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Book One World War Three 1946

Book One World War Three 1946
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Saturday, May 25, 2013

Cambridge Bombing by Tallthinkev

They made it to the shelter with plenty of time of time to spare. The air raid siren was still going, Maureen's father, Wal, had been thinking about taking the top off and filling it in, it was lucky he hadn't.
This was a time they needed it.
The last raid Cambridge had suffered was in '44, the Mini Blitz, it was later called. Charlie, Maureen and Keith's uncle joined them a little while later.
'What have you been doing?' asked Nan
'Just banking up the fire.' replied Charlie 'and bringing in the dinner.' He handed Mo and Keith a sandwich each. 'where's Wal?'
'River Lane, taking some extra milk to my sisters.'
'Uncle Charlie? Have you been busy at work? You've been coming in after we had to go to bed.'
'I've been very busy?'
'Doing what?'
'You should know by now, not to ask questions, could be about the war.' said their mother.
'I don't think we should worry about spies. It's the Bolshevik’s not the Jerries, Nan.'
The door was flung open and Wal came in, out of breath.
'Are you alight dad?'
'A bit out of puff that's all. Everyone nice and cosy now and that's not too bad.'
'Did you see any of them dad?' asked Keith
'Where are they going?'
'Hasn't your mother told you not to ask questions like that?'
Just as they had finished their sandwiches the first of a series of bangs started. First the dull thud of those a few miles away then getting closer and higher in pitch. The shelter shook. The dust that accumulated of the ceiling of the shelter rain down making what was left of their tea, or milk for the children worse than useless. Another very large bang was almost drowned out by the noise of low flying aircraft. This carried on for what seemed like forever, to the Mo anyway.
'Why are the bloody Russian worse than the Jerry's dad?' Keith had to shout. He got a thick ear because of that.
'Where did you learn that kind of language young man.' asked his mother, herself almost shouting.
It was almost silent in the shelter now, apart from the tears from the children, uncle Charlie wasn't far away from it himself.
'What's wrong uncle Charlie.' asked Mo
'It's worse than the trenches, bombing innocent children, the Hun only shot at us then. These bastard commies, they just don't care, just as bad as the Japs. No, worse.'
The rest of them knew not to say anything now, Charlie very rarely mentioned The Great War.
When the all clear sounded. They emerged from their underground bolt hole.
It was raining.
Behind them they could see The Maltings, or what was left of them. The smell of burning barley filled the air.
Their bungalow. Still there. The house two doors down wasn't, and next-door had one less wall than it did an hour earlier. Broken glass was shattered everywhere, from the grass around the shelter to the roof of their home.
Keith ran off. 'Where do you think you're going?' Nan almost screamed.
'The fire. Someone has to make sure it's still alight.'
Little Maureen Alsop ran as fast as her six year old legs could carry her. She was chasing after her ten year old brother Keith, and behind them both ran their mother.

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