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This story has been submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Morwenna Nadar of CSV/LONDON on behalf of Sydney N. Maddern and added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.
This story is an excerpt from his autobiography.

Some time after returning from Carlisle to live in SE London, I started to venture further afield, going up to the centre of London and to Greenwich and elsewhere. These trips were generally during the lulls we had from air raids. Daytime sirens became infrequent, but unfortunately when night came, most people expected 鈥淛erry鈥� to come: he came all right. A period started again when bombing returned with, what at times seemed all the aircraft 鈥渇atty Goering鈥� could send; he was often spoken of in these terms. During one of the evening raids we were in the shelter, as were most people. Many people had, it appeared, developed a sense which told them when they must go into a shelter and on other occasions perhaps they would decide not to 鈥� take a chance was sometimes their thoughts; of course some did make the wrong decision! A particularly nasty raid with a great deal of noise was around us, much louder than most of the previous raids; it seemed much closer which kept us inside the shelter which was not our usual routine. In all previous raids it had been the practice of some of us to stand close to the entrance, observing the sky and the searchlight beams sweeping around to catch the Nazi 鈥榩lanes. We would watch the follow up of our ground ack-ack guns when a German bomber or any of their aircraft were caught in their beams of light and when we saw the shells exploding in the sky, we had high expectations of seeing a Nazi aircraft hit 鈥� and when it was, we always gave a cheer and our thanks to our defenders! This raid was very traumatic and there certainly was a stronger sense of fear. After an hour or so my brother, Alex, began to show signs that his asthma was being troublesome. Gradually it became worse and he tried to tell us in a very shaky voice that he wanted his tablets; but he had already taken some and now needed medical attention. Unfortunately there was not a public 鈥榩hone close by and the noise of the raid was still very loud, but it was essential that my brother had expert help. The doctor鈥檚 house was about two hundred or so yards up the road. Without giving the matter deep thought, I slipped out of the shelter, giving the impression, I believed, of going to stand not very far outside the entrance of the shelter. On impulse, I ran as fast as I could up the rear path to our gardens, which brought me out into Sunnydene Street at a point where it joined the main road. 鈥淎 quick dash up here,鈥� were my main thoughts at that moment in time. 鈥淚 must get the doctor,鈥� I repeated to myself as I ran. I ran into an area where there was an anti-aircraft gun lorry which was firing into the searchlight beams at a target the lights had caught. The gun kept pumping away; the crew of the gun and, I believe, other personnel yelled to me, if I recall correctly, 鈥淕et off the street. Get into a shelter, son.鈥� They repeated this and perhaps words but I kept running. I could hear very clearly the noise of things hitting the pavement and the occasional crack of something striking a roof. I kept saying to myself not to panic and to get the doctor. I was on his doorstep and gave several quick knocks on the large door. It was opened and a surprised lady beckoned me to quickly enter. Within seconds I had explained about Alex. The doctor took me back in his car and within minutes Alex was given an injection. Shortly after, he was much improved. The doctor gave us some advice and made his excuses to return to his wife; they were both of upper middle-aged years. A few seconds after the doctor had made his exit, Mum, who was half angry and half pleased, spoke to me in mixed tones about my dash to fetch the doctor. Both my sisters were out with their friends when the raid started so we had our concerns for their safety. It was difficult at that period of time to get in touch with relatives or friends as there were few private homes with telephones. Most people, if they were concerned, usually travelled by public transport to the appropriate area to further their necessary enquiries. However, there were the occasions when certain enemy action made this very hard or impossible. People then walked. In those days people, including children, just did more walking!

The morning after Alex鈥檚 asthma attack, very early, I made a calculated walk to retrace my steps to see the damage of the air raid, which included me seeking out pieces of shrapnel from the shells fired by the gun lorry. The dents and holes I saw in the pavements, fences, and even lamp and telegraph posts, from being struck by the shell fragments when they returned to the ground, amazed me. I then realised how lucky I was that night. Many, many years later, whilst I was concluding a history lesson, one of my sixteen year old pupils asked me certain questions, one of which was what I thought was the bravest act I had done. I suppose he probably at the time was thinking I was so old that I would have been a combatant in the Second World War. I dismissed those thoughts from the class very swiftly, but I did suggest a couple of incidents of years past, which may have been considered brave. However, my memory tells me I did not mention any reference to that night in April 1944 when I was a young teenager. I had completely forgotten until I was reminded about it in 1992.

The music and songs of this period were quite often songs of decades earlier and were very popular with all English speaking audiences. Certain individual melodic songs came to the fore as 鈥渨ar songs鈥� and for millions of people they have special associations with a particular time or place. The song entitled 鈥淵ours鈥� always makes me think of my earlier years in Carlisle. That well known war song, 鈥淏luebirds Over the White Cliffs of Dover鈥�, was written by an American composer who was not well known. Strangely, a German song became a favourite 鈥� 鈥淟ili Marlene鈥�. It was originally a moral booster for German troops, particularly the front line combatants. Then in the last couple of years of the war, the song was adopted by the British and translated into English. It was later recorded by certain well known vocalists, including the Hollywood actress, Marlene Dietrich, who, of course, was originally a German actress until her move to the USA in the late 1920s.

It was about this time, in the early spring, that Dad came to visit. I recall it coincided with a lull in the air raids although, of course, the warning siren would occasionally sound during the day or at night. Many of these were possibly due to a lone Nazi 鈥榩lane in a particular area of the sky or to an 鈥榰nidentified鈥� aircraft which was about. During Dad鈥檚 three day visit we went out together a couple of times and one afternoon we went to the pictures where we saw the film 鈥楽ahara鈥�, starring Humphrey Bogart. During the performance, 鈥楾he alert has sounded鈥� was flashed on to the screen but by this period in the war it was not unusual to see most of the audience retain their seats when this happened. The film continued showing and only a few left to seek the sanctuary of a public shelter. I persuaded Dad to stay but he was surprised that I was not moving out 鈥� understandably, as he was not having such experiences in what was then Cumberland.

I, like most people, was becoming aware of the increasing numbers of American service personnel around and about in the Home Counties and particularly in London. I also remember one of my afternoon and evening trips up to London when I was very surprised to see, in the Strand, Charing Cross and surrounding areas, a horse-drawn cab of the Victorian and Edwardian eras, with its driver in a top hat. Apparently there were about half a dozen two and four wheeled cabs which were doing good business. There was a severe fuel shortage in London at that time and I realised that these cabbies, whose ages suggested they had been around forty or fifty years earlier, were indeed resourceful individuals. I was beginning to realise that my childhood, as I had known it in Carlisle, was now at an end.

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