My dad was a kid in London in WWII. I'm only in my late 40s, but he was in his 40s when I was born, so it's a long chain.

And we have a related WW2 story. My grandfather was an air raid warden, meaning he was out in the streets when the bombs were dropping to get people to safety (I wish I had an ounce of that sort of bravery). He told me once he was inspecting a house and the floor gave way and he literally landed on top of an unexploded bomb!

They also lost four houses in the bombings. My dad had all kinds of crazy stories like sleeping on the Underground platform during a raid and getting woken up by commuters stumbling over him on the way to work the next morning.

So I guess we're lucky our ancestors made it out of there alive.