Bombs Away

High-pitched air-raid alarms sounded as Mother gathered us, and we made our way into the cellar. German bombers were approaching the shores and would arrive at any moment.

We lit candles, and Mother worked on her sewing. “Can I please go back upstairs to watch the bombs fall?” my brother begged. I played with my dolls, and soon the distant booms began, rattling our house like a kettle drum.

The booming sounds grew increasingly louder as the ground trembled, and bits of dust fell from the ceiling. From time to time, Mom would glance upwards with a worried look.

After a while, the alarms whirled again, and the noise and ground shaking finally ceased. Mom cautiously led us upstairs. Broken dishes littered the kitchen, and the cupboard doors stood askew.

“We don’t have any electricity, and the water isn’t running,” Mother informed us. “It’s a good thing you helped fill the five-gallon drums with water so we’ll be able to cook and drink. But most importantly, the house is still standing.” She breathed a small sigh of relief.

I walked out into the front yard to discover that ours was not the only house with shattered windows. Several large fires were burning around London, including the house two doors down, which was now demolished and ablaze. People scurried with hoses to attempt to extinguish the fires.

Down the street, officials worked to secure ropes and stakes around an unexploded bomb. I’d heard that the bombs could get buried in debris and explode before being found.

Despite all the chaos, everyone pitched in to help each other and remained as positive as possible. So many people had been killed or lost their houses. Food was rationed, and we had little gas for our cars, but we held out hope that this was only temporary, and the end of the war would come soon.