Chapter Five - The Terror by Night
THE 'BATTLE OF BRITAIN' ended when the Germans decided to call off the daylight raids and postpone the planned invasion of the U.K., but the aerial onslaught continued. Night attacks were maintained throughout the latter months of 1940, and during the first half of 1941, with London and other major U. K. cities as prime targets.
The night skies during these attacks were quite spectacular. They were illuminated from the glow of fires as the incendiaries took hold, decorated with flashes of light from exploding anti-aircraft shells or bombs, pierced with incandescent beams from searchlights, and presented with an occasional shower of sparks as a stricken aircraft plunged earthwards. Large fleets of bombers were used with advanced navigational aids, and although we employed night fighters to combat them, their losses were small by comparison with the daylight raids.
Anti-aircraft guns, sound detectors and searchlights were more extensively used at night. The heavy guns were characterised by a deep sounding roar as they discharged, whilst the more mobile 'Bofors' guns went off with a sharp crack and had a more rapid rate of fire. In addition, the Bofors guns assumed a 'roving commission', changing location from one night to the next. The heavy anti-aircraft guns were positioned at Atenbridge (about three miles from Ferryden), near to an officer's training camp where the occupants were under canvas.
At weekends, it was accepted that the trainees were free to 'let their hair down' and enjoy themselves. This they did in the traditional way, visiting pubs in the nearby villages, including Ferryden. On most occasions they were able to rustle up suitable transport (usually the odd 'Bentley' or something similar) and made their journeys in somewhat overcrowded 'Comfort'. The merrymaking often took the form of raucous but good humoured behaviour on the outward journey, followed by a rather inebriated and vocal stupor on their return.
The return journey was often rather hazardous as they had to negotiate the 'blackout', which was rigidly enforced. The blackout not only applied to domestic dwellings and commercial and military premises, but also to vehicles. They had to employ masks on headlights and sidelights to avoid being observed from the air. This was doubly important during an air raid, and inevitably meant that even short Journeys would take a long time.
On one such occasion, after a riotous night out and a very slow journey back to Atenbridge, the trainees had to grope their way into the tented accommodation in complete darkness. The only illumination came from the flashes of nearby anti-aircraft guns, and an occasional glimpse of the moon as it shone briefly from a break in an overcast sky. The use of torches was strictly forbidden. As so often happens, one of the trainees, having successfully found his sleeping quarters, had a sudden urge to relieve himself. After making several unsuccessful attempts to find the exit, he finally decided to take a chance in a remote corner where hopefully, no one would be sleeping.
Those first few seconds of sheer bliss one experiences when an overfull bladder begins to discharge were rudely interrupted by an irate voice from the darkness. "I say old chap," it protested "wave it about a bit, wave it about." The unfortunate soul who had been the recipient of this deluge was apparently not objecting so much about being a target provided there was a fair distribution among some of his nearby comrades. Fortunately, everyone saw the funny side of things and there were no ill feelings the following morning.
The-German aerial bombardment concentrated on large populated areas and industrial targets, but occasionally a damaged bomber, or one that had lost its way, would offload its cargo indiscriminately and try to limp back to base. On most occasions the bombs would land in open countryside, but one night, a raider was hit by-anti-aircraft fire and dropped a stick of bombs across Ferryden.
The first two or three landed in surrounding fields, one smashed into a row of cottages but failed to explode, two more fell either side of large house standing in its own grounds, and the rest landed harmlessly in a meadow. It was a miracle that the only bomb not to explode was the one that would almost certainly have caused loss of life and brought about the destruction of at least two dwellings. As it was, the bombs that fell either side of the large house caused severe damage. The first of these landed a few feet from the main structure and did no more than break a window and remove the odd tile. The second landed a hundred yards or so further on, and although it was well away from the house, took the roof off on that side.
The bomb disposal squad were called in to remove the unexploded bomb, and stayed for a week or two. People in neighbouring houses were evacuated, and the road was closed. Mother would not move, but insisted that I went to stay at Eric Daley's house in the high street. Although Eric and I were good friends, I was rather annoyed. Not only had Mother failed to wake me up on the night of the bombing, which by all accounts had been quite spectacular, but just as some danger threatened, she decided that I should be kept at a safe distance. However, after a few days she relented, and I was given the job of a 'delivery boy'. My task was to keep the bomb disposal squad supplied with hot cooked dinners, cakes, tea, and other goodies as a small 'thank you' for the work they were doing so courageously on behalf of everyone in that part of the village.
