- Contributed by
- People in story:
- Dorothy Wilson, Malcolm Morton
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- 01 May 2005
It was a Sunday morning at Waterloo station and my parents and my sister were going to Bournemouth for me to get married. The train was put on a siding at Southampton for an hour - when we got towrds Bournemouth we could see large plumes of smoke going into the sky. My fiancee met us at the station looking dreadful.
That morning he and his brother went into Bournemouth centre to have a pre-wedding drink - they left the hotel and caught a tram to go home for lunch. Five minutes along the route the siren went and the bombing started. The vicar telephoned in the afternoon to say that the wedding church was completely bombed and the departmental stall where we were having the reception was also gone.
We went to my future mother-in-laws flat where the minister came and told us that he'd arranged for us to be married at another church in the town by a clergyman that we didn't know.
We couldn't let most of our close relatives know because the place was in chaos. The next morning, my wedding day, we couldn't get a taxi because they had all been commandeered to take homeless people to their temporary homes.
So I went to my wedding on a bus.
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