It was the longest night,
visiting the Family’s properties, pushing scared families into the
rubble-strewn streets on their way to bomb shelters, comforting terrified
children. Dodging craters and exploding gas mains amid the endless crump, crump
of falling bombs. The taste of dirt, the stench of burnt timber, the glare of
flares and the blazing orange and red skies. The harsh smell of dust and
shattered brickwork, the crunch of broken glass everywhere.
Through the billowing smoke
and dust, sometimes swept skywards in columns, Sowerbutt and Spaghetti saw houses sliced in half
as though cut with a butter knife, the upstairs floors with bed and wardrobe
jutting out in mid-air and curtains flapping in the dusty, roaring wind. Rows
of bodies on the pavements, covered in stained blankets and torn sheets.http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-of-Red-ebook/dp/B00B1CWM5M/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1358353851&sr=1-1
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