A firebombing over Northumberland

This is Tommy Wilkinson’s story; it has been added by Robert Godfrey, an ITCH volunteer, with permission from the author, who understands the terms and conditions of adding his story to the website.

I am about to give an account of a single night during the spring of the third year of World War 2. At the time of this incident, I was a 23yr old colliery engineer. The incident occurred at the mining village of Stakeford near Ashington in Northumberland. My mate Bob Punshon and I, had just descended from the roof of my parents house after repairing the radio aerial.
Lately there had been a step-up in air activity, a few land mines had been dropped, a Heinkel bomber had been shot down into a nearby brickyard and a nearby house had been burnt to the ground in a matter of minutes. There had even been a daylight foray over the port of Blyth by a single Junkers JU88.

After tea we ventured out to assess matters. Moonless and starless, it was like a cavern devoid of a single chink of light. The very air stank of mayhem and malevolence, then, to the south, a line of sparks followed the path of an intruder. Then a siren wailed on our side of the river Wansbeck. With the sound of engines close above, we heard people going to the shelter in the playing field beside my house.

Bob began “thank god for the darkness” then someone carelessly opened their door and a beacon of light shone out revealing the outline of the Guide Post School. Several voices screamed out “get that light out” as it was like being in a cinema when the projector light beams out in the darkness. The light went out and the approaching aero engines snarled as if in triumph. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle and an empty pang of sheer fear in my belly as a lot of things seemed to happen at once.

There was the sound of something crashing to the ground just before our front road, then there was a curious sound, as if a million birds were fluttering above our heads, followed by a popping, as if a thousand corks were being pulled simultaneously. It was as if Hades had sprung up in our street, the playing field was ablaze, our front garden was afire, but worse, a cluster of firebombs appeared on our roof.

Bob was first to react, “on the roof as quick as you like, we’ll kick them off”. There was not a lot, some had detonated but there was still a fair old blaze. After quite a bit of nifty footwork, we cleared the roof. Below neighbours were using stirrup pumps to extinguish the remainder of the firebombs.
Bob grabbed my arm and shouted “ Look”, not more than ½ a mile in front of us, a gout of flame sprang, closely followed by another and I felt the whiplash of the blast against my face. They were heading straight in line for Bob’s house. I felt his pain, as his parents and seven brothers and sisters were in that house. Then something odd occurred, there was a sharp burst of gunfire and the last four bombs exploded off to the right. My father shouted for us to come down of the roof. We were not a pretty sight, blackened with shredded clothes. The next day, we found that the track of the bombs had turned a right angle, thus preventing us being hit. So the night fighter had come to the rescue just in time.

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.