大象传媒

I was born October 29, 1930 in Portsmouth.

My story begins just before the out break of war, living in Stamshaw seeing airships drift over head which were taking photographing of Portsmouth. We were unawares of the significance of this.

Our lives were soon to change, war threatened. Just words to a nine year old, we marvelled at search lights sweeping the night sky and the sounds of air raid sirens wailing their mournful tune. So this is war. Childhood dreams gone we grew up fast.

My father was drafted from HMS Suffolk to HMS Hornet a shore base MTB station. On the night of January 10, 1941, Portsmouth suffered its heaviest raid. The city was ablaze by incendiary bombs which rained down on us like confetti.

At the time my father was home. With him, my brother and I spent the night covering flaming incendiaries with sandbags, and supplying water in a red painted bucket from a stirrup pump. Hearing the clatter of shrapnel falling on the terraced roofs, a large bang an incendiary had gone through Mrs. Rainsbury roof opposite. Knowing that nobody was home my father gave me a leg up through a broken window damaged by the bomb blast. Finding the bomb lying on the floor I tossed it out of the window, at the time it seemed the right thing to do.

I am reminded to this day cycling down Pigeon House Lane from Portsdown Hill north of Portsmouth. After a heavy raid we boys would look for souvenirs. Imagine our delight the top of a German bomb blown off in a crater. Struggling homeward we were unceremoniously clipped around the ears and robbed of our prize by two special constables. To this day that crater is always subsiding in the winter.

By Richard Daniel Evans - Portsmouth, Hampshire

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