BBC - WW2 People's War (2024)

Tex's account was recorded by Denis Price of the BBC People's War Team, the BBC Open Centre, Hull.

'Time for bed Tex', said Mother, and I climbed up the stairs to the back bedroom of the small terraced house in Redbourne Street. We were the last house at the bottom of the terrace. From the bedroom window I could see the air raid siren mounted on the roof of the Nautical School which fronted onto North Boulevard.
I snuggled into the blankets as Dad left the house to walk down Redbourne Street to the pub for his regular evening drink.Mum settled down in front of the fire to read the Hull Daily Mail. About half an hour later Dad's footsteps were heard coming back down the street. 'It's no good Kitty,' said Dad. 'I just can't concentrate tonight and even the Hull Brewery mild doesn't taste right.'
At 10pm, the air raid siren began to let out its ominous wailing and Mum woke me up and took me into the cupboard under the stairs.
Dad sat on the couch as Mum and I crouched shivering with fear beneath the stairs. A few minutes later we could hear the drone of the German aircraft overhead as they searched for the railway lines on the Jackson Street and Goulton Street areas between Hessle Road and the River Humber. Suddenly there was a huge crashing and roaring noise and the house vibrated.
Mum and I screamed in terror as Dad called us out of the cupboard. 'Quick,we must get out!' said Dad. 'I'm sure a bomb has dropped on either the school roof or on St. Wilfrid's Church itself'.
Our house had been seriously damaged and the front windows had gone and also the front door was hanging off its hinges. In the terrace, concerned neighbours were inspecting the damage to our house and the house opposite which were the two main casualties in our terrace.
Dad and Mum quickly gathered a few items of clothing into a suitcase after the Air Raid Warden told them that our house was unsafe and that we should seek shelter with relatives. I was put into my siren suit and Mum and Dad told me we would be going to Dad's Mother's house in Ringrose Street down Hawthorn Avenue which was about twenty minutes walk away. As we came out of the darkened terrace our neighbours told us that St. Wilfrid's Church had received a direct hit and was virtually in ruins as was the Church Hall adjoining it.
Acrid smoke hung everywhere and men and women hurried by intent on either escaping or trying to see for themselves the extent of the damage and the devastation. We set off on foot turning left into Gordon Street and policemen were busy setting off in all directions to try to assist those unfortunate people who were now victims of the bombing.
It was dark and cold and it seemed to me as I was carried along in Dad's comforting arms. After all , I was only three years and three months old and perhaps fittingly as it was now past midnight it was April 1st, 1941 and April Fool's Day!.
As we walked on across St. George's Road junction with its huge darkened church on the cornerand Dad was telling Mum what a narrow escape we had had. Soon we reached Hawthorn Avenue and turned right walking by the Shipham's Factory building and across the railway level crossing. On we walked past the Cooperative and Greek Street and Clyde Street and then turned left into Ringrose Street past the darkened cycle shop.
The Bakery Factory of Ernest Ostler came into view as it was next to Granny Florrie's house. A few more steps past the sweet shop owned by the two fascinating Miss. Sheerd's and we had arrived at Granny's front door.
It was very silent and very dark and across the road in the darkness I could see the shadows of the children's swings in the children's playground. Dad knocked on his Mother's front door, Tom Smith, Dad's stepfather since 1918 opened the door.
'Hallo Pop, it's Bill, Kitty and Tex here, we've been bombed out of Redbourne Street, can you put us up for a night or two until I can see to Kitty and Tex being evacuated?'
All three of us were hurriedly taken into Ringrose Street to meet Granny Florrie and Frank and Nancy, their son and daughter.

Thus I experienced my earliest memory of being a World War Two bombed out statistic!

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