We raced outside into the night so cold,

Mother tells me I was but two years old,

The Anderson shelter was the place to hide,

From the nasty bombs of the German side,

For what good the shelter was she said,

You’re better off in Dad’s potting shed,

Or sitting underneath the basement stair,

Even sheltering behind Dad’s chair,

Bombs and gas mean nowt to me,

I was hungry and wanted my tea,

All I could do was look at the tin,

Where my tea time spam, sat therein.