28 JULY, 2021

Dear Harry,

We had the billetees, at the Rectory yes, but then there were the refugees—a different bunch entirely.

They arrived from London by the busload in the village square, by the horse trough. East Enders, Cockneys, bombed out of their homes. They had likely never left the city before, most of them, and here they were far from home in a country village with barely anything but the clothes they wore, mothers and dads and unruly children, all terrified by what they had experienced, the fire and fury they were fleeing. And their terror was palpable, infectious. Even as children, we could feel it.

From their buses they were distributed around the village, to anyone who had a place where they could sleep. You offered our coal cellar, and they were grateful for the shelter, any shelter.

It was dark down there. The only lighting was a single bulb suspended from the ceiling. It smelled of stored apples, cookers and eaters, Bramleys and Cox’s Orange Pippins from the orchard, laid out in rows on newspaper, on the slats of wooden shelves. Potatoes, too. And the coal that came rattling down from chute from above, when it was delivered. No palace, it provided these people with a temporary refuge, on their way to some other, more permanent place for them to stay. One family, I know, the Turners, stayed on and made their home in Aspley Guise, forever grateful to you for your kindness.

In the night, the wail of the air raid sirens penetrated even the cellar door and the flight of wooden steps that led down to where they tried to sleep on the hard floor, and the too-familiar sound brought back their terror. It was you, Harry, who went down there and managed to calm them, while we children huddled amongst them for safety while the air raid warning lasted, waiting for the relief of the all-clear siren that marked the departure of the bombers over the horizon.

We thought you very brave. We were proud to have you as our father, a rock whenever the storm raged. We were glad to have your strong, grown-up presence, for protection, and learned to share you with whoever came to stay.

Remember all this, as I do? With love, Peter