大象传媒

The year is 1940 and I would like to tell you about one particular air-raid we experienced. Two nights before, we had watched the night sky, reddened by the reflections of the fires as Coventry burned. We were 18 miles away in the suburbs of Birmingham. I was 17 years old at the time.
The sirens went early this night and it was to be 13 hours before we heard the all-clear. We lived in a viila-type house in Coldbath Rd, Kings Heath. The gardens ran down and adjoined the ones belonging to the houses in Pimy Rd which ran parallel to our road. We made our way down the garden to the Anderson Shelter, a corrugated iron construction half-buried and covered with soil and grass- my parents, 2 pet dogs and the canary, and grandfather whose vocabulary is not repeatable.
In nearby Swanshurst Park, was an anti-aircraft battery of heavy guns which shook the ground when they were fired. This gave us warning that the bombs would be soon on their way down, as the enemy desperately tried to silence them. The whistling of the bombs all around us was a frightening experience, but I consoled myself with the thought that you do not hear the one that is going to hit you. Suddenly, there was a very near miss. The whole dugout we were in seemed to move. Thankfully, the others raining down were a little further away. In the early hours of the morning the guns in the park fell silent and the enemy planes moved further towards the city centre- six miles away. My dad said that it looked as though they had been put out of action. Poking our heads out and looking towards the sky, we watched the bombers caught in the searchlights- sitting targets, but no gunfire. When we finally emerged after the all-clear my brother who had been out all night with the LDP (Local Defence Volunteers) arrived home trembling and ashen-faced, with the news that our neighbours over the garden fence had had a direct hit. They and their shelter had gone. All blown to bits by the one bomb which shook our foundations. The irony is that the row of houses in Pimy Rd where they lived, was untouched. If they had not gone to the shelter that night they would have survived.
Next morning I set off to walk the 6 miles to the factory where I worked in the city. There was no public transport that day. Roads were rendered impassable either through bomb craters, debris, or miles of hose pipes criss-crossing them.
The reason the guns in the park had ceased operating was because they'd run out of ammunition. One of the soldiers there, destined to become my brother-in-law in 1943 told us that after all the hours of continuous firing, the barrels were absolutely red-hot and were glowing dull red in the darkness. It was a terrible night.
On another occasion and another long spell in the shelter, the bombers attacked Birmingham again. This time it was the moonlight which brought about the destruction. The BSA motorcycle factory in Small Heath was built right alongside the canal. From the air, the canal systems glistened like silver threads in the moonlight and the bombers had only to follow them to their targets. By now of course, the BSA was making munitions and it was flattened.
A cinema in the adjoining area of Sparkbrook, namely the Carlton in Taunton Road, was caught in the blast. It was not damaged in any way, but the next morning it was entered and the discovery made that the entire audience was still sitting in their seats dead. The blast had sucked all the air out of the bodies in the same way that had happened to the singer Al Bowlly in a London hotel who was found dead in similar circumstances. We used to go to the pictures in the same way as we used to do but when the sirens went the manager used to make the announcement and those who wished to leave could do so. This was our way of life and we just got on with it. Having to live in night-time darkness year after year, the full moon was a joy. It was wonderful to be able to see around, but the danger was always there.
Although the war years were tragic, the comradeship was unbelievable by today's standards. YOu never knew who you were rubbing shoulders with. It was simply a fight for survival. We were all in the same boat, everybody helped everyone else in a way that is incomprehensible to those who did not experience it. I will give you an example. I was walking home one night in the blackout when the sirens went. A shadowy figure came alongside and a man's voice spoke to me 'Would you like me to walk with you?' 'Yes please' I replied. We walked along chatting about this and that, nothing radical, always guarded (the wartime slogan was 'Careless Talk Cost Lives'). On reaching the corner of my road, I said 'I live just along here' 'Will you be alright?' he said. 'Yes thankyou' 'Well Goddnight then' 'Goodnight and thankyou' 'My pleasure'. Imagine that today!
I never knew who he was or where he came from, nor even his name. It was too dark to distinguish his features, just as he would not have been able to distinguish mine. He was a friend who arrived from and departed into the night. (contd in part two)

This story has been submitted to the Peoples War website by Rupert Creed on behalf of Margaret Jay and has been added with her permission. The author is fully aware of the site's terms and conditions.

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