How Britain Kept Calm and Carried On Read Online Free PDF Page A

going to get my baby for me to feed him, when I heard a bomb falling and shouted at
everyone to duck. I did so myself and, thank God I did, for when it was all over I emerged from under my bedclothes and I couldn’t believe it. My bed was covered in glass. Even the window
frame was on the bed. I stuck my head through it and said: ‘I think I’ve been framed!’
    Mrs W. M. Shaw, Ilford

    My mother and father were huddled in the shelter during a raid one night. The old lady next door had joined them and she was complaining about the cold. So my father said that
he’d brave the bombers and go and make some cocoa. About fifteen minutes later he returned with this big jug of lovely steaming-hot cocoa. The old lady was salivating at the prospect of it,
so much so that her false teeth fell out and the bottom set went straight into the jug. Everyone just looked at each other. Then my father fished them out with a spoon. It’s safe to say that
the old lady had the jug to herself. And every time she shared the shelter after that, they kept a close eye on her dentures.
    Ted Harrison, Derby

    In 1943 I was in my late teens. Because of the damp in the Anderson shelter, my father, mother and I decided to stay indoors. My parents slept under the dining-room table, me in
a recess away from the French windows, on feather overlays, plus top covers. At that time, Jerry, if he still had bombs left after a raid, dropped them anywhere. Well, one dropped nearby and the
soot came down the chimney and covered me. My father got the vacuum cleaner out to clean it off me, still holding his long johns with one hand and cleaning me with the other. He was six feet tall.
It was the funniest sight I’d ever seen! He didn’t think it at all funny, though.
    Jesse Aitkens, Broadstairs

    I was about ten years old and living in Grimsby when we suffered a particularly bad air raid. Our family – Mum, Dad, myself and two small sisters – made our way to
our garden shelter. Our neighbours were doing the same. We settled ourselves down and realized we were in for a bad night with planes overhead, bombs dropping and anti-aircraft guns going off.
Suddenly my dad said: ‘Heads down and pray like mad!’ Then, we all heard it getting closer and closer – a loud whistling sound. A bomb dropping!
    I remember thinking that I didn’t want to die, but Dad said: ‘That bomb’s taking a helluva long time dropping!’ and shot off down the garden along with several other
terrified and confused neighbours. Well, we waited and waited. When he returned a few minutes later he said, angrily: ‘That blasted Mrs So and So!’ It seemed she’d put on the
kettle to make a cup of tea and the whistling sound had been her kettle! She never dared to use her kettle during night raids again.
    Joan Campbell, Grimsby
    We had several bombs drop where I lived. One night we were in our air-raid shelter when my brother came in the doorway. Just then, one of the bombs seemed to drop very
     close to us. My brother, very keyed up, said: ‘That’s blown my bloody hair all over the place!’ The funny thing was – he was bald!
    MRS E. A. HOOSON, SWINTON, MANCHESTER
    My story takes place on 6 September 1940, when I was living in Liverpool. It was the day before I was to be married and I was thirty-eight years old. The air-raid alert sounded
at 8 p.m. My brother, my youngest sister – who was in bad health with TB – and myself all got under the stairs. My mother insisted on going to bed. Her philosophy was that, if your name
was on a bomb, you’d get it anyway, and she wasn’t prepared to lose sleep over it. Well, sorry to say, that night we got a direct hit on the front of the house. Luckily, it was only a
250-pound bomb. But my dear mother was trapped in bed with the roof on top of her. We screamed for help from the ARP wardens and, finally, they got her out alive. She was very shocked and had a bad
cut on her forehead. Well, the funny part of it was when the ARP