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I lived in Liverpool and my family always went to the same brick built shelter which we shared with the same families each time — it had a concrete roof. Some people didn’t have shelter and had to go under their stairs or in the cellar, and in London the Underground was used as an air-raid shelter. I remember Anderson’s shelters in some people’s gardens — they dug a hole and set the corrugated iron shelters into them, these shelters wouldn’t fit into our back yard. I remember many people being killed in Liverpool when the Domestic Science School was bombed, they were hit by steamers and boiling water.

When I was 10 years old I remember my father grabbing hold o my coat and pulling me backwards over the threshold, as I was trying to leave the house. In front of my eyes I saw a piece of burning shrapnel drop to the doorstep and become embedded there — another second and it would have hit me.

Eventually I was evacuated with my mother and brother to a farm in Tetchill, near Oswestry. We all slept in the same room and we learnt to milk the cows and to churn butter. The farmers would only take children accompanied by a parent as they thought life on the farm was too dangerous for unsupervised children. My father stayed at home in Liverpool to go to work, but after 2 weeks he begged for us to return as he couldn’t do things for himself.

After some time, my aunt saw a sign at the local coach company: LEAVE THE CITY AT NIGHT TO ESCAPE THE BOMBS. We decided to give it a try. As we were leaving the city each night we could see explosions and fires, we were relieved to be going. It was a 30 mile trip from Liverpool to Hoole and we had to pay for the coach journey, though I can’t remember how much. We stayed every night at a village pub called the Rose and Crown, in their tea room. We brought our own bedding, and some slept on the floor, others on benches around the room.

We went to school in the city, had our meal at home and then went to the bus, collecting the men from work on our way to the village. My mother made sandwiches at home for my father’s evening meal and for his packed lunch the next day. We did this for 8 weeks and then my parents were offered a cottage to rent in the village so we moved house. My mother never liked living in a rural area, she missed the city terribly, though she didn’t have to queue for meat, vegetables and groceries as the country shop-keepers saved goods for their regular customers.

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