A bomb? Now that’s a special delivery!

MY FAMILY all came from the West Hampstead and Kilburn areas of London. Most had nine or ten children, and the boys were brought up as men and the girls as ladies. I had six uncles and four aunties on my old dad’s side. One uncle was named Arthur Tidd, and I loved him most of all. In those golden days, the men of the Tidds were real characters. It’s where I get my attitude to life from. Uncle Arthur was a postman during the Blitz in London. On his rounds, he’d still deliver letters to houses that had been bombed — but only if the front door was still standing and had a letter box. He’d put the person’s letters through to land on the rubble behind the door as some of the house owners would come back to pick up their post! One morning he was walking to his job, and at the top of Mill Lane, West Hampstead, a lady told him that a small bomb was lying unexploded outside Manzes, the pie and eel shop. ‘I ain’t having that,’ Arthur thought, went to the shop, picked up the incendiary bomb and walked to the bus stop. The bus came and Arthur was just getting on when the conductor said: ‘Oi, mate, don’t you think it’s a bit dangerous getting on my bus with a bomb on your shoulder? The bus is full of people.’ ‘OK,’ Arthur replied, and walked to Camden Town sorting office, still carrying the bomb. On the way, he went into the local police station, put the bomb on the chair in reception and everyone rushed out of the police station. So Arthur left the bomb on the chair and went to work. That night, the police took my uncle Arthur away. He got three months in Wormwood Scrubs for endangering the public. He did get a medal, though — worth much more than a government one. It was made of wood by the prison inmates. It was inscribed: ‘For valour. To Arthur George Tidd for saving Manzes pie and eel shop.’ Samuel Joseph Tidd,

Maulden, Beds.