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I was seven years old at the time of the bombings of Attercliffe, Sheffield. A bomb had been dropped and had exploded in a field at Handley near New Whittington. All the locals had walked up to see the crater it had made.

School held no importance for me with all this other excitement going on around me. My neighbour, Bert, a grown up of eleven years old who was giving me a donkey ride at the time, was persevering at teaching me to spell “Hitler”.

No, “Hitler” not “Hilter”, no not “Hilret”, he kept on and on “H-I-T-L-E-R”

That night I woke everyone up in the household shouting “BERT, BERT I can spell Hitler”.

Just then the Air Raid Sirens started to wail and the steady drone of the bomber engines could be heard in the distance.

My dad was carrying me down the garden path wrapped up in a blanket when I spied Bert running down the garden to the Anderson Shelter. I immediately started again “BERT, BERT”, I can spell Hitler” when he interrupted me shouting “SHURRUP AND GERRIN’T SHELTER AFOE HE GETS THEE”

A phrase and a night I will never forget.

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