大象传媒

This story was often recounted to me by my father-in-law when teaching about the second world war. As a teenager growing up in the war he lived in the docks area of Newport called Pillgwenlly. Whilst very close knit, it was and still is regarded as rather deprived with large families and little money.

During a bombing raid, (yes they did drop bombs outside London, especially around the docklands), the entire family were tightly packed in the Anderson shelter in the back garden. One particular night a large explosion was heard which sealed the doors of the shelter shut and was blocked on the outside by falling debris. When they were rescued they emerged to find snow had fallen in the middle of Summer and dead cats were hanging from walls and guttering all around.

I transpired that the bomb had hit the bakery and flour rather than snow was the cause of the shower, and dead mousers were the only casualties.

Fred Pocock died from cancer in September 2002, but I'm glad that I've handed his story onto the next generation.

Gwyneth Pocock

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