Ordinary People - Extraordinary Bravery

This contribution to BBC People’s War website was provided to Tracey Gray a Volunteer Story Gatherer from the BBC Radio Norfolk Action Desk at an Event organised by the Norwich, Norfolk and Suffolk Pensioner’s Association. The story has been written and submitted to the website with the permission and on behalf of Shelia Johnson.

Although this all happened more than sixty years ago, this whole episode, particularly the bravery of a group of “ordinary“ people is crystal clear in my mind.

It was a cold December night in 1942. I was sixteen, living on the outskirts of North London and working in the office of a factory making parts for Sten guns. In the Middle East, Rommel was in retreat and I had volunteered, along with most of the office girls, to work an evening shift in the factory to keep up the supply of guns. We were still getting quite a few air raids resulting in local damage, but apart from taking shelter when the bombers were actually overhead, most people just carried on as usual. Often on my walk to work in the morning I would pass smoking ruins, and would sometimes be diverted because of unexploded bombs.

On this particular night I left work at 10pm and started to walk home. There was an ‘Alert’ on but everything seemed fairly quiet; I hadn’t gone far when the drone of heavy bombers filled the air. Ack Ack guns on the nearby railway opened up and my insides churned with fear. An air raid warden running down the street shouted to me to ‘ Take Cover’ and I stood stock still for a moment then glimpsing a dimly lit notice ‘Shelter’, dashed across the road as falling shrapnel from the guns tinkled to the pavement around me. I remember holding my handbag over my head for protection, though what good what would have done…?

I nearly fell through the shelter doorway and down a flight of stairs. The air was stale and dank, and the place appeared to be full of people, some sitting on forms around the walls and others on deckchairs. A very fat woman with her hair done up in a turban and her fingers busy with some knitting beckoned me to sit next to her and I squeezed up against her enormous hips. The noise outside was appalling, dust filled the air making it hard to breath and then came the whistle of bombs, followed by deafening explosions. Fortunately they were some way off and everyone sat quietly, waiting for it to be over and when eventually things died down, began to talk quietly and open bags and flasks. My neighbour offered me a cup of tea and asked me where I lived. On being told it was about a fifteen minute walk away she said I’d better stay put. “Jerry’s not done with us yet“, she said and the others agreed.

I started to notice the people around me — there was a very old couple in deck chairs: she sat with her eyes closed fingering some beads and he had a tea cosy on his head. When he saw me looking he said he had neuralgia and the warmth of the cosy helped. Just opposite me was a very pale young woman, she had a small baby in her arms and a toddler dozed on the bench next to her, his head in her lap. The baby was fretful and kept flinging itself about and eventually her handbag fell to the floor, the contents spreading over the dusty concrete and as I helped her to gather them up I noticed a photograph of a young man in Merchant Navy uniform. I also noticed that she had two carrier bags at her side and when she saw my glance she said ruefully, “That’s all that’s left of our home, that and the children. The fat lady laughed and said, “we’re all in the same boat here luv, our whole street copped it when a land mine come down two nights ago and we’re waiting for places at a Rest Centre, “til then, well — we’re just managing best we can”. The little old man joined in, “me and mother got out with only the clothes we was wearing. Lucky the old deck chairs was in the shed at the bottom of the garden”. He bent over his wife and patted her hand, but she seemed not to notice. “It’s gonna be alright love”, he murmured, then turning to me, “its Joey her canary she’s worried about…doted on that bird she did…but…”.

I offered to hold the baby and the fat lady took the toddler on her lap as we waited for either another wave of bombers to come over or the ‘All Clear’. It would probably be the former as the night was still young. The young woman said she would write to her husband, he was a second officer on a tanker on the Murmansk Run — a convoy of cargo ships escorted by the RN taking supplies to the Russians. It was subjected to massive submarine and bomber attacks and the sailors probably had one of the most dangerous jobs in the world at that time. “You’ll have plenty to tell your hubby this time luv”, the fat woman said but the young woman just smiled softly and said, “oh no, I won’t worry him with all this, after all, we’re not hurt and he’s got enough on his plate. He’s been torpedoed twice…any way, by the time he comes home they’ll have found us somewhere”. She took a ruled notepad out of her handbag and licking the end of her pencil began to write and as she wrote her face softened and I could see that she was only in her early twenties and a very pretty young woman. Feeling my eyes on her, she looked up and said with a grin, “well, at least I can tell him I’ve got plenty of company — he does so worry about me being alone with the children“.

I can still see that brave smile and I marvel anew at the courage of these ‘ordinary’ people as they coped with everything that was thrown at them.

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.