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When I was a child I lived in Liverpool in a big house (60 Prescot Street, where the new Royal Hospital now stands) with my parents, my two younger brothers, George and baby Terry, my grandparents, Margaret and Patrick Costello, their two sons Richard and Vincent (aged 14), and their daughter Sarah (Sally or Sal), who was nine months younger than me. My other auntie Josephine, who was 22, also lived with us. She was known as Doll or Dolly because the family thought her as pretty as a doll, and she worked as a waitress at Sampson and Barlow’s in London Road. My mother and father had looked after her since she was 11, after her parents (my paternal grandparents) died. My dad was in the Territorial Army, so when war broke out he was drafted away.

All of the children, except Terry, were evacuated, which we didn’t like. George and I were sent to Colwyn Bay; Sal and Vin went to Rhos-on-Sea. It was a terrible day when we went, with only our gas mask and a pillow case each to carry our clothes, although the ride on the train was quite nice; we had never been that far on a train before.

When we reached the end of our journey we were allocated to different houses. At the first house we were taken to, a lady took us into a room and looked into our pillow cases. Each evacuated child had been given a tin of corned beef and some chocolate. The lady took out the food and called to the teacher we were with and said, 'I can only take the girl.' George and I cried because we wanted to be together.

So we were then taken on a horse and cart to another house, which belonged to a doctor and his wife. They had no need for the chocolate or corned beef; their house was the biggest we had ever seen. They had no children so they made a fuss of us both. We had our own bed, each with beautiful eiderdowns of quilted satin. The house also had a bathroom and indoor toilet, which we were not used to. It was lovely not having to get into a tin bath by the fire but enjoying a soak in a big, white bath. We were driven and picked up from school by car each day. We felt like toffs!

When George and I lived with the doctor and his wife (I think their name was Williams) they used to take us to town on a Saturday, as a treat. They bought us new shoes. I don’t think we had to have clothes coupons then; if we did, they must have used their own. But the best part was when they took us into Woolworth’s where everything was ‘3d — no more than 6d!’ I remember George chose a bugle and I chose a sewing set. We each spent a whole sixpence, then they took us to a café where the waitresses dressed like Auntie Doll with a black dress and a white, frilly apron and hat.

But the doctor’s wife took ill and he could no longer look after us so we were sent to live with two sisters on a small farm. It was near Rhos-on-Sea but nowhere near Vin and Sally. My Mum came to see us and brought baby Terry with her. We were allowed to go into the garden and pick flowers for her to take home. It was awful when she went away. We could not settle, so arrangements were made for us as well as Sal and Vin to go home for Christmas. We were very happy to be home even though the air raids were awful. When you heard the sirens it was really frightening and it was awful to think that my mother and the rest of the family had had to live through raids day and night.

My granddad was an ARP warden. He had been wounded when he was in the Royal Navy in the World War One. One night we were in the basement and he was getting ready to go out. Richard and Auntie Doll were already at work. Just before my granddad left, he decided to put some coal on the fire. I said, 'I’ll do it, Granddad.' But when I went to the coal hole with the shovel, I saw my mum’s friend standing in the corner. It was pitch-black but I could see her. I went back into the basement and told my granddad, who said, 'Sit down; I’ll get the coal.' Next morning my granddad delivered the awful news that Mrs Middleton, my mum’s friend who I had seen in the coal hole, had been killed. I still think of that moment and always will.

Then we were blitzed ourselves. My granddad was on duty. We were in the basement and my nana went upstairs to prepare something for him to eat when he returned. It seems there was a convoy of ammunition passing through Prescot Street, or so we were told, when a land mine dropped and blew most of the street to bits. We were all trapped in the basement, crying because we were covered by dust or cement, when I heard Vinnie: he asked us to take hold of his hand. He dragged Sally out first, took her through the back basement, up the steps into the yard and told her to sit in the outdoor toilet until he came back. He then came to help me. I was surprised to see that there were no walls to the house. I went into the toilet with Sally. We were both crying. Later Vin came back with Terry, who wore only a nappy and a single sock. Sal and I had a vest and navy blue knickers on; we were freezing. We didn’t see Vin again that night.

We cried and huddled together to keep warm. Then we tried to keep the baby from crying by singing hymns. We were singing ‘Faith of our Fathers’ when we heard this big bang, and then we were all sitting on the wooden toilet but the roof and walls had gone. I don’t know how long we were there but an ARP warden came and took us into an air raid shelter where there were lots of people.

