During world war two, as a child of 11 or 12, I lived with my Grandmother quite a lot as my Mother suffered poor health and was in hospital very frequently.
Every night my Grandmother would listen to the radio for the news with my step Grandfather, to hear how the war was progressing.
One evening while dishing up the dinner in the kitchen, she was listening to the 6 o/c news - suddenly the serving spoon was thrown in the air, and my Grandmother started to cry. At first I could not make out what the problem was. My aunt, who still lived with my Grandmother, told me that my uncle Eddie鈥檚 ship had been torpedoed.
It was a very worrying time. For several weeks we could not get any news of what had happened to him. I remember when going to the shops with my Grandmother people used to stop us and say 鈥淗ave you heard news about Eddie?鈥 and when she said she hadn鈥檛 they would say 鈥樷橬o news is good news鈥欌, but that did not seem to comfort her.
She finally had a letter to say that he was picked up from the sea by the enemy, and was taken prisoner of war. He was taken to French Algeria until released at the end of the war.
We were all thankful that he was safe.
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