大象传媒

This contribution is taken from the collections of the McLean Museum, Greenock, Inverclyde Council.

Mr Munro:

Portsmouth 鈥�41

Late afternoon that April day, the sky blacked out, smoke clouds filling the air, the acrid smell, gaunt shells of buildings, the desolate sense of destruction greeted the draft. Royal Naval Barracks a scene of activity, firemen, rescue workers, digging, probing, somebody remarks there鈥檚 still bodies in these smouldering ruins, poor buggers, not much hope. Draft lines up, regulating P.O.s takes names and official numbers. 鈥淪tow your gear in there, find some place to sleep tonight and report here 0800 in the morning鈥� any questions? No, right off you go. Next morning by grace of God and Nazi bombers, seven days leave. Home few days, then that unmistakably intermittent drone of German bombers.

The Greenock Blitz

Crump and thud of bombs, the staccato clack of anti aircraft guns, the searchlights catching the metallic sheen of aircraft high above. From the east the fiery red glow of hell, as distillery received early hit, sea of burning spirit running downhill, pinpoints way. The railway yards, sugar house, shipbuilding and engineering, the inoffensive tenement buildings crash and crumble.
Two nights the bandits reigned supreme, will they be back. Scenes of desolation, grotesque shapes of railway wagons and carriages, like discarded toys, the shredded mangled dwellings, the laughter stilled, patter of feet gone forever, for some the echoes linger on. Report back Portsmouth, loaded into double deck buses, like some bloody great picnic party, through lovely countryside.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.