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This story is by Dorothy Lowry, and has been added to the site with their permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions. The story was collected by Joyce Gibson, transcribed by Elizabeth Lamont and added to the site by Bruce Logan.
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In those days Trauma Counselling were words not even in our vocabulary.

The All Clear had sounded and morning had come. The house above us could never be lived in again. That was clear.

Later that day my mother and one brother and I were given a lift to a cousin’s house in Carrickfergus with very few possessions. The other members of the family had duties to perform in connection with the emergency.

The memory I want to tell you about here is standing behind my mother two days later. She was up to her elbow in a sink of hot suds in my cousin’s house. She was washing underwear for her family and I can still hear her saying “For the first time since Tuesday I feel life will go on — I feel normal”.

For her, the real-life feeling of hot water and resuming responsibility for her family’s clean clothes was what stabilised her, and she thanked God for it.

No trauma counselling!

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