A 13-year-old's story

This story was submitted to the People’s War site by CSV/BBC Radio Nottingham on behalf of Charles Smith with his permission. The Author fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.

My name is Charles Smith; I’m nearly 13 years old, the eldest of four children of Thomas and Florence Smith of Kingsley Road, Sneinton, Nottingham. I have two brothers, Lionel aged 5 and Alec aged 2. My sister Mary has just been born on January 11th 1941 at the City Hospital. Lionel has been sent to Uncle Sam’s at Clipstone near Mansfield. Dad said that the rest of us could sleep in the back bedroom.

The sirens woke me up and I asked Dad “Should we get up?” He said “No need, lad, they’re going back to Germany. They’ve probably been bombing Sheffield so go back to sleep”

Talk about “famous last words” — there was a bang and we were all covered in plaster, slates, timber and bricks.

I remember saying “we’re trapped” and I also remember Dad’s reply “Silly beggar”!

I looked out and could see Trent Lane — the wall had been blown off the house.

We slid out of bed the best we could because the brass bed was supporting what was left of the roof.

Dad said “I’ll see if the stairs are still there” and I followed him with Alec. We got out into the street and there were some air raid shelters made out of brick — there were no lights in and they stank to high heaven. Dad made us children wait in there whilst he went to find somewhere safe.

It seemed to be ages before he came back and he took us to a neighbour’s Anderson Shelter. Her name was Mrs Cumberland and her son had made it quite comfy. It wasn’t until we were able to sit down that I realised that I had no trousers on — only a school shirt!

I really felt the indignity of the situation.

After the ‘all clear’ Mrs Flynn who lived at 16, Whittier Road took us to her house for breakfast. Dad went back to our house and salvaged some clothes.

We stayed with Mrs. Flynn for a week and then went to stay with old friends — Frank & Rose Fitzmaurice of Holborn Avenue until the Council re-housed us.

I’ve often thought if that night but I’ve also thought about my Dad who had to go to tell my Mum (who’d only given birth a few days before) that she didn’t have a home to go back to.

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.