How Britain Kept Calm and Carried On (5 page)

Getting no answer, she shouted to her long-suffering son: ‘Sid! Go and see if the front door’s closed.’

Uncle Sid emerged from under the stairs and went dutifully along the passageway. He was gone an awfully long time and Grandma kept saying: ‘Where’s he got to?’

Eventually, he reappeared. She said: ‘Well, was it open?’

Uncle Sid said: ‘Yes, it was open all right. And if I could have found it, I’d have closed the bloody thing for you.’

Actually, although our house hadn’t suffered a direct hit, when the raid was over we found that it was so badly damaged it was uninhabitable.

Iris Brokenshire, Liskeard

I remember a story from the
Lincolnshire Standard
at the time: A Post Office engineer was ordered one night to go to an anti-aircraft battery site because their
telephone was reported out of order. It was raining and a severe blackout was in force. In addition, the sentries on that particular site had a reputation for being trigger-happy. The engineer
tried to announce his approach by calling loudly at intervals: ‘Telephones! Telephones!’ Suddenly, almost at his elbow, a voice said: ‘Trying to sell ’em, mate?’

R. M. Gale, Littlehampton

I was in Forest Gate Maternity Home in 1940. I had to stay there nearly three months, as I’d been very ill through kidney trouble while I was expecting my first baby. I
had an uncanny knack of hearing the bombs coming down before anyone else, so I used to tell everybody to duck under the bedclothes. Well, I eventually had my baby boy on 9 October at 11.30 a.m.
About an hour and a half later, at dinner time, there was a raid with no warning sirens. The nurse was just going to get my baby for me to feed him, when I heard a bomb falling and shouted at
everyone to duck. I did so myself and, thank God I did, for when it was all over I emerged from under my bedclothes and I couldn’t believe it. My bed was covered in glass. Even the window
frame was on the bed. I stuck my head through it and said: ‘I think I’ve been framed!’

Mrs W. M. Shaw, Ilford

My mother and father were huddled in the shelter during a raid one night. The old lady next door had joined them and she was complaining about the cold. So my father said that
he’d brave the bombers and go and make some cocoa. About fifteen minutes later he returned with this big jug of lovely steaming-hot cocoa. The old lady was salivating at the prospect of it,
so much so that her false teeth fell out and the bottom set went straight into the jug. Everyone just looked at each other. Then my father fished them out with a spoon. It’s safe to say that
the old lady had the jug to herself. And every time she shared the shelter after that, they kept a close eye on her dentures.

Ted Harrison, Derby

In 1943 I was in my late teens. Because of the damp in the Anderson shelter, my father, mother and I decided to stay indoors. My parents slept under the dining-room table, me in
a recess away from the French windows, on feather overlays, plus top covers. At that time, Jerry, if he still had bombs left after a raid, dropped them anywhere. Well, one dropped nearby and the
soot came down the chimney and covered me. My father got the vacuum cleaner out to clean it off me, still holding his long johns with one hand and cleaning me with the other. He was six feet tall.
It was the funniest sight I’d ever seen! He didn’t think it at all funny, though.

Jesse Aitkens, Broadstairs

I was about ten years old and living in Grimsby when we suffered a particularly bad air raid. Our family – Mum, Dad, myself and two small sisters – made our way to
our garden shelter. Our neighbours were doing the same. We settled ourselves down and realized we were in for a bad night with planes overhead, bombs dropping and anti-aircraft guns going off.
Suddenly my dad said: ‘Heads down and pray like mad!’ Then, we all heard it getting closer and closer – a loud whistling sound. A bomb dropping!

I remember thinking that I didn’t want to die, but Dad said: ‘That bomb’s taking a helluva long time dropping!’ and shot off down the garden along with several other
terrified and confused neighbours. Well, we waited and waited. When he returned a few minutes later he said, angrily: ‘That blasted Mrs So and So!’ It seemed she’d put on the
kettle to make a cup of tea and the whistling sound had been her kettle! She never dared to use her kettle during night raids again.

Joan Campbell, Grimsby

My story takes place on 6 September 1940, when I was living in Liverpool. It was the day before I was to be married and I was thirty-eight years old. The air-raid alert sounded
at 8 p.m. My brother, my youngest sister – who was in bad health with TB – and myself all got under the stairs. My mother insisted on going to bed. Her philosophy was that, if your name
was on a bomb, you’d get it anyway, and she wasn’t prepared to lose sleep over it. Well, sorry to say, that night we got a direct hit on the front of the house. Luckily, it was only a
250-pound bomb. But my dear mother was trapped in bed with the roof on top of her. We screamed for help from the ARP wardens and, finally, they got her out alive. She was very shocked and had a bad
cut on her forehead. Well, the funny part of it was when the ARP warden said to her: ‘I can still hear your chimney clock chiming!’ she replied: ‘I only paid thirty shillings for
it off a Jewish jeweller. He must have been an honest man!’ With the neighbours’ help we cleaned her up and, after a cup of tea, things didn’t seem so bad. Sadly, I lost four
sisters and two little nieces in the Christmas Blitz that followed.

Phyllis Essex, Malvern

After every air raid – and they came every day – all the services had been badly damaged. This particular day there was just one small pipe left, with a little water
dribbling through it. People came with buckets, bowls and saucepans to get water. Us nurses invented a guessing game as to whether it would be a bucket, a bowl or a saucepan. It helped to get us
through the day.

L. Davis, Tipton, Staffordshire

Like many hundreds of others past military age, I joined the Auxilliary Fire Service just before the outbreak of war. I did my training at the Bethel Street fire station in
Norwich and at a brewery around the corner. Eventually Norwich acquired a fire float. One Sunday morning, after I joined the crew of about eight men, we did a practice run to Colman’s Mustard
Works and, after a good drill, the officer in charge, who was my brother-in-law, gave the order to go ashore for a break and a smoke. The ground was a bit marshy where we were to step off the float
and, grabbing my rubber boots with one hand, I slipped on mud and fell into the river, much to the amusement of my comrades and the workers at Colman’s.