´óÏó´«Ã½

I was born in 1938 and orphaned as a result of the bombing raids on London that occurred in September 1940. Thereafter, I spent most of the war in central London, just south of the Thames, under the guardianship of my grandparents.
My enduring memories of this awakening into childhood were the siren warnings followed by the ‘all-clear’. At the time we lived in a block of flats on four levels owned by the Duchy of Cornwall and, unlike council flats, the building had no air raid shelter—those long oblong brick buildings with a heavy thick concrete slab for a roof and cavity rooms built just below ground level. Instead, a flat on the ground floor had been set aside for protection during bombing raids. Inside were a row of bunks at one end of a room and a collection of chairs at the other. During the doodlebug raids on London my grandmother took me down to this shelter from our flat on the top floor. On one occasion we were delayed, and as we descended the stairs I recall being pushed into a corner on the stair well with my grandmother arching herself over me. There was an enormous explosion and I remember the walls shaking violently in a way that was new to me. The shaking did not last long and we hurriedly descended the stairs to the shelter.
Inside the shelter there were always a group of women present sitting on the chairs and huddled together in conversation. I cannot remember any men present, nor do I remember seeing any children. I was placed on a bed in one of the bunks and told to sleep. I always thought it curious that with all these bunks no one other than I used them.
In some modern film reconstructions of this time, a similar scene shows the occupants of a shelter still talking and laughing while ignoring the flying bombs as they were falling. This is untrue. I remember very well how the women in the shelter would be talking until the distant drone of the V-1 was heard. At that moment there would be a deathly silence while the drone grew louder and louder. Even as small child I was aware of this silence and the tension as the women concentrated on the ever-growing sound of the approaching flying bomb. Then the drone would cease in an instant, and there would be a pause followed by a distant explosion.
I was told there was nothing for me to worry about unless the engine noise stopped overhead. On one occasion this actually happened. The drone of one particular flying bomb had become increasingly louder as the seconds ticked by, and when it seemed to be immediately above us, the engine stopped. I still recall the fear that seemed to permeate the room. There was a loud explosion nearby, but I do not remember what happened next. I suppose the women continued with their conversations until the next time.

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.