In the early 1940's, most of my mother's family lived around the East End within a few miles of the London Docks, Hitler's prime target for bombing.
Fortunately they all came through the Blitz unscathed. The worst thing that happened was when Aunty Dolly, who lived south of the river (Thames), had her windows blown in when a bomb fell nearby.
My Nan also had a lucky escape when a bomb fell in Blenheim Road and completely destroyed three houses opposite hers. This had already happened by the time Mum and I went to live with her on our return from Scotland, and most of the rubble had been cleared away. Weeds and grass had started to grow around the scattered bricks and lumps of masonry that remained, and the area became a kids playground.
This was my introduction to "bombed buildings". I would later discover there were many thousands of such derelict bomb sites around London, providing places of fun and adventure for kids like me. At the age of 4 or 5, I was too young to consider the implications of death and destruction as I played happily amongst the ruins.
I was allowed out of the house whenever I wanted and roamed freely around the area. The only friend I made in the street was a boy about a year older than me called Terry Hobdale (I think). All the other children had presumably been evacuated to the country.
Terry's family must have been pretty well off because his dad had a motorcycle with a sidecar. No one else in the road had any kind of vehicle in those days.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/thegrinch/
2007-06-23 @ 10:35