大象传媒

September 3rd 1939.
The solemn voice of our Prime Minister, Mr Neville Chamberlin,
broadcasting from London to the rest of the nation, and the world these words:
鈥淲e are at war with Germany鈥�.

I was seven years old and had made my first holy communion in the summer of the same year. We sat around the wireless set, not everyone had one in those days, and ours was third hand. I knew it was something very important, because we children had been told to sit quiet while our parents listened for the news. The news then spread like wildfire through the neighbours, all out on their front door steps. I could not understand what the fuss was about. Groups of people, on every street corner were all talking at once. I felt excited but also a little scared.

The following Sunday, my Mother took my sister Mora and I, over to the Brownlow Hill shops. Everywhere else was closed all day, except the few Jewish owned premises. We were glad of these, if we ever ran out of any bread or other things at the weekend. My little sister Francis stayed at home with Da, as my Mother had her hands full enough with us, and she was heavily pregnant with her fourth child. I was puzzled by the crowds gathered around these familiar shops, they were all looking at the smashed out fronts. Broken glass and debris littered the pavements, and there was evidence of looting and I remembered feeling frightened. My Mother brought us straight back, as there was no bread in the bakeries on Brownlow hill that Sunday. I remember feeling sorry for the people whose shops had been ruined; they were always kind and friendly to us. Their bread was so tasty, fresh out of the oven in a variety of shapes.

In bewildering excitement I soon forgot, because a few weeks later some silver grey balloons appeared in our sky. They were like fat pigs with floppy ears. We kept running out the house to look whenever more appeared. I learned later that they were barrage balloons that were full of gas, so that whenever a German Bomber came into contact they exploded. Because of all the bombing, some of the children were sent away for their own safety. They were evacuated to the countryside, to live in small villages and on farms in Wales. They were safer here because the enemy bombers were coming to Liverpool to destroy the docks and shipyards. I never knew why we did not get evacuated, but I l learned later on that our mother did not want us to be separated.

Our school was closed for many weeks. Therefore we city children went in for half days during this period, to big posh houses on Canning Street. Here we sat quietly, overawed amid libraries and drawing rooms, reading and doing our sums. I can recall the smell of mansion polish, the packed glossy bookcases, huge tables and high backed velvet cushioned chairs. We were on our best behaviour, as we were in other people鈥檚 private homes.

I once went with my Da, to see the terrible mess of the nearby St. Lukes Church, which had been on fire during the night. Completely burnt out, only the stone skeleton remained, the square tower defiant against the smut filled grey sky. 鈥淎 direct hit鈥�, I heard people saying, not understanding what they meant. A thick acrid smell hung in the air; the inside of the church was still a smouldering heap of blackened timbers. I caught a glimpse of it through the window, as I sat on my Da鈥檚 shoulders. The Police and fire engines were still there and we were asked to move on. We had seen nothing like this before, I held on tight to my Da.

Later that same week, on a Saturday morning, I went with some other children to see a massive crater where a car show room had been. It was just at the end of the street and across the road, next to the Liverpool Women鈥檚 hospital- which had half of its windows blown out. I remember someone said, 鈥淭hat was a near miss.鈥� I picked up a piece of warm shrapnel, everyone was collecting a souvenir, maybe a bit of the German plane that we had heard last night, had been shot down last night? Or was my bit of heavy dull silver metal, a piece of shell casing from a bomb? I wrapped it in my hanky. The night before had been a wild and noisy night. I had fallen asleep listening to the drone of engines overhead, sounds of air raid sirens and blasts from ships horns down at the river. You could hear the constant call of the street warden telling people to 鈥淧ut that bloody light out鈥�. It was cosy under those overcoats and blankets, all together in our shuttered basement, under the big-framed picture of the sacred heart.

'This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by 大象传媒 Radio Merseyside鈥檚 People鈥檚 War team on behalf of the author and has been added to the site with his / her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.'

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