Are you on about this Deirdre?

Just a a little snippet from
Memories Of WW2: A Child in North Birmingham on about a story of families fleeing from their houses to their air raid shelters after a bomb had hit the houses but didn't go off..

The house occupiers, an Irish family named McGarthy, were, like all sensible folk, in their Anderson shelter, which was halfway down their back garden, and my friend John, was at this time also in his own shelter, which virtually faced the McGarthy's with only about ten yards seperating the two structures. About an hour after the bomb had landed conversations was heard coming fromn the McGarthy's shelter. It was Mrs Mac that was speaking.
"Oh! Moi God Shean!"
"What?"
"Oi fergot da por canary!"
"what about da bloody ting?"
"he"s in der wit dat bomb ting."
"Holy mudder of God are yer barmy or sumpin"
There was a pause.
"Shean"
"Wot Now?"
"Shean, do you tink he'll be upset?"
"Listen woman I am not going out der to foind out orl roit"
"Oh but Sh......!"
A huge explosion shook the very ground soil from on top of the Anderson shelter into the shelters themselves, then a sort of silence. The sort that you know will only last for a short time before voices from everywhere commence calling, but in the silence a male irish voice said
"Ye'll not have ta worry about that por little canary no more."
"ooh Shean, do'ya tink he suffered?"
John said that any response to this question was drowned out by shouts of most other people in the road as they reacted to the explosion. All asking questions of each other.

I'll get me canary.