My granpa's shipIt was 9th September 1943. Like every evening, my young grandmother sat in front of the radio. The shutters were closed tight, the volume at minimum. It was forbidden to listen to Radio London, but it was the only way to get news of the war and, who knows, of its end. Her husband was at war as a sailor and letters were slow to arrive. Her parents had died and her only close relative, her brother, was also at the front, but had been missing for months. They lived together, she ...
