Blackout..... Written by Vic Davey

 Put that bloody light out!" Shouted Jack, the ARP warden, walking between the row of small terraced houses, rapping on doors and windows. "Come on Ma Brown," he called through the letterbox of one house, "Put that blackout curtain down, " The mournful sound of air raid sirens started up across the city.

He looked up into the darkening sky. "In for 'annuva pasting tonight," he muttered to himself, hurrying along to his home at the end of the street which he shared with his wife and her mother. He couldn't remember how many nights it had been without sleep as night after night the Luftwaffe dropped their deadly cargo on them, targetting the nearby docks and bombarding the East End. 

He pushed open his front door which he'd left on the latch. Both the women were seated at the kitchen table drinking tea. "Time to go," he said, rousing them. "Come on now, get you're arses in gear"."

"Bloody hell!" said the old woman, " Don't 'e ever sleep?" 

"Who?" 

"That 'itler bloke."

"E's not there actually up there wiv 'em ma," said Jack's wife. " E's tucked up in bed with that Braun woman. Lucky swine!" 

" Don't you worry," Jack replied, hustling them out of the back door, "our boys will be getting our own back soon. See 'ow them Gerrys like it then." 

They hurried out into their tiny back garden, down some steps as he pulled open the door to their Anderson shelter, partly buried in what was once their vegetable patch. They could hear the drone of airplanes and the crump of bombs approaching, dealing out death and destruction. Suddenly the old woman stopped. " I can't go in," she cried, "I cant..I've forgotten me teeth!" 

"For goodness sake you silly old cow! They're dropping bombs, not bleedin' ham sandwiches," Jack said, shoving her through the door.

It was cold, damp and cramped, just enough room for a bunk bed and a mattress and a bucket in the corner, the only light, a dim kerosene lamp which gave off fumes. The sound of the Blitz raged around them outside, nearby explosions causing the ground to tremble, showering them with dust and loose earth. 

The bombardment lasted hour after hour. They had no choice but to see it out, clinging to each other in terror, wondering if the next explosion would be the last thing they heard. 

 Eventually, the noise began to abate, the explosions became further and further apart, like a spent thunderstorm moving away across the city.

Jack opened the door and peered out, tentatively, looked up and watched a dogfight in the sky overhead, planes swooping and diving trailing smoke in their wake as the RAF fighters saw off the remains of the enemy, who fled into the cold grey light of Dawn to return again the following night. To his relief, the all clear sirens sounded. It was over...

The London Blitz lasted 57 consecutive nights. Altogether almost 30,000 people were killed. Jack, his wife and mother in law had survived another night, but the main Firestorm was yet to come.