This is the nineteenth part of a fiction serial, in 796 words.
It was a long time before Vera found out anything about Les, and then it was from Janet, not by letter. “You had better know that my dad was informed our Les is a prisoner, Vera. Seems he was wounded in the hand during the rearguard action, and got captured. Dad says they will treat them fair, put them in a camp or something and feed them. Dad reckons they will get a doctor to look at his hand too, but God knows how long he will be held over there”. The news made Vera’s legs weak wih relief. At least Les hadn’t been killed, as she had been dreading. Janet put her arm around her friend. “I’ll let you know once we can write to him”.
Later that summer, the Germans took over the Channel Islands, and the city of Birmingham was badly bombed. Vera had never been to Birmingham, but she knew it was a big city, and a long way from London. It felt funny to think that those German planes were now in France, and they could probably see across to Dover, on a clear day. The air-raid warning sirens were tested again, and the sound of those made Vera feel physically sick. The way they started low, then reached a terrible wail. It made it all feel real. Down in Southwark Park, and along the river in Greenwich, they practiced with searchlights, illuminating the night sky like giant torch-beams. Albert and Elsie started to get the Anderson Shelter prepared, stacking old blankets in there, with flasks full of fresh water, and a big metal bucket to use for a toilet. Vera looked at her mum, and shook her head. ” I could never use a bucket in front of my dad, never. I will have to chance using the lavatory. I will, I tell you”.
Near the end of August, German bombers reached London, and bombed some unexpected places, like Harrow, and Croydon. Then one plane bombed the City, and they heard the explosions across the river. Vera thought it sounded a bit like really loud thunder, and wanted to walk down to the river to see the smoke. But her mum made her sit in the shelter with her until it stopped. Albert had gone in to his Civil Defence job that day, but they didn’t get called out.
Then on the second Saturday in September, Vera heard the sirens while she was at work in the jam factory. All the workers had to stop, and the machines were turned off. Old Mr Prentice came in and blew a whistle, and everyone had to go in single file down to the huge basement. It was very hot down there, as all the pipe-work ran over the ceiling, and once everyone was packed in and sitting down, it got even hotter. Vera was scared about being there, imagining what would happen if the factory was bombed, and collapsed on top of them. Hattie O’Connor, one of the older ladies, saw her shaking and came and sat in front of her, grasping both her hands. “Talk to me, Vera. Just talk to me, and it’ll be alright”. But Vera couldn’t think of anything to say.
When the sirens stopped, the bombs started to fall. But this time they didn’t sound like distant thunder, more like you were sitting under a speeding steam train that was rolling over you. One, two, three, four, five. Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang! The last bang was closer, and she sensed a trembling in the ground like you get when a big lorry drives past on the street. The explosions were so close together, they seemed to roll into one. Vera was aware of someone screaming, but until Hattie wrapped her arms around her, she hadn’t realised it was her. Despite the heat, she was shivering, and felt embarrassed when she knew she was dribbling too.
Hattie raised her voice above the din. “They are going for the docks, Vera love. You know, the ships and the wood stored there. They don’t want to bomb a silly old jam factory, do they?” The Surrey Docks were not far from where Vera lived, just the other side of the main road. Hattie’s attempt at reassurance didn’t make her feel better when she realised that. Even when it seemed the bombing had finished, she could hear the sound of the big anti-aircraft guns from the park, as they tried to shoot down the bombers as they turned round.
The sirens sounded again, meaning the all-clear, and they started to stand up and get ready to go back to work. Vera leaned over to Hattie, whispering in her ear.
“I have to go to the lav, Hattie. I’ve wet me knickers”.
This was very real, Pete. I was ‘there’, with Hattie and Vera in the basement. The sounds are still in my mind. Well done!
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Thanks, Jennie. I have never forgotten the stories I was told as a child. The noise was always mentioned first.
Best wishes, Pete.
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I’m not surprised at all. The noise had to live with people decades after the war was over, bringing on scary memories. I have often thought about and talked about how Americans have no idea what war is really like, because the only war fought on our soil was our own Civil War (which had far more casualties than WWII). I grew up in the 50’s when soldiers returned from war and wanted to put that behind them. The GI Bill allowed soldiers to buy new homes in new neighborhoods. America was moving forward. Everything was the new modern.
