Bombed Out
by Mr D Jones, South Oxhey
People tell me that you can still remember names of friends you knew at senior school but fail to remember one from a week ago, so I can well take my mind back to August 1942 when my dad roused me and my brother and sister to get out of a burning house. My sister had a slight injury from a falling mirror. My mum and dad quickly gathered up ration books and items of value followed by instructions “Get dressed!”
We wandered aimlessly up the road with people standing at their front gates, a couple invited us for tea and a further lie-down on a hard floor, my dad overjoyed at the kindness shown.
Early next morning after breakfast our dad said right my sister, who was fourteen and a half years old, and my older brother would still go to senior school. I being the youngest would return to our house!
As a “thank you” to our helpers, Dad dug up all his potato crop while he instructed me to pull up carrots, etc.. As an excited child of not yet eight years old I found part of the bomb, which I kept for a further eight years, but, being a brother, my brother threw it in the canal.
I am now eighty four years plus, and this is my story.
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