NOVEMBER 1940
A sudden gust of wintery wind blew up as we crossed the road to number 16. The road looked bleak and deserted and there was still some of the rubble of number 18 piled up along with sandbags and stuff. The poor man living there had died instantly when the bomb hit, Mum said and she looked very upset and a bit weepy as she told me.
She knocked at the front door and Mrs. Bailey opened up looking a bit tired and weary in her hairnet and faded dress. She was a widow woman, Mum had told me, about seventy years old but to me, at that time she looked about ninety. Mum asked how she was in a concerned voice and the old lady said that she was all right now, mustn"t grumble.
"It"s good of you to come over dear," she continued. "Come on in, I"ve got a pot of tea on the go."
"It seem
