THE terrible events which befell Southampton all those years ago, were so traumatic that despite the passage of time there are still many local people who vividly remember the Second World War enemy air raids, which will always be known as the Blitz.

Now, 70 years later, former policeman, and, now, highly regarded local historian and author, James Brown, pictured inset above, recalls the night when his world was turned upside down.

This is his story, in his words… “I was born on February 18, 1932 and my sister Maureen was born on my eighth birthday in 1940, when we were living at 217, Northumberland Road, in Southampton.

At about 9pm on Thursday April 10, 1941, my father was on duty as a War Reserve Constable – they then worked 12 hour shifts with no rest days – and that night, as a nine-yearold, I shared the front bedroom with my mother, and 14-month-old sister who was in her cot alongside the bed.

We had only been in bed for a matter of minutes when I heard the steady drone of aeroplanes. Like all boys of my generation, we could recognise many planes just by their sound as well as sight, and I said to mother: ‘Listen, they are Jerries!’ She told me not to be so silly as the sirens had not sounded.

The engine noise grew louder and I then heard a peculiar rhythmic swishing sound which came from outside the house. It got louder and louder and seemed to be just above the roof and I was very puzzled as to what it could possibly be. We then heard the sound of anti-aircraft gunfire simultaneous with the air raid siren.

Suddenly, without warning, there was a most tremendous flash of red, blue, purple and yellow, a gigantic explosion deafened us, the house seemed to lift up, the bed jumped, and several feet of the ceiling collapsed, covering us all with plaster.

When the dust settled we could see the sky, with searchlights dashing backwards and forwards, and we quickly uncovered my sister in her cot.

We were unhurt but on looking out of the shattered bedroom window we saw that the houses opposite, including those in neighbouring Derby Road, were completely demolished.

The noise I had heard was the swinging of a landmine in its parachute, just missing the adjacent railway lines at Mount Pleasant and the roof of our house, but landing in the centre of the terraced houses of lower Derby Road and Northumberland Road.

When we surveyed the damage in daylight we found that our front door had somehow landed in our back garden. It must have been sucked out by the blast and carried over the house.

My father had been extremely distressed when informed by damage control that the lower end of Northumberland Road had been destroyed but was not allowed to return home to check on us until his tour of duty was completed.’’