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Two air raid shelters were erected in our street - my family lived in Middlesbrough as my father was a steel foundry worker and I was just 6 years old when the 2nd world war broke out, my brother was 18 and as he had been a member of the T.A. he was called up immediately into the army. My mother had not liked the idea of the ‘shelter’ but our house was situated not far from the Newport Bridge and guns, searchlights and barrage balloons were situated just across the bridge. In 1940 the enemy was thought to have targeted the bridge and three bombs were dropped when the siren sounded. Many houses around us were demolished and others like ours were badly damaged, one family were all killed outright — the children attended my school and many people were hurt. My dad was a fire watch that night and was found unconscious near our house from the blast — we think he was trying to get to my mother and me. He later recovered.

I slept in a small bed in my parents’ room and the windows frames and all, along with the dressing table mirror, scattered and buried me beneath the glass and debris. My mother managed to retrieve me, rolled me in blanket and carried me to the ‘shelter’ where we found what was to become our permanent seats during air raids. I clearly remember everything was ablaze with people running and shouting.

Next day we didn’t go to school and were fed from a mobile canteen. The adults worked hard trying to restore their homes carpets beaten over clotheslines, a form of fibreglass sheeting was fitted where windows had been and I remember how dirty mother looked from clearing away all the soot from the chimneys. Neighbours seemed to pull together and worked as a team to create some normality. To a six year old I imaging it was all a bit of an adventure, I don’t remember feeling afraid. Cushions and blankets appeared in the ‘shelter’ and we sang old songs during air raids in an effort to keep cheerful and ignore the cold and damp.

Finally, just before the shelters were pulled down neighbours had painted ‘welcome home’ on the outer wall of our ‘shelter’ my brother was coming home - I was 13 and he was no longer a young boy everyone was so pleased we were all still in one piece but maybe just a little sad — it served us very well — a real ‘shelter’.

An anonymous person read this story to Laura Grievson on behalf of Age Concern County Durham

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