大象传媒

It was a mild night; mother and Father were not on duty. It was the last night of Bob's embarkation leave.

The air-raid siren had sounded quite some time ago. No sound of aircraft to disturb the chatter of parents, son and two daughters as they sat in the garden air-raid shelter. Because of Bob's imminent departure in the morning, thoughts began to silence talk. Finally, someone remarked that it ded seem like a false alarm, silence for so long. Anyone for tea? We all agreed, and decided to go back into the house. Tea and biscuits and more chatter. Sill no sign of enemy action.

Mary and I had early starts, so we had decided to go to bed. Mary was actually asleep when I heard the German plane - oh yes, we soon learned to distinguish between the sound of engines - British or German. I heard one solitary plane. Then I heard the screaming bomb and the explosion. The window shattered broken glass over us. Mary, awake, was trying to scramble out to bed. I told her to lie still; there would be glass on the floor. Father appeared and made clear passage for us to get dressed. On hearing the "foreigner," Father had pushed Mother under the dining table, then followed her. Bob had lain on the floor in front of the fireplace, he had been covered in soot.

I heard afterwards that no one was killed, but a large crater now showed where the bomb had landed. In our house was a mish mash of broken doors, windows and ceilings. Replacements of black out arrangements were made so that we could have some light indoors. That done, our parents went out to report, Mother to first aid, Father to the report centre. Soon we found a boulder of clay inside the bathroom door, jamming it, and with a very narrow opening to work on, we used a teaspoon at first to tackle the boulder. Hitler could surely aim boulders! Within two minutes we found a second boulder, this time jamming the toilet door, more teaspoon work. In the darkness, we prowled the house with torches. Windows had blown in or been sucked out, doors were off their hinges, ceilings preferred the floor! As daylight returned, colour added to the scene. Broken china, soot that hadn't fallen on Bob, gooey wet flour on the kitchen floor.

We couldn't send Bob back to the army in his state, but luckily he had been wearing civvies. We could never have got his uniform clean in time. Our parents returned from duty to bid farewell to Bob. (He went to North Africa and then to Burma) he next saw his home again on VJ day.

The remainder of the family had to move out for six weeks. The recent bomb had also scuppered the foundations of our house.

Mrs J Hickinbottom,
Stockton on Tees

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