Born in a bomb shelter

My granddad was born in a bomb shelter.

During WW2.

In Germany.

His father, a German soldier, didn’t survive.

His mother married an English soldier and move to the West Midlands.

Granddad rarely went to school.

He was bullied.

The “krout” who couldn’t speak English.

So he played football instead.

Became a mean 6’4″ centre half.

Still spends his time watching and talking about football to this day.

It’s his passion.

It’s my passion.

I’ll always be grateful to granddad for passing on his love for the sport.

And sharing his love with me.

He had an incredibly tough start.

Imagine.

Imagine being born in a bomb shelter. Losing your father. Moving to the country you were at war with.

Imagine giving birth in a bomb shelter. Losing your husband. Moving to the country you were at war with.

I often think of my granddad, great nan Jasmine, and the two great granddad’s I never met.

I think of them when it feels like times are tough. The pandemic. The cost of living crisis. Job loss.

It’s tough.

But it’s nothing.

Not really.

Not in comparison to the circumstances some people find themselves in.

Not in comparison to the circumstances other people make it through.

Imagine being born in a bomb shelter.

Imagine giving birth in a bomb shelter.

Keep going.

Keep following your interests.

Keep sharing your love.

Write your own story.