大象传媒

This story was submitted to the site by Belinda - working with CSV Cornwall, on behalf of Jean Howard - the author. With her permission. Jean fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

I was about eleven, and we were living in Camborne, Cornwall. My father was a full time firefighter with the Camborne Fire Service. He was helping out with the Plymouth Blitz, because my Daddy was so tall he was put with the Newquay men, who were all short. One day we got some news that they had all been killed while working in Plymouth - and he had been killed with them. There was no news at all, then one evening - about a week later - we were having our tea, and he appeared, out of the blue walking up the garden path. He'd lost his hat and all his mac was all torn - flithy and dirty. We were all in a state of shock. Then he was transferred to London to fight the fires there. That was when they started dropping the doodlebugs in London and they affected his hearing. Then when the war finished Dad came home, and carried on working in the fire service part time.

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