Words By Scott Hope

To mark the 75th anniversary of VE-Day, here is the story of the Maryhill Blitz, when a part of Maryhill was levelled by the Luftwaffe. It’s an episode that has been passed down in my family, but you might not have heard of it.

Rescue Party, Kilmun Street – Ian Fleming

During the height of the Clydebank Blitz, the 14th of March 1941 was a roundly bad night for the west-end of Glasgow and Maryhill. First, Queen Margaret Drive was hit – 3 people died and 500 homes were damaged in the area.

Later that evening at midnight, the German Bombers struck again. This time, it was further north and further west; at St Mary’s School and Kilmun Street in Maryhill. It was a Friday night, the tenement flats which then stood on the street would have been all but full – my great grandparents included.

A pair of mines first exploded in a nearby field, the blast damaging St Mary’s which at the time was housing an AFS (Auxiliary Fire Service) post; as RM Scott, the air-raid warden explained. “Blast from the first mine wrecked the school known as St Mary's RC school. The wide front of red stone withstood the blast but windows were torn out, rooms wrecked and doors blown to atoms.”

Scott himself was actually blown on to Maryhill Road by the blast, only to come to surrounded by tea packets, one of a few bits of dark humour to come out of the scene: “The second blast caught me in Maryhill Road and it was a bit of a comedy to find one's self surrounded by Cochrane's tea packets and no ration books required”.

The second blast was in the back courts of the sandstone flats on Kilmun Street. Numbers 32 and 36 were destroyed as were houses in Shiskine Street, Kilmun Lane and Kirn Street, and several others being set on fire. As a resident, Ms McNeil, said in RM Scott’s report: “The sky was bright red, this was Kilmun Street burning–the warden said; 'Kilmun Street's away'. Well you can imagine how I felt going into the shelter.”

Civilian deaths register, Edinburgh Castle War Memorial

83 people died in the bombing on Kilmun street that night with a further 180 injured. My great-grandparents were among those who emerged to find their flat at number 36 gone. My great-gran was actually pregnant with my grandad at the time, who was later born in July 1941. Had they been less lucky I wouldn’t be sat here writing this today–the eerie thought of which usually hits me when I pass Kilmun street.

If you read RM Scott’s report on the incident – linked at the end of this piece – what you get is a real sense of community spirit: “someone came and told us to go to the tramway. There was an old man up the stair and when we were going in, my mother was so busy looking back to see if he was alright she actually fell into the pit. Luckily she wasn't injured.” –Ms McNeil, Scott’s Report.

However, some stories from the incident are imbued with a tinge of dark humour – or are even just blatantly macabre. Some are more anecdotal than others.

In one of the more anecdotal, somebody–somehow–slept through the bombing with the help of a drink or two: “a man who, having indulged generously in John Barleycorn on the previous night, went to sleep in the recess bed of his flat. He woke up feeling a cold draught and, shouting “Gaun’ tae shut that door Jessie” turned over, only to find himself facing a yawning gap. Half of the building had collapsed, leaving the bed and its occupant hanging precariously above the debris.” –Bill Black.

In one, sadly backed up by Scott’s official report, a young mother was found wandering around the street in the aftermath, clutching her headless child in her arms: “I don't think too much about the terrible sights -the woman clutching her baby with its head blown off and people being dug out all mixed up with dogs and cats and birds.” –Ms Rickard, RM Scott’s report.

One story that comes from my own family involves a bit of gallusness on the part of my great-grandad. Working in a reserved occupation – until being sent to Italy later in the war – he was paid his wages that Friday night and left them on the mantlepiece. In the aftermath, he slyly snuck into the rubble, managing to save not only his wages but also my great-gran’s wedding dress–although he was then rumbled and questioned when he was mistaken for a looter.

Over 100 homes were outright destroyed, a further 250 made uninhabitable and 100 shops damaged. Some residents were sheltered at East Park School in the days that followed. After the bombing, my family moved into a place further along Kilmun Street where they stayed for the rest of the war–at first, the new flat had no roof and it’s said in the family that they could see the stars from it.

With those flats long gone, Kilmun Street now lies empty–but next time you pass it, spare a thought for what happened there and those who lost their lives, I always try to.