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This story was written by Rosemary Wood. The author understands the terms and conditions.
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It was Sunday morning and I was wearing ‘new’ clothes — a skirt made from an old coat and a jumper reknitted from two old jumpers. By 1945 we were all good at Make Do and Mend.

My sister was combing my hair. We were in the living room. There was no sound but suddenly the window blew in and the ceiling fell on us. I looked at my sister. She was grey with dust and there were trickles of blood running down her face. I had pieces of glass in my arm, face and hair.

The blast was caused by a V2 rocket; one of the last to be launched. Fortunately, it had landed in a ploughed filed, otherwise the effect might have been much worse. One man died, several people were badly injured and many were hit by flying glass.

My mother was unhurt, but very upset when she saw her crockery lying smashed among the rubble.

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