GREEN TERRACE - 1942
"Terror gripped my heart. An air raid attack was imminent. We fled to thecupboard under the stairs. Almost immediately a convoy of planes thundered
overhead...''
Stella Leonard describes a bombing raid on Sunderland which she experienced as a
little girl. Then she imagines how the raid might have been reported in the
local newspaper, and, with divine intervention, how events during the Twentieth
Century should have unfolded.
HOW IT WAS
The school bell rang at 4.00 pm signalling home time. It was a cold winter’s day
in England, and most of the children, like myself, were not dressed warmly
enough. Some dawdled along the way, but most of us hurried home, in the
deepening gloom of an icy November evening.
Home was not far. My five year old legs carried me over the railway bridge, past
the Methodist church, and across Sunderland’s main road. It was not busy in
those days and the children walked together for safety.
I lived with my grandmother in a terraced house, which was home to three
families. My mother had died when I was a baby and my father was serving in the
army.
The lamplighter was outside our house, as I ran up the narrow garden path. He
waved to me as he reached up with his long pole and switched on the gas lamp. It
flickered gently, casting a warm glow over the rough brickwork of No 2, Green
Terrace.
I walked through the communal hallway, with its covering of faded apple blossom
wallpaper. My gran was busy in the kitchen ironing clothes with her heavy flat
iron. The acrid smell of carbolic soap lingered in the air, drifting in from the
poss tub in an outbuilding. A kettle was hissing gently on the black leaded
stove, while around it washing dried slowly on a dismal Monday. I much preferred
Tuesdays, when I would arrive home, to the delicious aroma of baking bread and
cakes wafting through the kitchen.
My gran smiled. She was not a demonstrative person, but I knew she cared about
me. Tall and thin, dressed in black with a gaunt face, she poured me a cup of
tea. Then, just as we were about to sit down, the siren went off with its
strident clanging noise. It always made me leap about 3 foot in the air. Terror
gripped my heart, an air raid attack was imminent, and we fled to the cupboard
under the stairs.
Almost immediately a convoy of planes thundered overhead. All the crockery in
the cupboard began to shake, along with gran and I who were clinging together
for comfort. Bombs were dropping nearby, perhaps a street away. We were afraid
to talk, but eventually the all clear siren signaled a welcome release from our
sanctuary.
I never knew the outcome of this fearful event. How many people were killed?
Which homes were flattened, or the extent of the damage. Such details were not
discussed in front of children. Life went on as though nothing had happened.
My granny died a few months later. I had never realized how ill she was, or how
hard it must have been for her to care for me.
The war continued for several years, with rationing, poverty and families split
apart indefinitely. I went to stay with my Aunt Jenny in London, but that’s
another story.
HOW IT COULD HAVE BEEN.
Sunderland Echo - November 10, 1942
A full page was devoted to the dramatic lead story. There were several pictures
of rescuers pulling survivors from the rubble. The main headline in large bold
type screamed out to its readers: GREEN TERRACE SUFFERS BOMB ONSLAUGHT.
The article went on to state: Three houses in this quiet street, were badly
damaged in yesterday’s air raid. It is thought the air convoy was heading for
Tyneside docks, where ship building was in progress.
Only the end house was completely demolished, and it is believed the elderly
couple living there, could not have survived the attack. Most of the unfortunate
residents, involved in the ordeal, have been pulled to safety. They are
homeless, but safe, and are recovering in hospital. Medical staff say the
injured are mainly suffering from cuts, bruises, and broken limbs. A factor in
their recovery is the amount of shock sustained.
Lavinia Cleghorn who spoke to one of our reporters, said that she and her
grandaughter Stella were lucky to be alive. They had taken refuge in a cupboard
under the stairs, and when rescued, were covered in broken crockery.
It will be a long time before these families recover from the trauma of such a
frightening attack. Most of their menfolk are in the army, and the women cope
with insurmountable problems.
Our thoughts and prayers will be with them in the months ahead.
HOW IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN
A Fairy Tale - Divine Intervention
The Angelic Host had been contacted, via thought transference, from a higher
source. A meeting of the utmost seriousness would take place on cloud 19, at 0.8
hundred English hours. Only 14 angels were able to spare time from their busy
schedule. They were however, devoted world workers and approached the problem
with dedication.
Angel Michael, convenor of the meeting, was very concerned about a young boy
growing up in Germany, who was showing signs of anti social behaviour. His name
was Adolf, and while his mother Klara was overly protective, there was very
little affection between father and son.
Adolf wanted to follow the arts, and his father Alois was adamant the boy would
become a civil servant. The youngster was becoming withdrawn, lacking in
confidence, and given to uncontrollable rage. A classic case of low self esteem.
Looking at his birth chart, those in higher places had estimated that Adolf
could become a serious force for evil, and a danger to civilisation itself.
In these circumstances was it possible, or wise for the Angelic Host to
intervene. There was a lot of muttering about free will. Lucifer even thought a
bit of suffering was good for the human soul. However, because there was a tie,
Archangel Gabriel was called in for the casting vote. The verdict - a second
chance for humanity!
Young Adolf’s father passed on when the boy was 14. The Angelic Host moved into
action providing him with a mentor, who was also a doctor. This man of character
nurtured Adolf’s talents, and made sure that appropriate medicine was available
for his moods. Infact, because of his wise and kindly advice he became a great
family friend.
And so it was. The troubled young man immersed himself in art, and became a
portrait painter of some repute. There was no Nazi party. No invasion of Poland,
and very little discord between European countries.
The day on which war would have been declared, passed without incident. Except
for the ringing of bells all across the land, which many thought sounded like
heavenly music.
Cloud 19, which had been immortalised by the Angelic Host, shed a few tears. The
earth below, delighted in this blessing, and brought forth bountiful supplies
for mankind.
Perhaps they were becoming civilised, the cloud thought. Only the future would
tell.