Saturday

We are getting a bit tired of these constant changes to the covid restrictions. So I'm not saying what I've done, or who I've seen today, in case I get in trouble for it.

Mum received more lovely flowers today, and more kind messages on facebook and in cards. She spoke to a few more friends, but we are all starting to lose track of what still needs doing, and who needs contacting. I'm still not much use with my bad head. So we have done....well....nothing!

So a bit more about dad. During the war, after his year in Marlingford, where he received just one visit from his parents, he returned to Barnet. Back to school, I got the feeling from chatting to him, that it wasn't a scary time, but quite the opposite. Being a schoolboy of 11 to 16 during the war was quite exciting. Bombs dropped on Barnet most nights, and he knew friends who had parents killed. Bombs fell close, and as a family they were moved a couple of times. On his walks to school, he would search for shrapnel souvenirs, and regularly saw piles of sawdust. That signified a body part (hand, leg, chunk of flesh) that had been covered over after a night of bombing. Stray dogs would be sniffing about these. He once saw a hand in a playground.

I can't imagine living through that. Dad wasn't phased, and remembered in great detail, down to days and times of bombs dropping. He had amazing recall...right to the end. More tomorrow.