Ghosts

It surprised me how quickly we got used to sensing whether a bomb was coming our way or not. At first we all lay flat every time we heard anything but after an hour or so we only dived for it if one came particular close.

Then, quite suddenly, it ceased. The silence was almost overpowering for a time. Then, about five a.m. the 'All Clear' went. We had been subjected, without any real cover to eight hours' bombing!

And the strangest thing - I found myself at home, or what had been home before my parents passed - but now amongst the ruins made of melted bricks where there had been walls and I was sure I heard moaning, I could see the sub officer shouting but couldn't make it out. It not being unusual to loose your hearing. But there clinging stubbornly to a fragment of burnt out wall, was a scrap of nursery wallpaper – toy soldiers and bears cheerily marching just as once I had had.

When father was with what I later learned was some sort of mentalist, they would take tea in the front room and I would be sent upstairs, and soon as I could I push aside the columns of tin soldiers and lift a corner of the rug, a trick I'd used before, and by use of loose floorboard I could make out what the grown ups were doing unseen from on high.

I remember wondering, why does this man just repeat what father says, and why do it in that a sing a song voice; I reasoned that my father, who usually said so very little , perhaps it was better to repeat it in the hope that saying it again might matters clearer on second time of hearing, as my teacher always said - always read the question twice.

Now the mentalist was repeating "And when haunted by doubtful certainty" and he paused "where is that haunted?" and I remember thinking, where else is it likely to be, but in his head of course, you clot. But father was saying "in my chest, right here" and he is making a gesture like he's holding his chest together, for fear something might drop out. "and is there anything else" and the mentalist reaches across, gesturing to where father is holding his chest.

"You comfy down there?" the sub officer said laughing, he had found me lying stunned amongst the wreckage of what I'd taken to my house and an unseen hand offered me a cup of tea. 'Collect yourself lad we're not done here, not by a long chalk."

"...and its bulky like a life vest in there" my father's voice

"and what kind of life, is that ?" the mentalist is saying with a ponderous pause.

and like a magic electric switch father wasn't himself "I'm cold, sir" the words came from father mouth but not with his voice "its dark, and I want mother and home and I know its shameful to get this way, but I don't give a cuss, I want them things more than I want jerry dead, or king or country "

The mentalist didn't have much to say to that

"I want home and mother and I want to be able to want again and not be in this cold dark fear" father was holding onto his chest like nursing a child

"oh my boy" now in his voice now

The mentalist tried to speak a few words "and boy want to want again and can he?" at the time I could make nothing of this

"oh my boy what can I do?" I think father was doing the repeating thing "keep me near your heart to warm as long as, near mother near home, its best" father was talking to himself but it wasn't himself.

On account of the dust between the floorboards I must have sneezed and as if a spell was broken suddenly they were drinking tea, acting normally but I couldn't look any longer and I hurried to put the rug back as quietly and quickly as I could hearing steps coming up the stair.

I came to myself and realised that this bit of nursery wall paper couldn't have been mine I'd been carrying the house around in me and now I picked myself up and got back to it.

We stayed there until ten o'clock on Sunday morning when our Sub-officer handed over control to another officer. This officer and his ten pumps, we afterwards found out came from Brighton!