大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Bill Ross of the 鈥楢ction Desk 鈥� Sheffield鈥� Team on behalf of William Cooper, and has been added to the site with the his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions. The entire story has been copied from the book, 'The Sheffield Blitz', by Paul License, whose permission to publish this story was sought, and gratefully obtained.

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See also: My Father, The ARP Warden: A5059686

On Sunday, December 15th, 1940, my late brother and I went to town to survey the damage that had been inflicted by the Thursday night Blitz. As there was no transport, we walked there and back. We arrived home in Coleford Road just before 7pm. As our mother, Annie, put our Sunday dinner on the table, the sirens sounded.

My father, who was an air raid warden, was working that evening as a plumber鈥檚 labourer at Kayser Ellison, on Darnall Road. As soon as the alert sounded, he came home, donned his ARP overalls,put on his tin hat and reported for duty at the wardens鈥� post in the grounds of St Alban鈥檚 Church in Coleford Road, Darnall.

Our family, which consisted of mother, father, two sisters and four brothers, practically lived in the shelter, and regularly slept there until my father put his foot down and told my mother that it would be preferable to be killed by a bomb than die of pneumonia or hypothermia! But that night, after making sure we were in the shelter, my father, Robert Cooper, reported for duty. It was his habit to come back at regular intervals to make sure that we were all right. This he did for about an hour, then the bombing got really severe. We could hear what we used to call the 鈥榳histling bombs鈥� screaming down. Every one seemed to be aimed directly at us. The explosions were horrendous and my mother, who was cradling my youngest brother, John, who was just six months old, expected every second to be our last. Explosion after explosion reverberated all around us and we just crouched and prayed. We did not hear from our father, but expected that he had been called away to other areas to help with the civilian population who had been hurt and needed attention.

At about 10pm, the all clear sounded and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. We could not get out of the shelter quick enough, but found that we were trapped by a cave-in at the front of the Anderson shelter, where we had made a wall of sandbags to protect the front of the shelter from blast. During the raid, blast had blown the bags forward, blocking the door. We all shouted in unison, but to no avail. Expecting our father at any time, we were not unduly worried, but as time went by, he did not arrive. Several hours later, we heard voices, then we heard a shout, 鈥淚s anyone here?鈥� We all shouted together and, after a while, we were all rescued.

We lived in a yard where four houses stood. There was not much left of any of them. One of our rescuers was our neighbour, a Mr Housley. We had to climb over a partition wall to gain access to Colefod Road. When we got to the road, there were troops who had barricaded off a section of Coleford Road. We were told to make our way to Darnall Public Hall, where all the bombed out people were being helped and fed. My mother asked a policeman for any information about my father, but he gave a look of resignation and said, 鈥淚鈥檓 sorry love, we don鈥檛 know anything.鈥� There was glass everywhere and the roads were frosty. I looked at the sky and there was a full moon, a bomber鈥檚 moon.

The following day, my Aunt Sarah came to give assistance to my mother. Round about dinner-time on that Monday, a policeman approached my mother and asked her name. 鈥淎nnie Cooper,鈥� she replied. The look on his face said it all. He informed my mother that Robert Cooper, my father, along with quite a few of his comrades, had been killed during the raid. They found my father鈥檚 body a week later, still grasping a stirrup pump that he was about to use. Although these events happened sixty years ago and I was only ten at the time, I shall never forget that Sunday, December 15, 1940.

Pr-BR

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