- Contributed by听
- johnhamilton1
- People in story:听
- John Edward Hamilton
- Location of story:听
- Swindon
- Background to story:听
- Civilian
- Article ID:听
- A5228679
- Contributed on:听
- 20 August 2005
The last bomb to fall on Swindon occurred in Drove Road, just above the junction of Cumberland Road, on the 29th August 1942. The 鈥淎ir Raid鈥 warning sounded at about eight o鈥檆lock in the morning. I quickly dressed into my Messenger Service uniform and set off on my bicycle to report to the Civic Offices Civil Defence Control Centre. Before I had reached the Control Centre the 鈥淎ll Clear鈥 siren sounded and I started to return home, but before I reached the end of Cumberland Road, the 鈥淲arning鈥 siren sounded again. For a third time I cycled across Drove Road on my way to report for duty, and the bomb dropped on houses on the East Side of Drove Road. as I finally approached the Control Centre. I was obviously meant to survive that day.
Eight people were killed and others injured. Several houses were so badly damaged they had to be demolished. Numerous properties suffered damage from the blast, including our house in Burford Avenue, only some two hundred yards or so away as the crow flies. While our neighbours had shattered windows, two of our bedroom ceilings came down on to the beds beneath. The reason for this was that my parents had opened their windows to prevent them being shattered, but the impact of the blast travelled on into the house to wreak worse damage!
That day we had one of the worst thunderstorms I can ever remember. Although in the summer, it was almost dark by mid afternoon as the storm clouds gathered. Torrential rain fell for several hours and the fire brigade wrestled to cover numerous damaged roofs with tarpaulins.
My job as a Messenger was to go to various addresses where relatives had enquired about casualties. With very few telephone subscribers in those days, it was often the only means of communication. Some of the messages delivered by other young messengers and me requested that they go to the improvised mortuary in The Butts Council Depot, to identify a relative; a grim task for young teenagers to have to perform.
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