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Granny was a Liverpudlian, born and bred, nearly six foot tall she always seemed to be towering above me. My siblings and I all hated her because everything that father told us to do was multiplied ten fold. I was about six years old and air-raids were going off virtually every night.
One night at around 2am the siren sounded. My sisters and I got dressed and ran downstairs where everyone else was waiting. Then we went down past the gasometer to the communal shelter. Granny was there as well and we all sat there not being able to sleep because of the cramped conditions.
When, eventually we were let out, Granny jumped up and marched up the steps to get away from the crowd, us all jogging along behind. ‘Let’s see what damage these Germans have done to my Liverpool.’ she said as we turned the corner, to face the huge burning structure of the gasometer. She stopped dead in her tracks and then fainted.
I hardly remember that ball of fire only a few yards away. But, I do remember that those were the only few moments that Granny showed signs of distress over the war, and for once I was looking down on her!

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