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Christina Kelly spoke with Billy Hobson, aged 76, originally from Ballybeen, about his war memories.

Getting a moment to chat to Billy was difficult. He was busy in the kitchen with his wife and a team of other ladies, making sure that everyone had a cup of tea and that the chilled meals for the other members of the Silver Threads club went into the oven on time.

The ladies sat chatting and knitting on one side of the hall, whilst the men played indoor bowls on the other. There was a light and playful atmosphere, similar to one you might find in a playgroup or youth club. It’s hard to believe that these people were in their seventies and eighties. At one point the knitting circle jumped up to partake in a bit of line dancing - and then sit down to their meal as if nothing had happened.

Billy and the kitchen ladies were very disappointed with the quality of the dessert sent to them by Meals on Wheels. Deeming the lemon sponge cake substandard, Billy rushed off to the local shops to buy some ice cream for everyone instead.

On his return, we managed to grab him for a quick chat. He led us away from the ever increasing volume of laughing and cheering, coming from a game of Hoopla. We walked through St Mary’s hall into the church itself. We sat down in a quiet little room, away from the bustle. My fears that Billy would find our presence unsettling were unfounded. They didn’t require much encouragement.

We discussed many things, including Billy’s smuggling exploits on little boats from Warrenpoint. These boats travelled between Warrenpoint and Omeath, on the other side of Carlingford Lough and in the Irish Republic. They were supposed to go to Dunkirk for the evacuation in 1940. A big number was painted on them - WD40, WD42 (WD for War Department). A tanker was meant to come from England to take all these boats in tow to go to Dunkirk but it didn't happen.

We also discussed the sheer terror that the sound from the air-raid sirens struck into Billy’s little eleven-year-old heart. He remembers the sight of women pushing prams up the Newtownards / Grosvenor Roads, filled with clothes and blankets ready to sleep in the fields for the night, rather than take their chances in the city.

Billy remembers one morning, after the Luftwaffe carried out a particularly devastating air raid on Belfast. From their bases in France, 471 bombers set off for their targets and of these 204 were destined for Belfast. The main targets were the shipyards and aircraft factory but because they had prepared themselves with thousands of incendiary devices they had also planned to burn much of Belfast.

Walking through Ormeau Park, Billy recalls the eerie silence piercing the smoke and dust as the barrage balloons went up — And he remembers thanking God that he was still alive.

Billy’s family were lucky. They were issued with a bomb shelter for their large family. He recalls how they used to all spend the night under the shelter, a huge metal box affair that they kept in the living room. He recalls it as being called an Anderson shelter, but it was actually a Morrison shelter.

In November 1938, Chamberlain placed Sir John Anderson in charge of Air Raid Precautions (ARP). He immediately commissioned the engineer, William Patterson, to design a small and cheap shelter that could be erected in people's gardens. But they were very few and far between in Belfast. Measuring 6ft 6in by 4ft 6in, the shelter could accommodate six people. These shelters were half buried in the ground with earth heaped on top. The entrance was protected by a steel shield and an earthen blast wall.

In Belfast the shelters available could provide protection for just one quarter of the city’s population, and that was when fully utilised. There were very few Anderson shelters and so protection tended to be slit trenches.

To redress this, the government began issuing Morrison Shelters. Named after the Home Secretary, Herbert Morrison, the shelters were made of very heavy steel and could be put in the living room and used as a table. One wire side lifted up for people to crawl underneath and get inside.

Morrison shelters were fairly large and provided sleeping space for two or three people. But Billy’s mother managed to squeeze them all in. (see cartoons).Billy’s brother David couldn’t sleep when the air raid warnings went up. He was a service man on the HMS Rodney and took himself off to the bottom of the garden when danger lurked. He couldn’t bring himself to share the Morrison shelter indoors with the rest of the family. His ship was involved in the demise of the great German Warship, Bismarck.

After the war, the public shelters that were erected provided great ‘courting’ potential for Billy and his friends. They even devised a quick escape route from them should they be caught. Loosening a few bricks on the opposite wall bought enough time to get away undisclosed.

Even though we only spoke to Billy and Gerry for a short time, it made us aware of how lucky we are. And I hope that we would have the same bravery, should World War become a real threat to peace in our time.

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