The rain fell hard upon our home. Lightning lit up the black sky and thunder rolled in the distance. Another storm, I thought. “Father,” I exclaim, “Tell us of the time that England was bombed.”
In my English class, we were learning about World War II and I wanted to do some extra credit to boost my grade. A light bulb went on in my head; I had an idea.
The year is currently 1973; My parents are World War II veterans. They met in the street as my mother was running home through a battle at only twelve years old. I had just turned fifteen years old two days ago. My name is Charlotte, but my brother calls me Charlie since I’m into things that most boys would typically enjoy, like trucks and sports and all that. Tonight, we were gathered around the fireplace as the flames crackled away and the storm raged on outside, telling stories and throwing in a little joke now and then. My brother and I would remind him of both hilarious moments and serious ones.       
My father chuckled and rocked back and forth in his chair before replying, “Of course, love.”
I smiled at him.
“Now where should I start?” He asked shaking his head. “Ah, the beginning for sure. It was September in the year 1939. My father was reading a newspaper while I was watching my sister sew when our mother ran frantically into the family room shouting, ‘Bombs! There will be bombs!’ I did not know what she meant, as I was only thirteen, but about a year later, I finally figured it out. In September of 1940, the Germans had launched a full-scale bombing of London and our measly street was one of the worst victims.”
“But you were safe, right Father?” My brother, Jack asked hopefully.
“Not exactly, son. You see, no one really took my mother seriously when she claimed we would be bombed, so we did not think of evacuating.”
“What about you, Mother? I am sure that you heard of the bombing.” I ask turning to my mother across the room.
“Yes, Jane, I would like to hear your side of the story.” Father replied smiling.
My mother smiled and answered, “Well, my mother, Wendy, my brother, Daniel, and I had a bomb shelter in the backyard and that is where we hid when the battles were going on. It was Daniel’s birthday, I was not home in time and the battles were beginning. The worst part about the situation was all the children in our neighborhood had to be evacuated. I remember my mother telling me that Danny and I were leaving in the morning and I flipped out on her because she told me to believe that everything would be alright when I could not really believe anything.”
“And I was on my way to find our cat that had gotten out the night before, but-” Father’s sentence was interrupted by the lights flickering and going out. “Oh, well that sure is a shame.”
“Please continue, Father.” Jack pleaded.
“Oh, alright. I had gone out to get my cat when I stumbled upon an enormous hole in the ground that a trolley had crashed into. I have a picture here.” Father reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He showed us a picture of a road with a gaping hole in the ground where a red trolley had fallen into. There were a few people on the sidewalk astonished by the sight. My mouth fell open in shock.
“Oh my, was it really that bad?” I asked.
“It only got worse from there. People were starting to panic. They were praying that their homes would remain safe. Some were even becoming refugees and moving to the United States for safety. The only good thing that came with the war was meeting your mother.”
“I told your father, ‘Henry, despite this war, we will always have each other.’” My mother piped up.
Jack and I rolled our eyes at our parents and asked them to get on with the story.
“Thankfully, the city was rebuilt shortly after about a year. Some of the homes were not the same and many had to live in shelters. Unfortunately, my house was destroyed and all the shelters were full, and your mother’s family was kind enough to let my mother, father, sister, and I live there until our house was rebuilt. At the end of 1943, our home was finally reconstructed and we were very grateful to Jane’s family. Because of mine and my father’s mistakes, we had lost our home. Remember, hope for the best but be prepared for the worst.”
The lights flickered once more and came back on.
“Well, what do you know? Looks like that nasty storm is coming to an end.” He glanced at the clock. “Oh dear! Is that the time? You young ones better get to bed if you want to be on time for school tomorrow.”
Mother and Father kissed Jack and me on the forehead before sending us to our rooms for bed.
Instead of climbing right into my bed, I took to my desk and opened up my notebook. I began to write down everything my father recalled tonight in hopes of impressing my teachers tomorrow.
I began with, ‘The rain fell hard upon our home. Lightning lit up the black sky and thunder rolled in the distance. Another storm, I thought.’