shelter were slowly coming to life again.

At about half past five the following morning, Bert arrived home, shocked and exhausted. He had experienced a night which would haunt him for the rest of his life. Fire, injuries, pain, terror, mutilated bodies, and death. He had seen it all in a matter of hours. All he wanted now was to escape from the choking dust, into the oblivion of sleep, for a few hours, before he would return to the scene, to see if any further help was needed.

Meanwhile, Doris Robinson had not slept. She was so tired, but her mind could not relax. The 鈥楢ll Clear鈥� had sounded hours ago, and the children at long last, had fallen asleep. She had climbed into her sleeping bag, with her turbulent thoughts, and prayers her only companions.

And now, while the children slept, Bert and Doris whispered together, about the horrors of the night, and their innermost fears.

Never again did they want to go through the violence of a night such as that one, in the blitz of Manchester.

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