大象传媒

When the siren sounds at night
Our family take to flight.
Mother very flurried gets
Takes up cushions and blankets.
Father shouts "Don't get alarmed,
Ten to one you won't get harmed".
All along the road we run,
Like bullets from a tommy-gun
Then the shelter looms in sight
Through the darkness of the night.
Down the shelter's steps we stumble
Then the guns begin to rumble.
Stepping over people's feet,
We make our way to our seat.
One by one women start to knit
Adding inches to the length of it.
Then the warden, who comes round nightly
Tells us to squeeze up tightly,
As people who have just arrived
Can't find seats, although they've tried.
Unwillingly we have to move
And in the wall find another groove.
After a monotonous hour or more,
Women put away their knitting for,
A few hours of unrestful sleep
And soon in slumber are very deep.

As the hour of midnight nearer draws,
People awake, stopped are the snores.
From every throat comes a joyful cry,
We get out our cups for the tea we buy
And produce cake, bread and butter.
Then again people start to chatter,
About Mrs Smith and Mrs Jones,
And the government wanting bones,
But soon silence reign once more,
Only broken by occasional snore.
We know no more until we hear,
The welcome sound of the all-clear.

written by Elsie May Read in Nov 1940
aged 13 years old.

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