My Mum had put our sister Kit s dinner on the gas stove to keep warm because Kit was due home from work shortly. Mum had just about made it into the shelter when the first bombs dropped. We were all surprised that the bombers were targeting us civilians rather than going into London as was usual. The bombing was sporadic for a while but eventually became more intense. We kids were in the habit of counting the bombs exploding, but that night we all lost count as the frequency of the falling bombs increased.

Kit returned from work and although the screaming bombs continued falling she stayed indoors to eat her dinner, before running to join us in the shelter. A short time afterwards our neighbour climbed our garden fence and scrambled into our shelter, shaking and sobbing with shock, and screaming hysterically that if we were all about to die she wanted to die with people rather than die on her own. We helped her into the shelter and she sat on the floor crying like a child and hugging a small case that probably contained all her worldly treasures.

There was no let up in the bombing; in fact it got worst as the night wore on. The air raid wardens were coming through the back gardens to see if anybody had been injured, and also to ask for some help in digging people out of their wrecked houses.

My two sisters, Lyl and Kit, volunteered and taking a couple of sandbags with them disappeared into the noisy and frightening night. The bombs continued to scream their death chorus as they chased each other earthwards. The incendiary bombs were arriving in scores, singing to each other as they searched us out.

I was thinking to myself that this must be the end of the world when my thoughts were interrupted with the arrival of my Dad, home from work at last.

My dad worked for the Bromley Town Rescue Squad and he had spent most of the night digging in the rubble of demolished houses freeing some people and patching up the injured. The long night, and lack of refreshment, had taken its toll on my dad, who had managed to fall asleep in spite of the noisy hostility surrounding us. My dad wasn t a well man having been invalided out of the army in the First World War with ulcerated legs, and suffering also from fibrillation of the heart that often left him exhausted.

As the German onslaught continued I was still holding Teresa s hand as I had done all night, and she had gripped my finger with her tiny hand, pressing it every time a bomb dropped. She would turn to me with bewildering brown eyes not understanding the inferno we were in. My sister Iris was draped over Teresa s crib, as she had been all night long, spreading her young body as much as she could in a proud gesture of protection.

There was a slight pause in the bombing that allowed us to talk among ourselves when a massive bomb dropped just outside our house. The blast lifted the roof tiles, scattering them far and wide like leaves from a tree. It was only when the noise stopped that I realised that my Mum was crying, sobbing that her home had been destroyed. The bomb, a massive blast bomb, had dropped just in front of our house, wrenching doors and windows from their hinges and sending a blizzard of broken glass throughout the house that scratched and scored everything in its path. When we eventually awoke to our situation we could hear the screams from injured people. My dad, a trained first aider, responded to the cries and hurriedly left the shelter, My mum was silent, but tears were running down her cheeks as she sat there with her rosary firmly clasped in her hand. When my dad returned he told us that all the casualties had been taken away. He told us that he had attended a young woman that had a piece of garden railing driven through her stomach.

He realised that there was nothing he could do for her, nobody could, but he knelt down beside her and held her hand and she turned her head towards him and smiled and then died.

Shortly afterwards Lyl and Kit returned. They both looked ghastly. Lyl s eyes had sunk to the back of her head and both her and Kit were black with soot and down their cheeks were the tell-tale streaks of tears they had shed. They had spent the night, with other volunteers, ripping out the incendiaries that had lodged in people s lofts and ceilings, and then throwing the bombs out of the windows to be dealt with by the bomb disposal crews.

As the dawn broke, the all clear siren sounded, filling us all with relief as we scrambled out of the shelter to view our war zone. Our house was still standing but we had lost everything within. There was no water or gas so we had to get some water from a stand pipe in the next road. We found our kettle and some mugs and my dad retrieved an oil stove and some oil from our miraculously undamaged shed and it wasn t long before we all had a cup of tea sweetened with condensed milk that made the tea taste wonderful. We managed to find some unbroken eggs in our larder and washed them and put them in the kettle of water and boiled them for breakfast. Kit had to go to work and couldn t stay for breakfast so off she went to get the early morning tram, that s if there was any running. Some days if there were no trams running she had to walk to London Bridge Station where she worked as a porter. Meanwhile my dad filled his pockets with boiled eggs and went off to work himself.

The charabanc that had taken our neighbours to Chislehurst Caves the previous night had returned. The occupants tumbled out to view the total devastation of their homes, some cried, a couple fainted and the rest stood still, shocked at the chaos confronting them.

The Salvation Army arrived with their mobile canteen that was smoking and smelling delicious. There were hot drinks and egg and spam sandwiches for everyone. Iris and I stuffed ourselves silly. We were eventually called away by Mum who told us that we had to go to St. Mary s School at Ladywell where we would be able to get some replacement clothing.

When we entered the school we found a bevy of women waiting to supply us with all the clothing we needed. They gave me a new sandbag in which to put my new clothes. I stuffed it full with boots, shoes and socks, shorts and shirts, and an assortment of jumpers and pullovers. As we left I was given a dark blue three quarter length coat with red check lining. I d never had such an expensive coat in all my life. I was so pleased and proud as we walked to the tram stop to go home and as I pushed my hands into the pockets I found a note that simply said a present from Uncle Sam.

Submitted by Johno1929