Barnet Tales winner: my house
by Dawn Wilson
There are people living in Barnet who come from all walks of life – some people have lived here all of their lives, some have moved here for love, for work or because they have had to leave their homes and families in other places to seek safety. I am always interested to see hear what brought people to London and in particular Barnet, so I often chat to people just to hear their stories – we all have a story to tell, don’t we?
Not so long ago, I heard a little boy’s recollection of how his house had been bombed. He and his older brother would listen for the sound of the planes dropping the bombs, and huddle with their father and mother in the middle room in the house. The grandmother also lived with them and she would join them, the two little children in bed, the parents in armchairs and the grandmother on a mattress at the foot of the bed. He described the waiting and the fear, but also how close he felt to his family – his mother believed that if one of them was to be killed, then they would all go together – he described it as a ‘close knit family.’
The house had been the family home for many, many years and he and his brother had been born there and had many friends in the area. In the road in which this little boy lived, they knew their neighbours and had many friends in the road with whom they played. His grandparents had lived there for over 50 years and his mother had also been born there.
One night, as they huddled together, a bomb fell. It hit several neighbouring houses, and a 5 feet piece of clay fell on the house, along with a piece of kerb from the road.
The clay came through the roof and fell on the bed where the little boys normally slept. Their lives were saved as their parents had moved them downstairs for the duration of the bombing.
They left the house that night and never returned – they moved to a more modern property in a safer area but never forgot their home.
I was fascinated to hear this story and it made me consider how fortunate we are to live in a stable country.
As I sit at my kitchen table now looking out of the window, I imagine those two little boys playing in peaceful times, kicking a ball, perhaps climbing an apple tree.
That apple tree is long gone now. The view from the window is very much changed, and that little boy is now in his 70’s. With the help of modern technology we got in contact with each other and he told me this story.
Another young child plays in that garden now and the world is very much changed, very different from when North Finchley was bombed in 1944 and that piece of clay fell on this house where I now live with my family.
Email this pageLast modified by: Mike Godleman on 06/11/2009