Chertsey Tales Part Twenty-five.

Chertsey Tales Part Twenty-five.

A few notes before I write this story.

In part twenty-four, the few minutes that I am drifting in and out of consciousness, I had a dream that even today I re-live, it is a typical child’s dream about talking animals, influenced by Mr Wades storytelling and his talking Jackdaw. It is a long story called ‘The Cowley Avenue Apache’s’. and I will tell it later.

Another thing I need to explain is how I remember so much detail in my stories. During the dark nights of the war there was no TV and even the wireless would sometimes need the accumulator to be recharged. So, we had to make our own amusement. This, in our family was story telling. I heard the same stories over and over again; they are imprinted on my brain!

I retell them in my own way, but the basic story is hopefully still intact. This one is my own.

I feel the cold water splashing over me, I have the same taste in my mouth that I had when I had my tonsils out. I can feel one of my front teeth is very wobblily, I can hear the fire engines coming with their bells ringing loudly. Mum sits me up to wash out my mouth, I can see up the road where the fire engine is hosing down the burning buildings.

Mr Mill’s, the fire warden is there, his white shirt is red with blood, and he is limping, he is keeping everyone back to the top of Cowley Avenue just in front of us. I can see up the road past our house, it is all lit up, the road is full of rubble, and some big branches from the tree that is outside Eddie Hatchwell’s are hanging down almost to the ground.

There is a lot smoke, and a strong smell of burning, the flames show up the white faces of the people who are looking on from near Mrs Cooling’s house at the other side of the burning homes. The poor people in the bombed-out houses had no chance, their homes are now just a pile of bricks and window frames.

All our neighbours are here now, some holding each other, and others, like my Mum were just crying and crying, there is nothing that can be done for our poor friends up the road. People are just standing around, not knowing what to do.

I keep feeling dizzy, now I am being carried by a man, and we all go down Cowley Avenue and stay with Mrs Wade till morning, all the boys are put under the Morrison shelter. I can see mum and Mrs Wade sitting in the kitchen drinking tea, they are both crying. My legs are really hurting, I wish I could go under again.

Author: madeinchertsey

Born in 1932, this is a collection of stories of my childhood growing up in Chertsey, and some stories of my later life.

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