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I was born in 1935. My father was William Darling, a farmer; my mother’s name was Beatrice.

At the outbreak of war I was living at Gunner’s Vale Farm, which was located in between Wolviston and Elwick, with my parents, my sisters Dorothy (18), Jean (15) and my uncle Willie, who was in his early 20s. (He had come to live with us after his mother died. His three sisters had gone to live with other members of the family.)

As a precaution against air raids, my father had constructed a shelter. This was simply a hole in the ground covered by corrugated iron with soil on top. Inside were two bunks.

About a quarter of a mile away was a searchlight station. On the night of 19/20th June the Germans mounted a raid on Hartlepool. The siren sounded and everyone (including the family next door) eventually went in the shelter. My mother had wanted to stay indoors and take refuge under the stairs. It’s a good job my father managed to persuade her otherwise, because the house took a direct hit. If she’d had her way we’d have all been killed.

At the height of the raid — we always thought the real target was the searchlight station — my uncle Willie and the man from next door, George Garbutt, couldn’t resist the urge to take a closer look at what was going on and left the shelter. Their curiosity was rewarded with shrapnel wounds apiece, which saw them both in hospital the next day.

I woke up in the middle of the night on the makeshift bed and didn’t know where I was. Apparently I asked why there was soil in my bed!

When the ‘all clear’ was sounded all there was left of the house was one wall and a fireplace, so we went to live at my aunt’s house in Sedgefield. We got a lift there from our neighbour, Mr Skeen, who was the landlord of the Red Lion pub. When we arrived my aunt was in a dreadful state because she thought we’d all been killed in the raid. There wasn’t enough room for my uncle Willie, though, so he went to stay with his fiancee’s family in Kirklevington.

I had started school in Wolviston after Easter, but for the whole time we were in Sedgefield nobody bothered to ask, so I didn’t go to school at all. We stayed there for three months then moved to a house next to the Red Lion public house in Dalton Piercy. It had been the original Red Lion pub and I remember it still had a bar and numbers on the doors. My father was a special constable there but kept his hand in at farming by helping out at other farms. I liked living there because there were lots of other children for me to play with.

I went to school again, but one day a bomb dropped on the main road about two hundred yards away, which left a huge crater. No traffic could get through and, as it was on the route, I couldn’t go to school for a month until repairs were effected. I had to take my gas mask with me to school for whole year. We also had to practice going in twos into the large shelter in the school garden when the headmaster blew his whistle (which was supposed to simulate the air-raid siren.)

Two years later we again moved to Sedgefield, where my father took over the running of Hopper House Farm. My mother was pleased because she was near her sister again. About that time my sister Dorothy was called up into the air force. It was a real change for her after working as a clerk at ICI, but she loved it. She had a very responsible job in air traffic control. She got engaged to a pilot called Ronnie from London. Unfortunately he was shot down and killed, and I remember her being very upset. (She later met a Scots lad, John Watt, who was in the service, and married him.)

When I was 9 years old we moved back to Wolviston, where my father took over Stob House Farm. A German prisoner of war called Herman (Herman the German) used to help him out. I used to take him tea sometimes. He would always say hello to me and smile but I was frightened of him because of the bombing. So, I would give the tea - and then run away! When she was home Dorothy, who knew a bit of German, used to speak to him. She told us that he hated the war and wanted to get back to his family.

When peace came I cannot remember any great celebrations, but I knew it was over because my sister Dorothy came home.

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