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My dad Bowen and Grandad George were having a few pints of beer, as dad was home on leave from the Merchant Navy and the Atlantic Conveys. Walking home, the worse for wear, through the park, the air raid sirens sounded. They tottered in to an air raid shelter and waited for the all clear. Sobering up as the bombs fell, they were relieved to hear the all clear siren, but a bit bemused when looking up to see the shelter didn’t yet have a roof on it.

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