He had a lucky escape, Coycs. My uncle wasn’t so lucky. He was the youngest marine engineer to have his chief’s ticket at the time. His son not long born. He was home on leave from the sea when the sirens went and everyone hurried to the shelter - a brick blockhouse at the bottom of the yard. Then he realised he’d forgotten the candles and went back for them. Everyone told him not to, but he said it would only take a minute. In that minute the bomb hit the house. His young wife, a real looker and nice lass I’m told, never remarried. She was a one man woman.
My aunt lived in the row of houses in the next street opposite me and I used to visit her every Saturday and Sunday morning. Directly opposite me was a large gap in the row of houses which made it convenient for me to cut straight across to her house. I was saying to her one time how convenient the gap was. It was then that she told me the gap was where my uncles house used to be and that was where he was killed. I continued to use the gap after that, but each time i crossed I whispered an apology to my uncle Leslie.