For example, the disabled, arthritic 88-year old who with a stirrup pump and buckets of water put out the fire  caused by an explosive incendiary, which crashed through her roof onto the landing, the 13-year old girl next door who scrambled over the iron railings (not yet taken for the war effort) of a nearby park and gardens, and extinguished incendiaries by frantically shovelling earth with seaside wooden spade, knowing that if she did not succeed the fires would guide the German bombers to the surrounding residential area in Cardiff.

I know – I was that 13 year old and still bear the scar on my thigh where I was grazed by shrapnel. It does not show after all these years except as a white mark when my legs get tanned. Ordinary people did not have telephones in those days and could not summon the fire brigade for each  and every incendiary bomb that started a fire as the emergency services had enough to deal with when large buildings were on fire and people had to be rescued after bombing.  Civilians put out the incendiaries and many purchased their own bucket and   stirrup pump. Others used buckets of water or sand, whatever was available.  One had to be careful of anti-personnel bombs such as explosive incendiaries or magnesium incendiaries that contained a thick, gummy substance which blew out and stuck to the skin and clothes. This substance burned anything it touched. Sometimes there were difficulties because the water and gas mains were damaged by bombing. Either the services would be cut off or sometimes the broken pipes meant that the gas and water mixed together and when one turned on the tap an unusable white liquid would run out. 

Around the same period explosive incendiaries destroyed my school. When wading through the water in wellies to carry out salvage work I remember we were told not to touch walls in case they collapsed on us!  Two of my friends at school had already perished in a ship evacuating them to Canada or USA which was torpedoed by the Germans.  Writing Paper was in short supply so teacher ripped pages from their books and gave us a few pages each.  I did not realise that until I saw they had written their names at the top of a couple of pages. I had been thrilled at the prospect of being evacuated overseas which offer was read out to us to us at school, but when my parents refused to give permission for me to go I felt furious with them, although in those days we did not dare show such feelings openly to one’s parents.  Being a child it did not strike me afterwards what would have happened to me if they had agreed to my wishes. 

In our home in Cardiff we were lucky because we had a cellar to go to when the bombing started.  Our doors, windows etc. were blown out and a tarpaulin had to be installed where our roof used to be.  A boy and his sister lived the other side of us.  I remember the same morning as my school was destroyed that they told me our friends we used to play ‘cricket’ with in Sophia Gardens, Cardiff, with a tennis ball and makeshift bat – had all been killed. That same night my youth club was flattened by bomb blast, as was my Sunday school.

Mum and dad never knew about the incendiaries incident as I was afraid to tell them in case they got annoyed that I had damaged my only pair of wool stockings. I had to hide the pieces of rag I used as bandage; no sticking plasters or proper bandages available then.

My dad was a little eccentric and a fatalist.  He had been invalided out of the Royal Navy at the end of WW1. He had joined in 1914 at the age of just 16. When we were in a downtown cinema one night, the bombs started dropping. A large number of city centre buildings – offices, shops, restaurants etc. - were destroyed.  People huddled together under the balcony of the cinema for shelter, but when someone decided to lift his small daughter onto his shoulders to sing merry songs to bolster everyone up, Dad and I did not feel in the mood.  We preferred to leave to walk home, and pick our way over the rubble, firemen’s hosepipes, etc. with shrapnel falling all around, merchandise from bombed shops all over the street.
Dad always thought if your time was up that was it. Walking with him I had no fear.
 
The New Yorkers, on 9/11, reminded me of those days, where everyone carried on as usual afterwards.  It was the only thing to do. After our home was so weakened by the land-mines, we walked over a city bridge each night to sleep either in the concrete basement of some still-to-be-built flats, or within the thick walls of Cardiff Castle.  We each took a blanket or eiderdown with us. There were so many families bombed-out that we all learned to sleep, fully clothed, sitting-up on the bunks provided.  People took their alarm clocks to wake them us as usual for work or school.  I remember how cold it was in the winter because there was snow on the ground and no heating available in the shelters or at home.  We could not light a fire at home because the chimney had caved in through the bombing.
 
Barbara MacArthur (Mrs)