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In 1944 I remember my father receiving a late night telephone call from a distressed neighbour of ours. We had moved away during the war but these neighbours had stayed living on our road. I had known them all my life. The man informed us that his family had been standing at the door of their house watching a doodlebug, along with their other neighbours.

His daughter started to get very agitated and cried until they all went down to the shelter. However their neighbours did not follow and continued to watch events unfold. Tragically a bomb was dropped just behind their houses and the neighbour was found dead with both his arms and legs blown off. His wife suffered the same fate. They were survived by their 15 year old son who had not been home that evening. I was very lucky because this was the closest I came to knowing people killed during the war.

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