WWII: Stories from an air raid shelter

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As the bombing began in earnest at the start of the Second World War, Glynne Eaglesfield and his family would take their blankets and flasks and spend most nights in Morley Road School air raid shelters. Sixty years on, he still has vivid memories of those sessions and two amusing incidents in particular – as Glynne, of Rolleston-on-Dove, recounts here.

A RECENT item in Bygones asked if anyone remembered spending time in air raid shelters during the Second World War.

Like previous correspondent Peggy Mumby, we had air raid drills at our Morley Road School in Chaddesden. The shelters were constructed of concrete and were partly buried in the ground.

The front entrance was through a heavy metal door at the bottom of the steps. Inside there were wooden benches down each side and at the other end was a steel ladder which led up to an escape hatch. Again, like Mrs Mumby, we used to practise putting on and taking off our gas masks, also finishing up with a sing-song.

Although the main entrance to the school was off Morley Road, most pupils used the footpath which went down Willetts Road at the side of our house, over two bridges and up the side of the playing field.

When the “phoney war” came to an end, there was a lot of activity from the anti-aircraft guns, particularly a big one on the racecourse.

Our neighbours along Wood Road, together with our family, would spend the nights in the school shelters. I can’t remember how many shelters there were, but they were practically full.

Every night, after dinner, we would all head up to the schoo with blankets and flasks etc. All us children would be bedded down but often we did not get a lot of sleep.

The men who were not at work or in the forces would stand outside the shelters and keep coming in to report what was going on outside.

There are two incidents which spring to mind, both involving my grandad, who lived with us and worked at Rolls-Royce along with my dad. He slept in the front bedroom which had a small bedroom fireplace. He had, for some time, complained about the draught coming down the chimney, so in the end he stuffed an old pillow up the chimney.

Now my grandad was something of a boozer and spent as much time as possible in the Wilmot Arms. Late one night, he came staggering into the air raid shelter when everyone was asleep. He settled down but, after a while, my mother, who was lying very close to grandad, complained that there was a strong smell of soot.

After some upheaval, my mother switched on her torch, to reveal my grandad’s face covered in soot and, according to my mother, looking like “b..... Al Jolson”.

It seems that he had left the Wilmot Arms and gone home but, as there was a lot of plane and anti-aircraft activity that night, had decided to join us in the shelter. For some reason, known only to a drunken grandad, he had grabbed the pillow from the chimney and brought it up to the shelter.

The second incident again involved my grandad being in the Wilmot Arms while we had all gone to the shelters as usual.

On this night, the Germans dropped a large bomb on Chaddesden Park. The blast blew most of the windows out of the pub and, even though it was not closing time, the pub emptied.

Grandad came into the shelter quite sober and told us what had happened, to which my mother retorted: “My mam always said you wouldn’t leave a pub before closing time unless you were blown out. I wish she was here to see you now.”

My grandma had died just as war was declared.

The shelters were a bit damp but we thought it was a real adventure. Looking back, our parents must have been worried to death. Eventually, we all had Anderson shelters, or indoor Morrison shelters, so the trips to the school shelters came to an end.

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This article is from the Derby Evening Telegraph and is reproduced online here.