91�ȱ�

This story was submitted to the People's War Site by Louise Adamou, 91�ȱ� Guide at the 91�ȱ� Open Centre Hull on behalf of Brain Hodgins and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the sites terms and conditions.

The old man’s eyes searched over the shelves in the D.I.Y department of the superstores for what he called in for. If he could find the white spirit he could finish the bit of painting he’s started but interrupted by the empty spirit bottle at home.

His search was halted as his gaze fell upon a row of bottles filled with a blue liquid. ‘METHYLATED SPIRITS’ said the label. There was a slight catch in his throat and breathing as that colour sent his thoughts racing back to the night of terror earlier in the last war.

The young boy roused from a deep sleep by the shouting of his mother and sisters.
“Come quickly, hurry, get dressed quickly, come on, get to the shelter, hurry.”
As he raced to get dressed the bedroom was lit up from the glow of the searchlights crisscrossing the sky and the crack of the ACK ACK.
“Come on, hurry up, it’s a sneak raid’ said his brother with whom he shared a room.
“Jerry’s here AGAIN.” Outside was a cacophony of sound, ACK-ACK guns firing and bombs exploding. Everybody was out of the house in minutes, an exercise polished to perfection by repeat happenings. Running to the Shelter his mother shouted, “who’s got Billy?”

Billy was the family canary, a much loved member of the household for his lovely singing. His Dad said he was a ‘Lutino’ but that didn’t mean much to the boy. He didn’t know what a ‘Lutino’ was or where they came from.
Calamity, everybody had forgotten Billy in the mad dash to get to the shelter.
“I’ll go and get him Mam” shouted the boy as he ran back into the house to get Billy. He grabbed the birdcage from its stand, much to the annoyance of Billy with much squawking from under his cover.

As the boy reached the street and turned to run to the shelter, even above the sound of gunfire and explosions, he was suddenly aware of a roaring sound behind him. He stopped briefly to look behind him and was suddenly aware what the sound was. It was a Jerry bomber flying straight down the middle of the street just above the chimney pots, with forward guns blazing away.

Terrified the boy shrank onto the windowsill of his front room still clutching Billy’s cage. His eyes never left that bomber as it flashed by. He had a distinct view of the gunner in the nose, bent over his guns lit up by the flames of his weapons. There were long blue flames streaming from the bombers engine exhausts. The colour blue so well remembered by the old man so many years later, in the blue of the Methylated Spirits on the superstore shelf.

The old man gave a little start and hurried past the shelf of memories, found his white spirit and went home to finish his painting. To this day into his seventies, he still hates the colour BLUE.

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Brian’s recollections are wholly based on real events. Brian has written them as an outsider looking in to make his memories more accessible to the reader, but he was indeed the frightened little boy and is now the old man (as he puts it) looking back.

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