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I was thirteen when the London Blitz started.

I had three brothers, Terry aged 11 months, Patsy aged three and Nicky aged five.

We lived in an area close to Kings Cross, Euston and St Pancreas stations, so during the Blitz we had an eventful time!

My mother decided on her own version of evacuation and took us to the only place in the country she knew — Kent, the hop fields of Kent, to safety, or so she thought.

Our farm was quite close to the RAF Station at West Malling.
Dogfights raged constantly above us in the beautiful blue September skies.
Planes were shot down and landed in fields all around.
On one occasion we were machine-gunned and had to take cover in a ditch.

My mother had thought that she’d be taking us to the country and safety. But we where right in the thick of ‘Battle of Britain’ territory.

I remember having to go to Paddock Wood to get sleeping pills for my mum!!

Soon the Government stepped in and we were evacuated to Leicester, where my four year old brother, Patsy, and I were chosen by one lady, and my mother with my six year old brother, and the baby, were billeted with another lady.
It was awful to be parted and living with strangers.

Soon my mother found a place where we could all be together.
We moved into a big, empty room in St Saviour’s Rd, Leicester.
The WVS gave us camp beds and blankets, and the various boxes that we acquired became our tables and chairs.
We were happy, all our family were together.

It didn’t last for very long.
My mother was taken desperately ill, she had an ectopic pregnancy and developed peritonitis. I went to see her in Leicester Royal Infirmary.
She was desperately ill but managed to tell me that I’d got to look after the children for her and not let them be separated. She knew that the country was in a state of chaos and that if we were separated she might never find us again.

That evening a lady from the WVS called to tell me to get the children ready. We were going to be booked after until a responsible adult could take over.

Next morning I got up very early and got them ready, put as much as I could carry in carrier bags, and the baby, with some milk and some apples for my brothers, and we ran away.

I knew that our aunt Polly had been billeted in a condemned cottage in a place called Quern, in Leicestershire, and that’s where we went.
I don’t remember how we got there, but I know it was one or more bus journeys.

My aunt, her four children, and my grandmother were living in a tiny 2-bedroom cottage. There just was not room for any more! We slept on chairs that night and next day asked the local billeting officer for help.

She told me that she could take the baby and me, and place my brothers with two ladies in the village who would love to look after them for a while, so she took me to meet the ladies and to assure me that my brothers would be safe with them.
I gave my approval and we all settled in.

It was after Christmas before our mother was able to leave the convalescent home and well enough to cope with us.
She soon found accommodation where once again we could all be together.

In the meantime the baby took his first steps and learned his first words.
(He's now in his sixties)
He called me ‘mummy’ and it caused a few raised eyebrows among strangers when they heard him call this thirteen-year-old ‘Mummy’,

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