大象传媒

One glorious summer's day in 1940, I set out for my lunchtime break from my workplace close to Cannon Street Station in the City of London. It had been yet another night of heavy bombing and the streets were littered with broken glass and, here and there, the rubble of collapsed buildings. One little cameo that I particularly remember was of a young woman, sitting on a stool with her typewriter perched beside her in the midst of the glass-strewn pavement opposite the Station, calmly taking dictation from an elderly gent. The sirens had signalled the 'All Clear' several hours since.

With the then customary sandwich pack brought from home, I strolled off in the direction of St. Paul's Cathedral looking for a quiet spot to relax in the sun and enjoy my break. As I approached the vicinity of St. Paul's itself, I saw that barrier tapes had been strewn across its approaches and adjacent streets. But on its southern flank is the narrow garden of St. Paul's Churchyard where I spotted a bench-seat, alone and empty and inviting me towards itself.

Not a soul was anywhere in sight and the barrier tapes seemed to be serving no purpose. In any case, I was wearing my Civil Defence uniform, complete with "tin hat" attached to my service respirator, for reporting to duty as and when the sirens would inevitably sound again. In other words, I was accustomed to going more-or-less anywhere I chose and a "little bit of plastic tape" would not keep me away from that
inviting bench basking in the peace and quiet of the deserted churchyard.

But not long after I had sat there, munching my sandwiches, when I suddenly noticed an approaching figure in the shape of a London "bobby" who was making swiftly in my direction!

"What are you doing here, sir?", he said. "Didn't you see the barrier tapes?"

"Yes", I admitted, "but nothing seemed to be happening and so I thought it was just some kind of leftover."

"Well, he said, you could call it that." "Actually it's a 2,000-pound unexploded bomb and you are almost sitting on top of it." "If it goes up, it'll take most of the Cathedral with it - as well as you !"

Needless to say, I thanked him roundly, apologised and left.

Within just a few hours afterwards, that same "UXB" had been partially defused and winched to the surface by either an Army or Naval Bomb Disposal unit, from its deep position alongside the Cathedral foundations. It was then driven, I believe by a solitary driver, on the back of a truck, through The City
and East End of London and out to Hackney Marshes where it was "blown up". Sheer nerve and outright dedication come no higher in my esteem than that!

Hence, I believe, that wonderful, triumphant, photographic image - taken during the blitz - of the
fire-illuminated dome of St. Paul's rising supremely above the smoke-filled inferno beneath and around it.

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