The Liverpool Blitz

Saturday, 21st September 1940

‘Baptism of fire’ is an old but appropriate cliché for the experiences we’ve had to face during the Blitz. Deafening explosions followed by silence, a hush gradually filled by ringing ears, the roar of flames and the crash of toppling walls as the fabric of the city is slowly destroyed. And a constant awareness of death, civilians and fire-fighters.​

Tuesday night was especially harrowing. A high explosive (HE) bomb intended for Lister Drive Power Station missed and fell on Green Lane Fire Station in Old Swan. The crews were changing shifts when the bomb struck and there were more firemen in the station than at other times. Six were killed outright and several others seriously injured, two of whom died later.​

Joining station colleagues at one of the funerals, I learned more about that fateful night from one of the survivors, an old friend from those halcyon party days before the war.​

“I was getting changed, heard the whistle of a bomb getting louder and louder and shoved my helmet on. ‘Watch out lads!’ I yelled, ‘this one might have our name on it.’ It did. The next second I was blown off my feet, my head smashed against a wall and I lost consciousness. When I came round I could feel blood trickling down my face where shards of stone had ground into it. I hadn’t a clue where I was and it took a minute or two before I could recall what happened.” He showed me an enormous dent in the helmet that had saved his life. It was replaced, but remained a talisman for the rest of the war.

“I was covered in dust,” he continued, “but somehow most of the heavy debris missed me except for a chunk of sandstone over my left leg. I managed to roll it off with my other foot and heave myself up. I felt my way through thick, foggy dust towards the door and tripped over something. It was a leg, no longer attached to its owner. Struggling up again I staggered over fallen masonry towards a door hanging off its hinges, where a couple of the guys lay, covered in debris. From their distorted posture and injuries it was damned obvious they’d been killed outright. My training kicked in and I stopped to check for life signs, but there were none. In fact, I couldn’t even recognise them for the filth that covered everything.

​“Just then I heard a kind of croak and peering through the gloom I saw a figure crawling along the floor back into the building. His eyes clogged with dust mixed with the blood from a wound to his temple, and it was obvious the poor feller couldn’t see. I told him to stay put, lifted him to his feet and led him out.”

​He closed his eyes and squeezed back tears. “I thought I was getting used to death, George, but seeing the bodies of your mates, full of life and joking one minute, then laid out beside our flattened fire station the next, was heartbreaking...”

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Extracted from Flights of Fantasy by George Munday.