THE HOME FRONT

Evening Star, Issue 23743, 26 November 1940, Page 8

THE HOME FRONT

WAR IK CIVIL EHGLAHD '■ LET THEH GERE —VI ARE READY ” “ We have been at war now for almost a year. In that time we have had many air raids here, of which few have been serious, and these not in our district. Yet even the most uneventful of alarms is an event in itself to those who do not remember the last war. who have no memories of Zeppelins and cellars, of maroons and bugles.” These words, written in August last, introduce a diary from England, a diary concerning the impressions of a girl, niece of a Dunedin resident. Penned in a style which has now come to be characteristic of the spirit of England under Nazi aerial horrors, tho diary portrays the life of one girl and her family, one family of millions who nightly prepare for long hours of black terror and every morning bless tho coming day with its welcome light and comparative safety. The locality in a suburban district outside one of England’s largest industrial cities.

"I remember our first air raid,” she writes. “ When war broke out we decided whore in the house we should be safest from air attacks, and we made certain preparations, collecting together candles, matches, rugs, and, in pur own rooms, a little heap of clothes. 'But as (he months went by and we slept undisturbed, these things seemed needless and were put away or thrown aside; indeed, our very minds forgot the possibility of danger. So when the sirens wailed that first night, we woke not in fear but in amazement and a queer kind of excitement. This raid showed us the inadequacy of onr preparations, and in consequence we began to organise _ ourselves and our house to cope with such incidents. Every window was protected by a covering of net. A large pail of water was left on the landing, and a bomb bucket, half-full of sand, stood in the hall with its- long-handled shovel and rake lying beside it. These, together with a stirrup pump, composed our (ire-fighting equipment.” Meanwhile the- German eagles had spread the operations famvise over England, and intense activity soon developed. “I think of the weeks when the mine-lay-ing planes were active, and of the deep, far-off explosions we heard which shook the house till it shuddered like a ship battered by heavy waves. The early morning was the usual time for the detonations, when the minesweepers were busy; but on one occasion two mines blew up during the night. It was an eerie experience to lie in the darkness, feeling the bed sway beneath you and hearing in the same moment a distant ominous road. It was easy to imagine in these few seconds the great plumes of water spurting from the sea, to .sparkle peril airs in deadly beauty in the glare of the searchlights, then fall slowly, heavily back to the restless waves. GERMAN PUNCTUALITY. When the raiders came over her locality, she continues, “ The suddenness with which the attacks develop is perhaps the most frightening factor. At one moment there is silence. At the next there are planes, guns, bombs, and then silence. When this happens at intervals for about six hours the effect is certainly rather nerve-racking. Knowing how punctual the Germans are, one begins to pray , for 3 o’clock, for soon afterwards the Nazis leave for home. Thank Heaven for German efficiency.” Against the date September 16, 1940, _ the narrative continues, “ the morning and afternoon raids hardly merited their name, for nothing happened. We are finding that having experienced night bombing, warnings (especially daylight warnings) leave us quite unmoved, and we carry on with whatever we are doing, though there is always the knowledge that any moment the guns may open fire on a swooping raider. We walk about or work on, comforted by the sunshine. In the evening we seem to spend most of the time moving backwards and forwards hetweqn the shelter and the dining room. After the last ‘ all clear ’ we wait for some time to see if anything is going to happen, then, gathering up onr sleeping hags ana pillows we leave the shelter and go upstairs. And for another heavenly night we sleep in peace.” September 18-19, 1940; “This was a very bad raid for the whole district. The anti-aircraft guns put up a terrific barrage; planes crossed and recrossed overhead; bombs shook the house till the doors rattled. Yet in some ways it was a most amusing night, because we have now reached tho stage when we have sufficient courage to leave the shelter • during the spells of silence. At first we went merrily to sit in comfort in the dining room, and a convenient lull gave us time to hear the news. Another interval came much later, and we thought we -would get undressed. What optimism! I ran upstairs, took off my shoes, undid the belt of my frock, and —guns, bombs. Quick, let’s get downstairs! We waited till all was quiet, then up we went again.

