´óÏó´«Ã½

'This story was submitted to the People's War site by Rick Allden of the CSV ´óÏó´«Ã½ Coventry and Warwickshire Action Desk on behalf of Elsie Mae Griffiths and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions'.

The above title was an expression, which came into being during the early ‘Blitz’ days of World War Two, and it so aptly described a certain November night in 1941. We had had an early warning that an enemy raid was impending, and my mother and I stood on our front doorstep wondering if we should go to the park underground shelter. On that night there was an eery silence everywhere, creating a feeling that something was about to happen. This was enhanced by the white light of a full moon, which bathed the crisp frosted rooftops about us.

I remember thinking that we seemed like the only two people left in our road, but being ten years old I did not think to question my mother’s decision to stay put on that night. My father had been called out on special constabulary duty, and she may have decided to await his return. Whatever. Soon our ears picked up the familiar drone of an enemy aircraft, but before we could turn into the house there was a great explosion before us and huge boulders of pavement were borne upwards before our shocked eyes. Obviously Jerry was aiming for the railway line behind the houses opposite to us.

Miraculously, we did not sustain any injuries as we fell backwards into our hall. My mother in her panic said, ‘Come on, we must go and find Jim’ (My father). I grabbed the budgerigar’s cage from under the table. I was not leaving Joey behind. I threw my old school coat over him and followed my mother along our garden path to the rear entry. We only just made it to the top of our garden as our chimney pot and some roofing collapsed into the backyard. We hurried out onto Highbury Road as A.R.P. wardens shouted, ‘Take cover!’ Winifred was in no state of mind to heed their commands, and I followed blindly behind clutching the birdcage. However we stopped briefly at the corner property, maybe because the owners had seen us. ‘Can’t stop’, said my mother, but they very kindly took charge of Joey for us, no doubt thinking that we had lost all sense of reason. We set off once again heading towards Kings Heath Village, our shopping centre.

Talk about, ‘Hellzapoppin’. The sky was lit up like a vast firework display, with shells exploding everywhere. There was even an Ack-Ack gun being propelled up and down the High Street. But to what use, I have no idea. Winifred and I called at the two main pubs to see if my father had been sighted, yet to no avail. ‘No, Mrs Rogers, we haven’t seen him tonight. Too busy elsewhere!’ Onwards we almost ran to the bottom of the village and began to make our way homewards, fearful of what would be awaiting us.

With bits of shrapnel falling about us we arrived at Westfield Road where the whole street was in an uproar, and what a sight greeted our tired eyes. The whole area looked as though it had suffered an earthquake. What with the road blasted away revealing the severed pipes of gas and water mains. They reared up from the ground like headless serpents from hell. As we approached our beleaguered home we began to hear voices shouting, and my father’s, calling, ‘Win, are you in there, are you all right?’

My mother, then standing near to him said, ‘No, I’m behind you’. Oh, the relief on everyone’s faces, especially my father’s as he had begun to think that we might have been killed. I am sure that we would have, had there been a direct hit on our house. Realisation was swiftly dawning that we were truly at war on the home front.

This story was donated to the People’s War website by Elsie Mae Griffiths, of the Leam Writers. If you would like to find out more about Leam Writers call 0845 900 5 300.

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.