IN the late war I was working with a married friend who had a small
son, three years of age. Her husband was in the Navy. We were working
in a T.N.T. shell factory in Kent. Her husband had been on leave and
had returned to his duty. She was very depressed because she had a
feeling that something was going to happen. I cheered her as best I
could. One night (we were working nights), I was put to work in a
large shell store by myself. I heard the door open, as I thought to
admit the night foreman, but as no one came in, I looked round, and,
to my horror, I saw my friend's husband in full naval clothes, with
no hat on, and his little son in front of him with arms held out. I
rushed to the door, thinking something had happened, but I found no
one there. Sixteen hours later my friend had news to say her husband
had been drowned off the Irish Coast, and, two days later her little
son caught his night clothes alight in front of the fire and died in
hospital from the shock of the burns.