Remembrances of Leicester - A Boy In War
Over the next few weeks, I will be bringing you three different accounts of Leicestershire life. Each article offers a very different perspective as witnessed through the eyes of three very different people.
The first of these is from my own Father, the second is an account from my Aunt and the last is a particularly interesting chronicle from someone whom I have never met. I asked my Father and Aunt for their reminiscences and allowed them to speak freely of the memories that they still hold.
A few weeks ago I received an interesting e-mail from Mr. Ashley Philip Brewin. Ashley had seen the article that I had written on my Grandfather and had sent me one of his own Grandfather. Especially interesting, was the fact that the account had been written by his Grandfather in 1918 and I hope that you will find it as fascinating as I did.
For now, I will begin with my Father's memory of a "Boy In War."
"I remember as a little boy of six, the night war came to my door. It was November 1940. Until then, I was too young to know anything about it, nothing had really happened to make my tiny mind know any different.
As usual the sirens had sounded the alert, as they did most nights after the war had begun. Then came the German bombers droning overhead, making their way to some industrial city somewhere in England to drop off their bombs.
My Mother looked up to the ceiling and said, "Here come the bloody Jerry's again, they'll soon be over don't worry." Then as she did most nights when the sirens went, she wrapped me up in an old eiderdown ready to take me to the air raid shelter.
As we reached the front door, bright lights were showing through the front window, and as we opened the door, what a sight! The whole of Leicester was lit up as if night had turned into day. It was brilliant or so I thought, until Mum carried me outside.
When I saw what was happening I experienced fear for the very first time. Overhead, the light picked out the outlines of the dreaded German Junkers 88 bombers. We could even see their markings, the black crosses and the swatiskas. They were dropping little parachutes carrying flares that lit up the whole town.
Next to us the canal gave off an eerie hissing noises as the flares dropped into it, frightening me terribly as they hit the water. Mum said, "What are the buggers dropping? Come on let's go."
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