| It Has Been A Rough Year |
I am adding this additional chapter to my introduction, because after I initially wrote the introduction, it was very difficult to come back to it and try to make sense of all that I have experienced through the various stages of my life and the trials that I have endured or overcome. I wish ...
| The Birth of Charles Leonard Wiggins |
The story has already been written for awhile on my blog "From the heart of Praise, Prayer and Perseverance. 0; Here is a link to that posting, Below are the pictures of the blessed event.
http://fromthehea rt-dotwigg.blogsp ot.com/2008/03/an other-2-prayer-re quest-answered.ht ml
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Alan's Story > Chapters > 4. Alan's War. Four.
| Date Range: 01/01/1942 To 05/08/1945 ||
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|| Views: 7,741 |
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Jean Douglas extricated herself from her husbands arms and sat down at the table opposite to him.
"Later" she said, cutting a piece of potato in half. She nibbled and blew on it. It was hot and threatened her tongue. On their plates together with the potatoes were carrots, cabbage and a few runner beans.
"When's meat day?" he asked.
She thought about the extra coupons that she had used last week when his parents had arrived unexpectedly, and how, on a ruse, she had rushed down the shops on her bicycle to get something different.
Mutton. That was different. She had sliced it thin and made some gravy and she was glad because the electric power cuts were numerous and irritating but cut thin it managed to cook enough to be eatable. His dad was impressed but his mother had picked at the food.
She was pleased to see them leave, but was beginning to warm to his father. He seemed to like nearly everything, especially the way that she had painted the bedroom. His mother said nothing even when asked for an opinion by her husband.
"Very nice." she'd say, or "Mmmm" whatever that meant.
She had not wanted her son to marry beneath himself and the son of a country parson marrying a dockers daughter was carrying missionary work too far, and was well down the list of items not to be allowed in the house. No thankyou!
"Darling?" He reached over and drew her hand to him, bringing her back from the past.
"I asked you when we could expect to have meat with a meal again?" He exagerated a smile all gums and squeezed her fingers.
"Saturday" she said. She screwed up her nose at him and added. "Week!"
"Saturday week?" He withdrew his hand. "Are you kidding me?"
"Only if MY parents don't drop in."
She cut two slices off the loaf of bread and put them on the plate in the center of the table.
"Oh!" he said. "I thought the plate was for bones."
Mary and Andrew Kirby and their sons, Douglas and David, carrying blankets, pillows and hot drinks, were half way down the garden path to the shelter, walking by the light of a shaded *pariffin lantern, when David saw something out of the corner of his eye. He looked up and went to say the word 'Look' which grew in his mind in puzzled wonder, but it never reached form or sound on his lips, for at the moment that the thought was born, the bomb touched God's earth forty feet from the back door of Mrs Miller's house.
The blast from the Landmine converted a row of two storey, three bedroom brick built houses to dust and rubble. It deposited a lot of it into a crater forty feet deep, which stretched across the width of three gardens.. The actors who played breifly on our stage, it converted back to the dust, from whence the clergy say, we came.
Houses on either side of the blast area and across the road, which were mostly empty because people had evacuated to the countryside, were still at work, or were away serving in the Armed Forces, were razed to the ground.
Mr Ibbotson's bicycle was a lump of twisted, shapeless metal, of which only the crank was recognizable. Walls on nearby houses were severley damaged, some collapsed and had later had to be pulled down. Roofs of concrete tiles were blownlike pollen from a tree; windows two streets away were blown out, including the frames, and the glass imbedded in the opposite wall. Water and gas mains erupted, and casualities who survived buried in the rubble were in some cases found to have been killed by the water or the gas.
Mr and Mrs Jackson, delayed by raid and the Warden, had got to the hospital and met neighbours from the next street being treated for cuts caused by flying glass and who gave them the news that their house and friends were gone. Mr Jackson held his wife as she cried, tears running down his cheeks. A neighbour put his arms around their shoulders and cried with them. A doctor, who knew them, approached from the reception area, and mistaking the scene in front of him, consoled the couple. Mr Jackson stared at the doctor in disbelief.
"I'm sorry. I thought-I thought you knew. She died during the operation."
This is chapter four. You need to read 1-2 and 3 to understand the story.
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