A woman said, 'Ah! Look at these poor kids!' and put her coat around us. The noise of the bombs was awful. Then a policeman came and said he was taking people up to an underground part of a big piano shop that was at the top of Prescot Street. Everyone went with him. The woman took her coat and left, leaving the three of us on our own again, cold, frightened and not knowing what had happened to our mums.

I think it was the next morning when a policeman shone his light on us and couldn’t believe that we had been on our own all night. He took us to the Majestic, a picture house which we had never been in before, on the corner of Pembroke Street (or Place). We were given blankets to put around us and cocoa to drink. Terry was given a bottle with a teat at either end. We were warm at last but still didn’t know what had happened to our mums. Everyone was dirty, with white dust in their hair. Other children were crying but at least they had their mums with them; they were lucky.

We were so happy when my granddad came to the Majestic with some people he had helped from the rubble. He asked a lady to look after us until he found my mum and nana. Vin had helped my mum but she was badly injured. She was taken to hospital by ambulance and they had to go a different way because Prescot Street was on fire. While the ambulance was travelling along Moss Street, another bomb dropped and my mum fell from the ambulance. She said that all she remembers was people trying shoes on from a shop where the window had been broken. She was admitted to the Royal Infirmary where her legs were heavily bandaged and she signed herself out to look for us and her mum. We didn’t know that my nana had been killed in the hallway and my brother George was still trapped. Vin could not get to him.

George was helped from the rubble after about three days later because someone thought they heard him shouting. He said he knew a soldier would find him because his dad was a soldier. In the ‘Echo’ Vin was called 'Boy Hero of the Blitz' and both he and George got a ten shilling note off the Lord Mayor. After George came out of hospital he went away to a convalescent home for some time, but there no one to help my mum. I think she was a heroine of the Blitz! My dad was in the Far East so could not come home. Mum was left to look for somewhere for us to live, get us some clothes and bury her mother. No grief counselling in those days! She went to Mount Pleasant where someone was supplying people with clothes and food. The only place she could find for us to live was the house of a great-uncle in Radcliffe Street. I was always frightened of him because he was cross-eyed and a crooked nail on his small finger, which he used to frighten us. In the middle of his kitchen he had an iron table which acted as an air raid shelter. We slept under that; my mum slept on the floor. He said Doll could have the spare bed because she worked late of an evening. (Aunty Doll was due to be married on Boxing Day. Her boyfriend was an engineer in the Royal Navy and was due home when we were bombed. For days after, you could see the remnants of her wedding dress on a piece of wall, fluttering in the breeze, or so we were told.) My granddad spent much of his time at the cold storage unit in Pembroke Place which was the place the ARP had their unit.

Sal, Vin and Richard had no mum. Richard was engaged to be married so he went ahead with the ceremony and he and his wife went to live with some friends. Doll and her boyfriend got a special licence and were married — no party or fancy white dress, just a black dress and hat, but she now had somewhere to live. Then my mum was told she could have a three-bedroom house in Dovecot. Granddad, Vin, Sal, George, Terry and I, and mum all went to the house. On our first night there, there was a heavy raid. My mum had put a blanket up to the windows. Then the door nearly got knocked down by someone banging and shouting. My mum opened the door. The man was shouting so loud he frightened us. He said she was showing a spot of light. My mum said, 'Well, if you can cover it any better, come in and do it!' He was amazed when he saw us children just sitting on the floor — no furniture, no fire because we had no coal. He told us he would be back. He was the caretaker from the school opposite.

He came back with his wife and daughter. They had blankets, a rocking chair, cups and saucers, bread and cheese and some lovely cakes. We thought we were in heaven. In later days they brought other household goods; they were our guardian angels. They brought an ironing board — a wooden one. My mum used that until she died in 1973. I am still using that board to this day.

My dad did not come home until 1944-45. He was in the Eighth Army known as the Desert Rats. I know he was away fighting the War, but my mum had her own War to fight.

Vin joined the Merchant Nave and went away to sea when he was sixteen. Sal emigrated to Canada with Richard and his family.

Despite surviving the air raids, George was killed at the age of 12 by a wall falling on him. My mum could see where he was killed every time she stood at the sink. It’s a wonder she stayed sane — but she did.

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