More childhood memories
by
Brian Dickenson
(Age: 73)
copyright 07-06-2005
Age Rating: 7 to 127
More childhood memories.
This is not written in the present tense.
Mother recovered from her unplanned trip down the yard
She apologised to everyone for her language, then started to collect the remnants of her precious tea service.
The Vicar, gentleman that he was, said that they had heard nothing, due to the noise of the bomb blast.
I was discovered trying to hide behind the old wooden clothes mangle that lived in the yard. Had my bottom soundly smacked, then was bundled into the safety of my shelter under the stairs. I shared the shelter with my sister the dog and the budgie.
My father, who was in a reserved occupation, he was involved in the research of some special navigation equipment for our aircraft, spent most of the night on fire-watch duty at the factory he worked at.
I never found out until years later that it was a very dangerous place to be. The Germans knew all about the work being done there, and kept trying to destroy it. He was lucky; they bombed most of the building around the factory, including civilian homes, but missed the factory.
The following morning we, our gang that is, went out to survey the damage from the raid. And of course to look for downed German fliers. We all had a weapon of some sort, mostly knife's and axes.
I do believe that had we found any they would have been dead men, or we would.
However, we never did find any.
What we did see was a most unfortunate event.
The bombs had not been very close, so no bomb damage.
There had however been causalities.
A shell, fired from one of our own anti-aircraft guns had failed to exploded at its predetermined height. It had fallen to earth, hit the pavement at the base of a street lamp, then exploded, blowing the complete lamp column into the air. It had crashed through the bedroom window of a house, killing the man and wife who had decided to remain in their bed.
Lots did this. It was a case of if it’s got my name on it; there is nothing one can do.
Their children in the next bedroom were completely unscathed.
I recall one night going with my mother and sister to the local community air-raid shelter. These were of concrete and brick, half buried in the earth.
The designer of these shelters had overlooked the fact that being half buried they were closer to the water table. This meant that there was always a few inches of disgusting smelling water covering the floor. Duck boards had been laid to try and keep our feet out of this. but it was like walking in a swamp.
After about an hour of putting up with these conditions mother decided it was enough. We were leaving.
The raid was in progress and the warden in charge said we had to stay.
Foolish man. No one told my mother what she could, or could not do.
She was four feet eleven and a half inches of hell on wheels. The half inch was important to her.
He backed off and we went home. She said that she would rather have us die of bombing than typhoid.
One lasting memory of that time was watching a lone German bomber, obviously lost, it was being attacked by one of our fighter aircraft.
The tracery of the vapour trails against the blue May sky looked quite pretty. We never gave it a thought that there were young men, maybe no more than eighteen or twenty, German and English, fighting for their lives.
The Germans lost. The bomber spiralled down in flames. There were no parachutes.
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You know, I've been trying to save up my points so I can come up with a contest with a decent amount of points to award. You and your incredible stories are making that quite hard to do! LOL
I'm reminded of reading The Diary of Anne Frank. Though the stories can't compare, it still amazes me what war can do to people, countries, and lives. Are you publishing this? I would buy a copy, along with a copy of Neverworld. :)
Brian, I'm afraid you've got me hooked on your
"Childhood Memories" These are absolute must reads and I'm enjoying every word, very interesting can't wait til the BOOK comes out, if it has already please let me know.
See Brian...I told you your written memories were important (thank you Debra for seeing that and telling him).If no one wrote down their memories of what things were really like, especially with the richness of detail and characterization you are so good at, it makes it too easy for history's revisionists to come along later and manipulate it for their own purposes and revisionists seldom have an unbiased viewpoint. Your memories, as you relate them, have no hidden agendas because they are seen through the eyes of the child who lived them.
Congratulations! Your work has been featured in "Choices of the Week". Yah, I know...I didn't update for like, two years, but I'm doing it again so... hehe ^.^
Stop by and give the new page a look! And keep up the good work!!!
This is such a haunting tail, Brian...but I'm so happy you put it up. It seems all women my height (4'11 and 1/2) seem to really care about that half inch, and have a bit of an attitude that no one else can match! lol
This is a great work, Brian. Completely haunting, speaking volumes of the mind frame that seemed to be the norm back then!
Welcome !