As might be expected, there were a number of people who experienced some very narrow escapes during the raids, and one of these involved a night shift worker at a nearby factory. The factory housed several huge machines, all of which contained large cylinders heated by steam under pressure. The workers realised that the combination of an exploding bomb and pressurised cylinders could result in a catastrophic release of energy, and they often sought sanctuary between two massive steel fire doors.
The doors were hung from dividing walls which were around two feet thick and the cavity between them was considered to be one of the safest places in the factory. The space was large enough to contain more than one individual in reasonable comfort, and when the alarm sounded, the shift worker retreated into his sanctuary and took some sandwiches with him. He was just about to enjoy a bite to eat when a bomb penetrated the factory roof and landed on one of the massive machines.
There was a tremendous explosion, with sections of cylinder, some weighing more than a hundred pounds, being flung in all directions. One of these sections was propelled towards the steel fire doors, and penetrated them like a knife going through butter. The shift worker was astonished that such a seemingly safe haven could be breached so easily and never took shelter in there again.
As the night time raids grew in intensity, the family spent a lot more time indoors. Board games, darts and cards were popular pastimes, and in spite of the raids we had a lot of fun. I can recall one evening in particular when we decided to have a game of 'Monopoly'. I enjoyed the game immensely, but had never been successful and was usually one of the first to be forced out. However, on this particular evening the luck went my way and I was in the unusual position of 'owning' all the most expensive properties, with plenty of money in the bank. The fact that there was a raid on at the time did not worry me, and I pressed home my advantage until there was only myself and Father left.
Just at that point, things started to get nasty outside. Anti-aircraft guns were blazing away and the 'crump' of distant explosions was very evident. Father got very nervous, and offered to concede, but I wouldn't hear of it - war or no war. It had to be a win on merit, or nothing. The game went on for a few more minutes, when suddenly there was a characteristic rushing noise which meant that a stick of bombs was on its way. Father grabbed the Monopoly board and threw it on the floor. "Forget the blasted game and get under the table." he shouted. "The game's not important, but your lives are."
I got under the table with everyone else, but went into a sulk for the rest of the evening. To me, it did not seem fair that on the one occasion I looked like winning, an air raid had intervened to stop it. What made matters worse was the fact that the bombs had landed miles away in open countryside, and had done no damage. Although Father insisted that I had won a moral victory, it still rankled until a few weeks later, when justice was done, and I won 'fair and square'.
Like most children at that time, we were often exposed to danger through no fault of our own, but there were occasions when we did some very stupid things. On most occasions we got away with it, but there was one instance when I pushed my luck too far and nearly paid the price.
Most of 'us boys' were great souvenir hunters, and among my prized possessions was a collection of 'spent' bullets which had been fired in aerial battles near the village. What interested me about these bullets was that they varied in size, in spite of being more or less the same bore, and one or two rattled as though they had something inside. George thought that they might be explosive, and took them to an expert who confirmed his suspicions. The bullets were emptied of their contents and I was allowed to keep them in my collection.
Not satisfied with this, I decided to open one which, although bigger than the others, was thought to be harmless. We had no vice to hold such an item, and I decided to drive it (like a nail) into a block of wood and cut the top off. I put the bullet into a convenient hole that had been drilled in the block and hit it with a hammer. The bullet exploded with a blinding flash, and I fell to the floor with blood streaming down my face. This had all taken place in the living room, and Father was in a dreadful state, as he thought I was seriously injured and probably blinded. Mother, who had just gone to bed, came down stairs and nearly went berserk. She biased him for allowing me to do such a stupid thing, and after cleaning me up, insisted that he took me to the doctor.
Frightening though this incident was, the injuries were slight. The bullet was a tracer (probably used by a night fighter), which contained a mixture of slow burning powder and phosphorous. When it exploded, the burning phosphorous had deposited itself all over my face, one piece landing in the corner of my eye, another on the eyelid, and a third on my eyebrow. This remained active after the initial clean-up, and some of the spots continued to glow in the darkness. My own reflexes and prompt action by Mother limited the damage, and most of the burns quickly healed. Quite apart from the injuries that could have been inflicted, the phosphorous had been scattered all over the living room and could have set the cottage alight. It was a miracle that the consequences were not more severe, and I never messed about with anything remotely suspicious after that.
By the early part of May 1941, the German 'Blitz' on London had lasted around nine months, and on the night of the eleventh it suffered one of its most severe attacks. We often went for walks during the late spring and summer evenings, and Father sometimes called into one of the hillside pubs for a drink, leaving Mother and myself outside to enjoy lemonade, crisps, and twilight views of the valley. He never stayed very long, and on that particular occasion was soon ready to depart, leaving just before closing time.
