大象传媒

I recall the night that my Dad came home from his night watchman job covered in blood. At first we feared he had been hit by stray pieces of shrapnel from exploding shells over the Manchester area. More than once I would hear Dad telling Mum that the "bobby" had told him to walk by the wall side, so as not to be hit by stray pieces of metal.

But, on this occasion he had been run into with a pedal bike ridden by someone with no lights at all and in pitch darkness. We never did find out who the "man on the bike" was. As young children, I don't think we grasped what war was all about. At the end of the war, I turned eight years old. I can clearly recall the party in our street, and also the banners with "Welcome Home" stretching across the streets. That would be when a Soldier, Sailor or Airman returned home from the services.

After the war in 1946, I remember German prisoners helping to build the new housing estate where we lived. Take them a tin can and they would make a toy of some kind, they seemed to be very clever. They would sunbathe on the grassland nearby, and would give us money to get them something from the local shop. I don't know if Mum or Dad knew this. That same year I think a horse called "Airborn" or something, won the big race (The Derby, National, I'm not sure). The English workers on the site would send me home to get the results of the big races for them. Most of them having had a bet, I usually finished up with a good tip from the winner. At times English workers would sneak down the hill and if it was Summer time they would hear the big races from our "His Masters Voice" horn shaped relay radio.

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