\ Feverishly I pulled off my clothes, and I had “just divested myself of my last stitch when a terrific outburst of anti-aircraft fire began. I flung on my pyjamas, seized my raid clothes, and rushed down to the shelter. Here my toilet was completed, but 1 was minus a sock. Another lull, another sortie to my bedroom; there was the sock and my pillow and my sleeping bag. More guns; down again. Finally one hurried rush to wash, and then I didn’t care. I was ready for ’em now. I was not, of course, the only one to do this. Each lull brought hurrying forms from the shelters; each burst of firing filled the staircase with flying figures. But once we were all undressed we settled down to read, some to sleep. We heard next day that had been bombed also. What do the Nazis imagine it to be, this tiny village with its rows of neat new villas? September 21, 1940. —Again we were in town, all of us, the whole family. We had to queue up at the cinema for so long that Mummy decided to go home. Michael and I at last got in. Watching the film we saw wraith-like letters across the screen: “ An air raid warning has been’given.” Slowly the lights were turned on to allow those who wished to leave to do so in comfort, hut few went out. The show continued. We had forgotten about the warning until there came again the same intrusive, transparent words. This time-they said The all clear has been given.” The first raid of that evening was fairly quiet, but the second was very lively, especially at moments when we could hear the whistle of a descending bomb This is a sound that never fails to frighten me. There is some- ■ thing so remorseless about it, so deadly. It is at such moments that one realises how helpless and defenceless civilians are. All we may do is—endure it as cheerfully as possible. And I do hate to be jerked abruptly from sleep, to open my eyes in a darkness quivering with the most shattering noises—no, it is not pleasant.

SOME OF THE DAMAGE. Going to the city one day recently, I saw some of the damage sustained the previous evening. The wrecked houses, the littered streets, are infinitely tragic. How many years of work and love may have gone into making these homes; and how quickly and surely they are destroyed in one night. As we passed, a silence fell upon the train, a silence of pity and, 1 think, of anger. As for daylight warnings, we_ take them so much for granted, that it was quite a shock to walk into a large store in town after the half-past 4 raid and be greeted by an agitated-looking shopwalker who informed us that no customers were served during a raid. Looking round we saw the assistants perched on the central counters, people huddled in the middle of the floor, away from glass; stock hastily covered with dust sheets. Evidently this store, which prides itself in being in the forefront of fashion, has not yet heard of the slogan, “ Look out and work on.”

September 26: At about half-past 9 there came an interval of silence during a raid, and we decided to get undressed. Oliver and I were the last to be ready, and were alone upstairs when Oliver decided to pull the curtains in Emily’s room. He went in, and then I heard him call me. The room was in darkness. He pulled me to the window and drew back the curtain. ‘Now lean out and look,’ he 'said. I leaned out into the cool night air and saw that the whole sky to the south was glowing with a rosy, luminous paleness. It was a beautiful sight, but I knew what it meant; somewhere in the city a great fire was raging. In the city next day I went past stores and cafes where there was hardly a whole window to be seen. It is a pathetic and yet brave sight, for every shop carried on. They boarded up their shattered fronts (a tew have even replaced the glass), and though their upper windows may still gape emptily, they each flaunt Union Jacks and slogans such-as ‘Bombs or no bombs, we are open.’ And speaking of notices reminds me of the cheerful little poster I saw on a delivery van earlier in the week; it said, ‘ Good morning, everyone; one day nearer victory.’ I hung up two posters to-day in our shelter; one of Derbyshire, one of Ireland. Every inch and crack of those pale blank walls are now horribly familiar. They stare back at us bleakly, monotonously. But the posters are bright and colourful ; they draw our eyes to their glowing scenery. If we must sit in the pantry, the larder, the cloakroom, the passage, at least let them be cheerful.”