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My Name is Stan Matthews I was born on the 29th October 1936,and in 1941 I was just five years old. The story I am telling was part told to me by my Mother Elsie Matthews, and part that I can recall. My Mother died of cancer on 24th November 1970.

My Mother and I lived in a small terraced house in the back streets of Grantham. We both slept under a strong metal airaid shelter set up in the living room. In the day the top was used as a dinning table.

We were woken by persistant loud knocks on the door. My Mother Elsie Matthews put on her dressing gown and answered the door. She was handed a telegram from the War Office which she read sitting on a chair by the embers of a coal fire in the hearth which she black leaded every sunday with Zebra polish. She wept and I didn't know why. I understood later that the telegram contained news that her husband Syd my Father a Private 7656610,in the RAOC had been injured by the enermy in action and was in the Military hospital in Portsmouth. With the help from Town Councillers a travel warrant was obtained, something of a rarity for civilians in those days, and with help from the Salvation Army accomodation was found for us in Portsmouth. We crossed London a City full of people wearing different uniforms from part of the Commonwealth.

Eventually we arrived in Protsmouth. I recall seeing a large building on fire which i believe was the Town Hall. My Father never recovered and was brought home to be buired in Grantham Cemetary. He was only 29 years old. I recall Soldiers standing near his grave with one playing the bugle. Needless to say my Mother had mixed emotions when in 1945 VE day had arrived. For her No husband and for me No Father.

God Bless His Soul.

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