A Small Boy Excited

Many friends loved the WW2 story of my childhood days and asked for more. I tried to explain that these were childhood memories where despite the murder and mayhem of the bombing raids to a child the most important things were the shortage of fruit and sweet rationing! Included here is a poem by my cousin, Peter, who lived about half a mile from where we lived, it does explain perfectly how the war affected a child and I couldn’t have put it better myself.

		A Small Boy Excited Mick slinks slyly into our shelter Mongrel ears have heard the drone Then sirens howl and after We hear what Mick has heard alone A small boy excited Recognise the Junkers, Heinkel or Dornier Whilst scrambling for the shelter Flattened ears, fur and rolling eyes Warm blanket encouraging reassuring lies A small boy excited Silver paper enemy bombers shower To confuse the British radar Malleable, shiny and good for sculptor Gathered into shiny snowballs to enrapture A small boy excited Crump, crump a house has gone Crump, crump there's another one Shivering not from cold Mom and dog if truth were told A small boy excited Tracer bullets past the window A small boy running to see Yanked back a mother's smack The boy struggling to be free A small boy still excited Shrapnel through the kitchen door Plaster showering o'er the floor Tracer bullets piercing a shed so near Another siren sounding the all clear A small boy excited Emerging dog shaking imaginary water Curses unspoken but not by the youngster Sweep, sweep up the plaster Cheerful doggie tail and so to slumber A small boy excited With other boys and not a thought Of death, misery and disaster The houses rubble scoured for plaster To use as chalk their only thought Lots of small boys excited. By Peter G Pigden (Aged 68 years)

One of my most exciting memories occurred one night when an incendiary bomb crashed through the glass of the veranda roof, landed on the concrete patio floor and DIDN’T EXPLODE! A visiting uncle on leave from the army threw himself on the floor yelling “DOWN EVERYBODY!” Grandad, stepped over him muttering “Get up you silly bugger, you’re frightening the kids.” Far from frightened we ‘kids’ (myself and my mate, Dennis) peered out from the steel table shelter built in the living room and watched in excited awe as Grandad opened the veranda doors, stepped out onto the patio and picked up the incendiary bomb. He then proceeded to WALK down the garden followed by yells of “For God’s sake run!” which he calmly ignored. At the bottom of the garden he dumped the bomb on the compost heap and tipped a fire bucket of sand over it. At that moment it exploded and set fire to absolutely nothing! Grandad returned completely unfussed and said to my mother “Isn’t it time you got the kettle on?”

I should add that whenever the sirens sounded, my mate Dennis was brought around and we were consigned to the table shelter, a place that we had very thoughtfully packed with goodies during the day – sweets, fruit from the garden and anything else we could lay our thieving hands on! The rest of the family simply sat around and chatted, played darts or cards and drank beer! A wonderful attitude to war.