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72                      AN EXILE OF THE MIND                                                                      BOMBED BUT NOT BOWED                           73






























                     A bombed street in Leicester close to where I lived.                                       American paratroopers based two kilometres away.


          rhubarb. As a distraction during an  tellers that her bank was busy being                   into another world. Or maybe their  trollably and falling in a dead faint
          alert,  our elderly  neighbour, violin  held up and could she have a little                 little peep into mine.               in the streets. The fearful impact of
          caressed  under  a whiskery  chin,  bit of cash from them.                                     At war’s  end the eerie  watch  night-tide bombing caused perpetu-
          played  classics  and would  have       Fleeing homewards out of harm’s                     ceased  their  vigil and immortality  al fear and heart-sink despair.
          played  an Irish  jig  if  the  shelter  way from the falling sky did little                no longer seemed  important.  Life      This powerful  aphrodisiac  of
          hadn’t been so small.                to diminish the anxiety of  wartime                    seemed  neither  long nor short. I  danger encouraged  a  live-for-the-
            My  mother’s courage, or fool-     dread. There appeared the sleepless                    vaguely understood that when death  moment  mindset.  People  drank
          hardiness, was  typical.  Years  later  frightenings on nights lingering                    rattled the throat and you were no  more alcohol and sexual  desire
          with  similar quietude,  she  sat in a  until the dawn reprieve. I peeked out               longer  eligible  for the  census, all  was  blatantly  intensified  during
          bank waiting to draw her pension.  warily from beneath blankets at dark-                    things pass on. Those most afraid of  airstrikes. Juiced beetroot lips and
          Balaclavered  robbers rushed  into  shrouded  figures  surrounding  my                      death believe in hell. Religions soon  stockingless  legs,  seams  pencil-
          the building brandishing weapons.  bed in pin-drop silence. Their ghostly                   figured  out  that  you  could  scare  lined, for exploding  nights of fear
          Much  put  out  she  hoisted  herself  features  hidden within the cavern                   people  with threats  of the nether  and pleasure. Husbands and wives
          onto  sore  feet  and  weaved  amid  of shrouded hoods, watching ─ just                     world  and encourage  them  with  a  two-timed in the adrenalising spell
          bladder-weakened customers to the  watching. I prayed nightly never to                      slice of heaven.                     of erotic freedom.
          exit.  The  robbers  stared  after  her  die. Not ever. By morning they were                   Hysteria rode on the tide of         There were no cannons or bombs
          open-mouthed  as she  walked  to  a  just shadows of a bad dream. This                      war. A London aunt told of women  that could  shatter the  ‘blitz spirit’.
          nearby bank complaining to startled  was the first of mysterious glimpses                   screaming and trembling uncon-       Shaking  a  fist  at  Jerries  overhead,
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