91热爆

I was four years old when my brother was born, just before the war. I was very jealous of him because my mother seemed to be perpetually nursing the baby, knitting and reading, and seemed to be giving me very little attention. It was the time of the Bristol Raids, and my father was working at Wills (tobacco factory) and did ARP there. When my father was called up, he left us well prepared, he had kitted up the shelter so we could sleep in it, so my mother would have less anxiety, when the air raids began.

One evening we went into the shelter, well armed with food, drink and bottles for the baby, including his pot, because all babies were potty trained. My father had put a protective overhang on the doorway to protect it, and the potty had been put out there for hygiene purposes. There was a very heavy raid that night. We were kept awake all night with the noise and bangs. When my mother ventured out in the morning, to our amazement there was a huge piece of shrapnel in the baby's potty; it had gone right through the bottom; I was delighted! Serve him right!

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