大象传媒

This story has been submitted to the People's War website by Judie Krebs for GMR Action Desk on behalf of Frank Lowe with his permission. The author is fully aware of the Terms and Conditions.

Dad was a firefighter during the war and had a few close shaves during that time. One night he was near a high wall - about 15-20ft high - and there were aircraft overhead. Their leader told them to crouch down because he said that the bricks would fly over them. All six of them crouched down next to the wall, as low as they could get. The bricks did indeed fly over them and then they climbed over what was left of it without so much as a speck of dust clinging to them.

While Dad was away fighting fires, I vaguely remember going down to the Anderson shelter next door-but-one in Billinge Road, Ashton-in-Makerfield. When the sirens went off, Mum just picked me up and took me to the shelter and all our neighbours were already there. There were four of them and us two.
I clearly recall our neighbour, Mr John Fairclough, whose garden housed the shelter. He was short and rather large and he had a mobility problem going up and down the flag steps. The room underneath had an earth floor - just cut out of the ground - and there were small electric lights. I always remember it being cold and damp.

I suppose the way my pareants were affected by the Home Front way of life was that they never threw anything aaway. Dad would keep rubber bands and slit envelopes open very carefully so he could use them to put seeds or paper clips in. They always ate everything on their plates, too and that's how I am as well. I always put it down to growing up in wartime.

When Dad died, I found a box in the shed containing his fireman's equipment - helmet, axe, torch and various bits and pieces. I wouldn't dream of throwing them away.

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