大象传媒

When the air raid siren went off the inhabitants of the upper flat in Sheldon Street, Jarrow retreated into their downstairs neighbours cupboard under the stairs equipped with seats and a light. My Great-Great-Granda went off to his job of ARP warden, complete with gasmask, truncheon, helmet and armband.
That night a landmine fell on the houses across the street from the flats. After a check by the ARP warden of the family they hurried to the Morrison shelter in the garden.
Whilst crossing the yard the chimney pot came off and landed on my Grandma's foot. The pain only added to her later sulk as 'I used to sulk if I didn't have the bunk.' she recalled.
After the all clear they returned to the upstairs flat to discover that there was dust everywhere and every thing was cracked and broken with the exception of my Great-Aunt's baby bottle which - empty - had survived the attack.
The street opposite had taken the full force of the mine and the last standing house was opposite with a huge crater where the bus station now stands. My Grandma remembers seeing a bed hanging out of a building.
Their row had lost its roofs and the row behind had had its windows blown out. 'If it had fallen a few feet closer it would have hit us.' About 11 were killed in that explosion, near the railway and the shipyards.
The next morning they went to a 'gathering centre' where the family was split up. Mother and two daughters were sent to live with their Aunt Mary whilst the grandparents went with cousins.
'They were treated like royalty. We went there nearly every day.'
The cousins had a table laid daily with homebaked goods and the two refugees had an oven attached to their fireplace in their room.

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