The Night They Blitzed The Ritz by John Bull

Author:John Bull
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Blitz, World War II, Second World War, Home Front, Gosport, Hampshire, wartime childhood
ISBN: 9781909183353
Publisher: Andrews UK Limited 2013
Published: 2013-08-21T00:00:00+00:00

The family pictured around the time of World War I: Auntie Gert, Grandpa Alfred Ferré, Uncle Bill, and (front) Grannie with Edie, who died as a child, and my mother Nell

Chapter Eight

Bomb Alley Kids

The wall at the end of our garden in Peel Road had been topped with broken glass set in cement to deter burglars, but my uncles had knocked out or ground down the shards of this mantrap - not in a sudden onrush of humanity, but so they could clamber over and take a short cut across the bomb-sites direct to their Sunday lunchtime pub, The Albert in Queen’s Road.

Lacking mates to play with, I arranged a couple of soap-boxes so that I could see over the wall to watch the local kids. One day I heard shouts and yells from the bomb site... and rushed to my observation post.

A group of children were lined up in front of their den just over the wall from me, and most of the shouts were coming from the ‘bommie’ on the other side of the road, where a bigger gang were on the attack, lobbing stones and chunks of brick as they crept forward.

Though they were also hurling rubble at the attackers the set in front of me were smaller and younger and were being outflanked and forced back into their den. One boy turned and ran away, blood dripping from a cut on his head. Another spotted me and hollered: “Oy, Bully come and ‘elp us, mate. They’re gonna smash up our den.”

I suppose I was just lonely enough to risk it, so I dropped over the wall and ran at a crouch up the alley and into the bushes that defined the den. I picked up a couple of bits of rubble and hurled them at the attackers. A tall boy called Jimmy grabbed my arm.

“Come with me,” he ordered. “We’ll try to get in behind them.”

Jimmy was a born tactician (wartime kids do study such things). As our side fell back onto their den, the wings of the attackers tended to close into the middle. It meant Jimmy and me were able to pour in a fusillade of flanking fire and make a few lucky hits that stopped the advance. Trouble was, our success brought us to the attention of their commander, who promptly sent three of his wingmen charging our way.

“Fall back quick,” said Jimmy, and we rushed back to join his friends in their camp. Inevitably, the enemy made a final rush and poured in, pushing us back into the alley against my garden wall. We dropped our stones and stuck our hands up - beaten and shamed.

“Whose damp?” said one of the newcomers - and I recognised him as one of the feared family of three brothers, all with speech impediments, who lived nearby.

“It’s our camp now, aint it?” said his leader, a tall kid called John who shoved him out of the way just to show he was in charge. His pals

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