大象传媒

It was the custom, during an air raid, for the male neighbours to gather at Prior's corner, at Fulwell Crossing, to discuss where the bombs were falling and give encouragement to the Ack-Ack crews. We only took shelter when things got really bad.

On the morning of the 16th May 1943, when we went out there was no-one there to talk to. It was very quiet and after about ten minutes father suggested that we should go to the shelter so that he could have a smoke. We later found that the neighbours had experienced much the same thing.

We sat in the shelter having a cup of tea and chatting to the Hendersons through the hatch between the shelters. By now there was a lot of activity outside. The bomber seemed to be overhead when we heard the whistle of the bomb leaving the plane. We all bent forward and covered our heads with our arms. The whistle did not last long and it seemed an age before father said "It must be a dud," so we started to straighten up. The lights went out and the shelter door burst open. Bricks cascaded through the door and the shelter filled with dust. There was no sound of an explosion, just the noise of falling brickwork. Then everything was quiet.

By torch light we discovered that my mother was injured. We applied a dressing and father and I went to get medical help and to see what damage had been done.

By light of the flares, dropped by the German plane still above, we could see that the whole of the back of the house was down and that now we had no home.

We were able to borrow a two wheeled handcart and my father, a sister (23), a cousin (18), myself (15) and my brother (14) moved all of our possessions, including the piano, to my grandmother's house in Primrose Crescent, for storage. It was hard work on a hot May Sunday. A week later we moved into "Requisitioned Property," arranged by the local authority.

On Monday morning, I was back at my desk at school as usual. We all thanked providence that on that particular night there had been no-one to talk to when each of our neighbours had gone, in turn, to our usual spot at Prior's corner. Had we all been there, things could have been very different as we did not always go into the shelter when the guns started to fire.

Ten years later we moved again, but this time my father, my brother, myself and the driver of the van we had borrowed - all grown men this time - could not lift the piano into the van. We had to get Pickford's. It was a German "iron-framed" upright piano.

I have often told the story of the piano. In 1943, we had loaded it on to the hand cart, wheeled it to my grandmother's, carried it through the house and put it in her front room. All done by my father and three boys. At the time we did not think this to be out of the ordinary. Ten years later, as four men, we could barely move the piano and wondered why. It is often said that in times of crisis we all have a hidden strength which allows us to do things that we would normally think impossible. We proved it.

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