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Towards the end of the war, I was a boy of 10.
One of my most vivid memories was walking to school the morning after a bombing raid.
There were 2 semi-detached houses of which the fronts had been completely demolished. They looked like doll's houses. The furniture was still in the rooms and everything looked normal. The roof was there, everything was there except the fronts of the houses.
We learn later that the wife was downstairs making a cup of tea when the explosion happened. She called to her husband who was still in bed to come downstairs because of the raid. He climbed out of bed not knowing the front of the house was gone and in the darkness fell from the first floor into the garden and was killed.
It's a memory that has always stayed with me.

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