At the same time England and other European countries were recovering and rebuilding. The scars of war were right there. I was far more interested in new, cool clothes and music. War wasn’t there for me to see.
Somehow that seems very wrong. My mother would never, ever agree with me on that. Put the bad in the past and forge on. She would have been a great pioneer. When the movie “Saving Private Ryan” came out she refused to watch it. Now, I understand. Hubby refuses to watch Vietnam war movies.
So, where is the balance? The strength of moving forward after war, and still making sure nothing is forgotten is “the balance”.
Apologies for sounding like a Pete “Thinking Aloud on a Sunday” post. I guess your good writing brings that out in me. It always does. Best to you, Pete.
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Thanks for your sincere thoughts, Jennie. Britain eventually moved on, hence the ‘Swinging Sixties’. Much of the country was also spared the worst of the bombing of course, as the main targets were the port cities, and industrial areas. I think the memories in the countries bombed, and those invaded and occupied, are what kept a third world war from happening. When we think of what happened since 1945, Korea, Cuba Missile Crisis, Berlin Wall, Vietnam, and many more, it is a wonder that another world war did not happen.
America made a huge sacrifice in lives and money during WW2, but the fact it was never bombed or invavded (except for Pearl Harbour) left its people with no knowledge of the terror for civilians during a conflict on that scale.
Best wishes, Pete.
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You’re welcome, Pete. I did go on a bit too long. Your assessment is correct. The memories of those who were invaded and occupied were what kept a third world away. Since 1945 war and conflict have continued to erupt. Thank goodness there hasn’t been a world war, although one with China sometimes worries me. What a terrible thought. I do wish more Americans appreciated the lack of conflict on our soil. Zero, folks! None at all. It took us far too long to jump in and help Britain in WWII. I could go on! Many thanks for your wonderful comments. See, that’s why you’re a great writer. Best to you my friend.
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I don’t think I would be happy stuck in a cellar like that, you have done well to convey that feeling of helplessness and vulnerability.
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Cheers, Eddy.
Best wishes, Pete.
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I think one of the most frightening aspects was not knowing what would greet you when you were able to come up from a shelter.
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To see your familiar surroundings shattered must have been heartbreaking.
Best wishes, Pete.
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That was stressful!
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And it’s only the first day, Kim.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Terrific chapter, Pete…most people have never lived a “life in wartime” so it seems like it could never happen again…unfortunately not the case
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I would imagine a lot of Syrians could identify with this story, John.
Best wishes, Pete.
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(1) “Seems he was wounded in the hand during the rearguard action, and got captured.” See what happens when you try to cover your ass?
(2a) Some Germans said that Les was one handsome guy. But others said he was just some one-handed guy.
(2b) Les was able to organize an escape plan with some French prisoners. The book that details their failed plan is entitled “Les Reid & Les Misérables.”
(3) “It felt funny to think that those German planes were now in France, and they could probably see across to Dover, on a clear day.” Actually, on a clear day you can see forever…
(4) The sirens started low, then reached a terrible wail. They knew that Odysseus and his crew loved Greek opera.
(5a) Putting a bucket in the shelter is a deadly mistake. Someone is bound to kick it.
(5b) Elsie posted a sign: “When it comes to the bucket, please mind your pees and queues.”
(6) “Talk to me, Vera. Just talk to me, and it’ll be alright”. But Vera couldn’t think of anything to say, so she resorted to shaky shadowgraphy.
(7) The bangs were so close to her eyes that Vera could sense a trembling in her lashes.
(8) The Germans were going for the docs. That way, they could ensure that the injured would receive no medical care.
(9) It’s been vera-fied that Hattie’s a hottie.
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You are enjoying a pun-romp with this one, David. But I already knew you would. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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A realistic ending, Pete it must have been so very scary …
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I was told a lot of first-hand stories by my relatives, Carol. And one of them was similar to this one.
Best wishes, Pete.
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They have definitely come in handy, Pete.. A lovely descriptive series 😊
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Aw poor Vera, such a scary time.
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And it gets much worse.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Yep, I know it’s on the way. You’re building this well.
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Really captured the bombing raid, Pete, Nice writing. Love the ending. I can imagine that was very common in the shelters.
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Thanks very much, Don. My family members used to tell me a lot about the bombing when I was a child, including wetting their knickers in fright.
Best wishes, Pete.
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