A Tiny Detail but True

My mother was married to a carpenter. He had been detailed to work on making airplanes. They were in Norwich. Bombing was terrible in 1940-1. She was often alone. Left with my brother, born June 1939. She was 23 and unschooled in the ways of the world. (She died, aged 83, still innocent.) There was a terrible air raid in 1941. She was alone, with my brother, aged less than 2. She was, she told me 'sure she was going to die'. She lay down in the hall with my brother, and 'covered him with my body' (her words). To her amazement, they survived.

Mum was just an ordinary person. And only 23. It's hard for me to imagine all this. At 23 I was just a kid. So was she, really. My dad was 27. Shortly afterwards, the 3 of them were evacuated to Melton Mowbray, where she was very happy for the rest of the war.
She always wanted 4 boys. As a result of the war she had only my brother (b 1939) and me (born Sept 1946). I never thought of her as heroic; but with the passage of years, I am now sure she was.

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