The eleventh was a lovely evening, and we took our time on the homeward journey. I always liked these walks because Father, who knew a lot about the stars, would explain the workings of the heavens and point out the constellations. The air raid warning sounded soon after we left, and by the time we were halfway, the skies over London were aglow. As we drew nearer to home, the glow became more intense, and the horizon was a flickering mass of red. It was clear to us that London was taking a pasting.
The next morning, Mother listened to the radio and was horrified to learn of the attack's severity. She was concerned about the fate of my uncle and his family, who lived in London, and dropped everything to catch the first available train. Her departure left us to cope with the day's chores which we managed reasonably well. Evening came, and we anxiously awaited her return, expecting her to be home soon after dark.
Once again, the air raid warning sounded as the light faded and there was the familiar drone of enemy bombers overhead. Searchlights probed the skies, and the sharp crack of Bofors guns sounded uncomfortably close. Suddenly, one of the searchlights picked up an enemy bomber and all hell broke loose, with the guns at Atenbridge joining in. I am not sure whether the German bomber was hit, but he jettisoned his load and made a run for it.
George and I were standing alongside the living room table at the time, and we heard the rush of air as the bombs hurtled earthwards. Without saying a word, we slowly sank to our knees in complete synchronisation and made to get under the table. The bombs exploded as we reached the floor and, thinking the danger was over, we got to our feet. Once again we heard a rushing sound and repeated the process, laughing with some relief as the second set exploded some distance away.
A third time we heard the rush of bombs, and this time we dived headlong under the table just as they exploded with a roar that shook all the doors and windows, and knocked a few ornaments off the mantelpiece. We got to our feet, brushed ourselves down, and once again burst into laughter. We did not know it at the time, but some of the bombs had fallen a few yards from Ferryden railway station. This caused severe disruption of the timetable, and Mother did not arrive home until well after midnight. Fortunately, my uncle and his family were safe, but she had experienced a terrible journey.
As might be expected, the animals were not very happy about the noises they experienced at night, and it was not uncommon for one of our neighbour's cats, called Nigel, to spend the night with us. He was a big black cat with a physique like a panther and an appetite to match. His favourite ploy was to come to us for a bit of supper, and having made himself at home, curl up and go to sleep with Muffet the dog, with whom he had cultivated a very close friendship.
The two of them would occupy an old arm chair which Mother had specially set aside for the dog. This admirable relationship prospered for several months. Then, one evening, Nigel got into the chair as usual and kicked the dog out. The way he did it was most extraordinary. He shuffled in behind her, placed all four feet on her back, lifted her bodily into the air and deposited her on the floor. Poor old Muffet was such an inoffensive creature that she just slunk under the table, tail between her legs and looked hurt.
The whole family was present when this happened, and we looked on in astonishment, hardly able to believe our eyes. Mother was angry. She picked Nigel up, put him on the table, and lectured him. "Look here," she said "this is my dog's chair, and you are just a guest in this house. If you ever do that again I will kick your backside and throw you out of the door." Nigel just sat there and purred as much as to say "You wouldn't do that to me - would you?" Mother wasn't to be taken in. Having told him off, she gently put him outside and suggested he went home.
The next night Nigel returned, had some supper, and took up his usual position with Muffet in the armchair. They snuggled up together for about half an hour, when Nigel suddenly changed his position and once again kicked the dog out of the chair. Mother was incensed. She picked him up, put him on the table, and once again lectured him. "I told you last night," she scolded "that if you ever did that to my dog again I would kick you out of the door." Without another word, she picked him up, took him to the door and kicked him out. Nigel never did that to Muffet again, and they remained the best of friends for the rest of their lives.
Although the early part of the war dragged on and seemed rather boring, events from about the middle of 1940 to June 1941 seemed to go by in a flash. We began to think that the air raids would continue without a break, and that the intensity would probably increase. However, there was an astonishing development which changed the whole course of the war. The Germans invaded Russia. At first, we could not believe it.
Hitler, who at one time had enjoyed the support of the Russians in the war against Poland, had turned the tables and attacked them. This seeming change in the German strategy gave us welcome relief from the bombing. The raids did not stop, but after that they were nothing like as heavy and far less frequent. The Germans were turning their attention to the 'Battle of the Atlantic' and the war had entered a new and difficult phase.
