During our obligatory visit to my parents this year, I started putting some names on photographs and she started telling stories as she saw them. I had heard this one before but there were new details that I was unaware of.
My grandmother was a nurse and midwife, she probably delivered every baby in the district for decades. My mother was ten and for some reason a young fellow called Sid was with them on this adventure. This was the day a new word came into the language penned by some Nazi functionary and approved by Hitler. The cathedral city of Coventry was being so heavily bombed that the Nazis warned that every other city and town in England was to receive the same treatment. They were to be Coventrated.
In WWII bombing was awfully inaccurate and stray bombs were falling on the small market town of Tamworth where my family lived. One of my grandmother's patients was hysterical with fear and Gran went with my mother to her house to help calm her down. As they arrived the bombing became fiercer and closer to home so Gran rushed inside and started emptying the little triangular cupboard under the stairs to use as an emergency shelter. She grabbed great stacks of expensive Delft china and slid them along the hall tiles away from the door. Breaking many in the process. Any that were not broken then were about to be. As soon as the space was clear enough, the bombing became suddenly louder and closer and they piled in. Young Sid went in first and sat on two huge pickle jars, my mother sat on his lap and the pregnant patient and Gran sat in the other end. As she slammed the door shut the bomb hit.
The brick house was lifted off its foundations and it smashed down at an odd angle. A huge beam separated the adults and children along with piles of rubble. The only injury to the little group was Sid, the pickle bottles smashed and he had a cut on his arse. Rescuers came and quickly got the adults out, but although they knew the kids were alive, rescue for them came 20 hours later. What follows are most shocking events in the story to modern eyes.
Once they were outside, the rescuers moved onto the next job and the kids were on the bombed street unsure of what to do next. Gran was off bandaging the wounded and Grandad was fire watching, his partner looked up at the wrong time and lost an eye. The kids proceeded to Gran and Grandad's house but on the way she fell into a bomb crater and was dragged out by the hair by a Methodist minister who promptly called her a 'Silly bugger'. Hearing the minister swear was the most shocking thing for my mother. She wouldn't have thought that possible.
What shocked me was that the family was nowhere to be seen, they didn't help with the rescue, they didn't even stand around anxiously waiting for news. I am sure every parent, every brother and sister reading this is thinking WHAT??? at this point. We would all be in there, dragging bricks off the great pile and lifting wreckage. We just would not stop till the kids were free. At first I thought that our family was just dysfunctional, but there was Sid's family that could have helped, and wouldn't the family of the pregnant woman feel some sort of responsibility?
They received no help, no counselling, no trip to the hospital for observation, nothing. They were just left to wander the street alone till they found someone who gave a damn.
Different times huh?
No comments:
Post a Comment