This is a story I wrote in 2006 when I heard a radio report about the pardoning of the soldiers, mostly very young, unjustly shot for cowardice in the First World War. I sat in the twilight, crying because of the tragedy of the young lives lost – and the plot of this...
The sunshine of most of those previously discussed memories obscures the fact that our playgrounds were bombsites. Under the grass and flowers, behind the facades of the little streets, there was suffering, bereavement, poverty, war work and graves. And fear. A lot of...
I suppose my joined-up memories really begin in about 1942, well after we had come back to live with our parents in Swansea. The worst of the bombing was over – maybe the docks were unusable by that time. I remember this time like somewhere seen in a dream. The little...
