大象传媒

Buzz Bombs, Gas Masks and Condensed Milk
Born in Manchester in 1937 I was a bit young to do my bit for King and country but this did'nt seem to make any difference to Adolf Hitler he was out to get me and had a bomb made with my name on it.It happened one morning in the early hours,I was awakened from a deep sleep by my Mother, calling my name and grabbing me out of the old cot I slept in ,wrapping me in my top blanket(an old overcoat) she hurried along the passageway of our Corporation flat towards the front door.We were heading for the Air Raid shelter which was a regular occurence, I was about five years of age, my sister who was eleven had gone ahead and was already in the shelter which was only twenty feet or so from our flat.As my Mother reached for the door knocker to pull the door shut balancing me on her shoulder, a Male voice called out "Leave that Missus I'll see to it!" ,it was Mr Lane our Air Raid Warden who lived in the flat above ours, we raced off towards the safety of the shelter as fast as my Mother could go and dashing through the doorway my Mother made her way to where my sister was waiting and we huddled together waiting for the All Clear to sound.When the Raid was over we were allowed to return to our homes ,my Mother looked for Mr Lane to thank him for his help but he was'nt to be seen.Enquiring after his whereabouts she was told that he had been taken to the Hospital suffering from shrapnel wounds to his head and upper body.As he had gone to close our front door a Bomb Had landed close by and Mr Lane had been struck by the fragments.My Mother was told later that he was never the same again and eventually was ad mitted to a mental Hospital where he spent the rest of his days.When my Father arrived home from work at a rubber factory in Trafford Park which was always a target for German Bombers,he was in a state as he had been told that our houses had been bombed, in fact it was a row of private houses on the Main Road that had gone up.The reason for the Bombers concentrating on us ,was that our area was mainly lived in by Jewish families.Thanks to Mr Lane I am able to tell this little tale of mine about the night my number nearly came up.Although my recollection of dates is'nt too clear I remember the Blackouts and the black material my Mother hung at the windows so that the light would'nt be seen by the German Bombers at night time .I can recall being evacuated along with my sister to a farm near Bolton ,I believe I was very friendly with all the animals and I was always in need of a good wash, so I presume I was up to my eyes in **** most of the time.Towards the end of the War we had a bit of excitement locally, one day a fleet of Army transports arrived at the spare ground across the road from where we lived, armed soldiers were everywhere setting up guard posts and erecting tents.Word went around like Wildfire and all of us kids converged on the site, we were'nt allowed to get too close but we were'nt told to go away either.(until we got on someones nerves)Then we saw them, GERMANS! they did'nt look tough to us ,in fact they did'nt look like much at all, just ordinary men which I suppose was disappointing, what we had expected I don't know,probably something with two heads.One of the kids asked a soldier if Hitler was there, which caused much merriment amongst the troops, in fact, a lot of our questions were greeted with laughter.We were told that the Germans were being taken to a P.O.W. camp somewhere down South and were not staying long in our area.As we watched the activities we noticed a solitary German approach one of the armed guards and after speaking to him move off in the direction of a grassy mound.Our curiousity aroused we asked the soldier where the man was going,he told us that the man was going to use the toilet but he used a German word to describe it, a word that we'd never heard before, when I mentioned it to my Father later,I got a clip around the ear and was sent to bed.The next day when I went out to play, the makeshift camp had gone and I did'nt get to improve my knowledge of the Geman language.My memories of those troubled times are many, the good and the bad,I remember my Mother waiting at the street corner every morning for sight of my Father coming home from the night shift at the Rubber Works, if he was later than usual she would stand there as if in a trance, tears on her cheeks hands clutching her pinny(apron), then he would appear, striding across the open ground that was across the road from where we lived having just got off the bus around the corner on the main road.Because of the Air Raids on Trafford Park where my Father worked there were burning buildings and tire dumps everywhere,the thick black smoke used to permeate his clothing and his skin.I can see him now trying to scrub the blackness off his hands and face, even the sandwiches my Mother made for him to take to work tasted of smoke and rubber, he did'nt always eat his sandwiches so he brought them home as a treat for me and I would devour them, rubbery taste and all.I can recall many things about the War years and the recovery period afterwards but when they actually happened I can't always put a date to them.We used to have Gas Mask Practice at School that was quite often amusing but our teacher was very stern and did'nt think it funny when we literally rolled about laughing at each other as we donned our masks and made funny noises in them.We did'nt have a Radio in those days we did however go to the Pictures and I remember the musical shorts that we used to sing along to with the aid of the little white dot that bobbed along on top of the words of the song as they were displayed on the screen.We played Pencil and Paper Games seated around the table, Noughts and Crosses, Oxo, Hangman and Soap.One Evening at the end of the War my Father took me to Piccadilly in Manchester Centre to watch the News Bulletins on the Illuminated display that was up on the side of one of the buildings,(I think it was the B.B.C.)as the words appeared on the display in large letters,"VICTORY IN EUROPE ALL THE LATEST NEWS" the night air resounded with the cheers and shouts of exultation from the gathered masses I was perched on my Fathers shoulders gazing in awe at the multitude stretching away from me on all sides.The burned out buildings, victims of the Air Raids, provided us kids with a magical though dangerous playground, despite the warning notices on the side of the ruins we still played there ignoring the dangers as if they did't exist.A common pastime was foraging amongst the debris for pieces of wood, old floorboards partially burned but good enough to take home for our fire which we sat around on cold nights trying to keep warm ,a blanket or coat around our shoulders a cup of tea with condensed milk in it or if there was no milk, golden syrup to sweeten the dark brew.Whenever we had Dried Egg which was quite often, we would peel off the outer wrapping of the packet to reveal a picture of a Canadian Mounted Policeman indicating that Canada was where our egg had originated.At School when I was about eight years of age I can remember swapping army badges and patches that were available at the time, returning home from active service our menfolk brought with them their uniforms from which they removed the flashes badges and patches which they gave to their sons usually.Because of the nearness of the American Air Force Base at Burtonwood, Warrington, there were American badges to be had also, the Americans spent their leisure time in the centre of Manchester.My Father had served in the trenches in the First World War and had fought on the Somme and at Ypres, after the Great War was over he had stayed in the army and overall he served for Twelve years.Although he did'nt serve in W.W.2 he did a lot of Firefighting during the Air Raids while he worked at Trafford Park at the Rubber Factory.When the War ended he came off night work and did shift work, after a few years he moved to another Rubber Factory in Salford.My Fathers younger brothers had served in the Army in the Second World War,one of them, Uncle George, who was the youngest,used to come and stay with us when the War was over and he was on leave,he gave me coins from the countries where he had served some of them had holes in the centre which to me were very strange.Uncle George would tell me stories of the fights he had been in with the enemy soldiers and how he had been taken prisoner by the Germans but had escaped from the P.O.W. camp.I never tired of hearing about his exploits or of the tales told by my Father of the Great War and life in the trenches.Althogh we did'nt have anything of value, apart from each other, we had a common bond with our neighbours and fellow countrymen that together with respect, courage and determination helped us to pick up the pieces and look forward to a better life.

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