大象传媒

I remember that night clearly, yet it was back in 1944. My father and elder brother were in the forces; at fifteen years of age, I was now the man of the house. We lived in a terraced house in Harold Road, near Upton Park Underground Station, London E13.

That day on the wireless we had heard Winston Churchill鈥檚 stirring wartime speech 鈥� amazingly I can still hear his vibrant voice in my mind now over sixty years later.

The elderly night watchman who occasionally spoke to us as he walked along the back of our garden leading up to the flat above the back of our garden leading up to the flat above Boots the chemist shop in Green Street. He was small in stature, wearing a flat cap, carrying a walking stick and a bag which contained his sandwiches, and his flask of tea, his vitals for the night ahead. Actually, it was to be his last night on earth but did he realise it then!

My mother and I spoke to him. Then we climbed down to sleep in the Anderson Shelter at the bottom of our garden. Later we awoke under the barrage of the doodlebugs which fell nearby.

Then we heard one roaring in the sky directly above us! We prayed that its engine would keep going but it didn鈥檛 鈥� it suddenly stopped. It was near. We heard the swishing louder as it glided downwards. We prayed 鈥� 鈥楤ang鈥� 鈥� a violent explosion. The earth jolted and I was thrown off the top bunk and down to the floor and the small wooden door was blown off its hinges and hit me on the head. My mother screamed as we hugged each other in panic on the floor of the cramped shelter in the dust-strewn darkness. The thick clouds of dust wafted up and made us cough. When I looked, the doorway was obstructed with a solid wall of bricks and earth. We were buried. Trapped! My mother was sobbing.

I began pulling out the bricks and digging at the earth with a broken piece of wood. After some time, as I was beavering away, we heard a voice outside somewhere called out, 鈥淗elp!鈥� We needed help ourselves, I thought as I carried on feverishly digging, because I was unsure how long the air would last in this stuffy, buried Anderson Shelter. I did not mention this fact to my mother, who was already distressed. At least I pulled out another brick and cool air flowed in. I could see dimly outside, we had won. The voice outside was still calling out.

鈥淢um, I must go out and help him.鈥�

鈥淒on鈥檛 leave me!鈥� she called as I scrambled out.

What a sight met my young eyes. The top part of our house was blown away 鈥� missing. The garden was covered with rubble and lots of smashed slates. We found out later that the VI Flying bomb had landed directly on Boots the chemist flat next door and the night watchman had been killed outright.

The voice was still calling. I walked across the gardens to a house, three doors along. The voice was calling from upstairs, the sidewall was blown away and the rickety damaged stairs were hanging out of the side. I clambered up on the slightly swaying staircase. In the bedroom, all the ceiling rafters were hanging down, the ceiling and roof were gone. My naked neighbour, who was black with dust from head to toe, was trapped in one corner by the bed.

鈥淗and me that suitcase form under the bed!鈥� he said. I did as I was told and with difficulty he got dressed.

Next day, we reported to the nearest school which had been utilized by the ARP to house the 鈥渂ombed out.鈥�

My elder brother had the dickens of a time, trying to get the authorities to re-house us before he returned to his army unit.

This is a recollection of a night I鈥檒l always remember: the night the VI destroyed our house and killed the night watchman when I was a young lad 鈥� in those far off wartime days.

Flaming crosses in the sky
Flying over London high.
Their engines stopped 鈥�
Silent death on the wing;
Down they came鈥�
Their objective was to
Kill and maim.

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