This poem was written by my grandfather (Harry Breeze MBE DFC) for my Grandmother (Edna Doretta Breeze, nee Fearon) on the occasion of their 58th wedding anniversary.

It was something of a tradition that my grandfather would write a poem and make a card for christmas, birthdays and anniversaries, and in fact, any occasion he could thinkof. Often the cards and poems would have a whimsical subject matter, this one however, captures something quite special.

It concerns the night of March 12-13 1941. At the time, Harry and Edna were in their mid to late 20′s, and Lesley (my mum), was still not 2 years old. They lived at 58 Northbrook Road, Wallasey, which is a few hundred yards away from Birkenhead Docks. Also mentioned are my great grandparents Harry Breeze (1889-1955) and Alice Breeze (nee Hurst, 1889-1964) who lived at 9 Poulton Road (their children were Harry, Jack and Len Breeze).

One event from our fifty eight years of being married

My anniversary poem this year
Got longer than I was intending.
It kept going on, and on, and on
I couldn’t get to an ending

So I started again on one single hap’ning
And wrote about that instead.
One never to be forgotten event,
From the fifty eight years we’ve been wed.

Our house, and all our block of six, were destroyed
In the March 1941 blitz.
The raid was already in progress and
There’d been several direct hits.

I’d been out doing firewatch, there being
Incendiary bombs everywhere
You were guarding Lesley in our
Shelter under the stair.

I’d just walked to see how you were,
When we felt a gigantic WHOOSH,
We didn’t hear an explosion, only
This awful whispering WHOOSH.

Then the rumble of houses tumbling down
In clouds of dust and rubble.
We realised we were still alive,
But in a load of trouble.

"Get the pram." I remember you called,
But that could not be seen.
Just holes and open spaces
where doors and Windows had been.

We managed to scramble outside somehow
You and Lesley and me.
The sounds we heard meant someone was buried
And we knew who that might be.

"Better hang on with Lesley, Love,
Out here there’s work to do."
I joined the scramble to get Mrs. Shone,
And her baby was rescued too.

The Sylvesters had gone away for the night.
Other neighbours were still around.
They were still there when we saw them later,
Laid out under sheets on the ground.

We started to make our way to Dad’s.
Bombs were still whistling down,
Crumping in sticks of six and spreading
A red glow all around.

A shock on reaching Poulton Road.
Was our escape plan out of control?
A bloody great crater all over the road
Tramlines sticking out of the hole.

Better divert round Halleville Road,
It’s the only chance we’ve got.
That’s when wardens came out of their shelter
shouting "Get under cover you lot."

A bareheaded warden approached us
And this is perfectly true.
Mum just turned and faced him and said
"Put your helmet on, you."

As we struggled on over rubble and glass,
A new fear we tried to dispel.
What if we did reach Dad’s house,
Would they have been bombed out, as well?

Concerned about spaces between rows of houses,
Rubble on the roadway spread
Where others had lost their homes too.
We just hoped that none were dead.

Dad’s house was still there, when we reached it
Mum and Dad were safe within.
They got a shock when they saw us,
And the awful state we were in.

We said all our windows were broken,
Dad said "I’m no silly ass.
You don’t get covered in soot and plaster
From a bit of broken glass".

And that was the end of an episode.
We still had our family of three
To live through more bloody air raids,
Edna and Lesley and me.

The raids continued, randomly spaced,
The eight night Blitz, as well,
No mains water, gas or electric for weeks
It was like we were living in hell.

Do you ever think what you went through,
A trusting child in your care.
The mental stress the physical strain,
And all without turning a hair.

Your seal of success with marriage and kids
Comes from taking trouble in your stride.
That’s why we look back on fifty eight years
With happiness and pride.