Blitz Baby

By Dennis John Roberts

No fruit. Always half staved. Worms coming out of
your bum, bitten by bed bugs. Bombs falling all around
us every night. @ e yard to our right was blown to
smithereens a couple of nights later, the yard on our
left met with the same fate. Will we cop it tonight?
went through our minds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Nov 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9781479746316

Dennis John Roberts

For many years I have informed many people of my horrible up-bringing. Itfs their persuasion that has fi nally prompted meh to put pen to paperh. You see for many years I wasnft allowed to speak about how we suff ered, my parents must have felt guilty and who could blame them? For not wanting to be reminded of such hardships. ð@ e truth is that our country was under attack and we had to get through it as best we could. Trouble was we youngsters could do nothing but suff er the consequences.

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Copyright © 2012 by Dennis John Roberts.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2012920946

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4797-4630-9

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4797-4629-3

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4797-4631-6

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305057

In Loving Memory of my first born child;

Mark Dennis John Roberts.

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Of all the gin joints in the world, I had to pick a slum in Birmingham, England to be born, and to top it all, a few months later World War II was declared. How unlucky can you get! And if your upbringing is normal, then you shouldn’t remember a thing. Whenever I mentioned what a horrible childhood I and others had to suffer during those dark days, the people I was talking to would say, ‘You must write a book.’ So as my body starts its final stage of the old-age process, I figure I should put it to paper, before I forget everything, and death looms in the background. So, here goes.

My earliest recollections of being on this planet was being dragged from my cot and being pulled up into someone’s arms, a bit like those fun rockets at Alton Towers, and being almost squashed so tight that I could hear and feel the pounding of the person’s heart who was holding me. I could hear loud bangs of our guns mixed together with bombs exploding and glass smashing. All this was just a few seconds in duration.

On 12 December, 1940, a wave of two hundred German bomber aircraft bombed Birmingham, lasting thirteen hours in duration, including Castle Bromwich, where 57 per cent of Spitfire aircraft parts were manufactured (fact).

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Just some of the bomb hits on Birmingham

I also remember quite vividly being in a cellar under the shop (which was about eight feet square with a low ceiling) at the front of our yard. I was in my mom’s arms, and a man wearing a steel helmet with a white letter on it (W) offered me a drink of milk. I refused, mainly because the bottle had a wide neck (pasteurised), and I knew of only the narrow neck (sterilised). That was the only time I can remember being in that terrible smelly place. But the dreaded sound of the planes approaching together with the bombs exploding soon made you forget the conditions. Again, that was only a few seconds long. It just scarred my memory!

When you realise how old I was (born June 1939), it’s a miracle how I remember these events. My mother always maintained that I could never remember such things. She would never have heard that they are called flashbacks. My mother never showed any love for me. In fact, quite the opposite, and whenever my name came into the conversation, she would say, ‘Yes, he’s the one that got out of the sack.’ This referred to how unwanted animals would be put in a sack and thrown into the cut (canal), and her favourite one that she carried on into her eighties was, ‘Give the dog a bad name, and you might as well hang it.’ Not forgetting, she used to also say, ‘He’s the black sheep of the family.’

We had her over for Christmas when she was in her seventies, and I was just carving the turkey with all my kids around the table when she started to repeat what a moaning baby I was.

‘That’s enough of that!’ I shouted. ‘All my life, you continually put me down. Now I don’t ever want to hear this unnecessary topic and putting me down all the time. No child would be unaffected in those terrible war days!’

Yet another horrible moment or two in my memory was when I was taken to the shopping centre (Great Lister Street) to what must have been a chemist’s shop. All my clothes were taken off and I was placed in a stainless steel weighing tray; it was such a shock, just like being dropped into a barrel of ice! The thoughtless swine! That memory will never leave me as long as I live. I was very small and not sure of my age. I was taken off after screaming the place down, and a newspaper was placed on the bowl. Mind you I put up a good fight, but alas, they got me back into it in the end.

I have a photograph of me sitting on my mother’s lap. You could tell I had been crying; you see, initially, she wanted a picture of me sitting on my own, but I would have none of it. I must have been scared of the strange surroundings, and hence, there was one of the two of us together. She said throughout my life what a crybaby I was and that I always demanded her constant presence. I don’t wonder at it, what with all those bombs dropping all around our yard.

Being born just before the war broke out was a bad move. After all, who wants a baby at the breast when all this panic is going on? No wonder she didn’t like me! I can still remember the joy and comfort I had from sucking those breasts. I still practice it today, with other females, of course, but for a different reason, you understand!

Another memory of a few seconds was having a board fitted to keep my arms outstretched, a bit like a crucifix. The reason for this was that I had four or five abscesses in each of my armpits. I must ask someone to count the scars one day. They had to be bled daily. Of course, no words could explain the misery I had to endure. But today, we have a plentiful supply of