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September 1940. Although only three and a half years old, I remember very clearly travelling with my Mother to Ireland on a beautiful ship. There were many other passengers. The older people were very serious and talking about the war. The young children were enjoying the excitement of the journey. Like me, I suppose they did not understand how serious the situation was.

I did not know it at the time but the battle for France, indeed for much of mainland Europe, had been lost. The great evacuation of Dunkirk had been achieved. The "phoney war" had come and nearly gone. The Battle of Britain was still being fought - and won - by many brave people in the air and on the ground.

The first bombs had been dropped on London. My Father decided that whilst he must stay in England and "do his bit for the war effort", it was time for my Mother and I to go to Ireland because, as he put it later, "that country was neutral and not involved in the War".

I remember we arrived on board ship in the late evening. We slept in a very comfortable cabin right at the top. Next morning we got up to a splendid breakfast and then went on deck to be welcomed by brilliant sunshine, blue skies and a calm sea. There were aeroplanes high up in the sky. I wonder if the pilots were fighting each other.

After arriving in Ireland we travelled by train to a beautiful seaside village on the West Coast. My Mother was born on a small farm just nearby. She had many brothers and sisters who lived in the area. We were rarely on our own. We spent about a year living in a tiny cottage at the foot of a mountain. There was no electricity, gas or running water in the cottage.

We had enormous fires to keep us warm in winter. I remember the comforting glow of the fire and the candlelight in the evening. My Mother baked bread and cooked all our food on the fire. The smells were wonderful. One of my mother's favourite sayings - and actions - was to "make cosy". I attended the local school, often played on the beach and went to sea in one of the fishing boats whenever my Mother would allow it. I learnt quite a few colourful words and phrases along the way.

I remember my Mother reading letters from my Father and being tearful. But it was only years later when reading them myself that I really understood how terrible it must have been to be living in London during the Blitz. At first the letters seemed to treat the war as though it was an unwelcome imposition on "normal" life but as the tragedies and the disruption became the "normal" the tension, and sometimes an odd kind of humour, was almost tangible on the pages.

It is all a long time ago now. I don't remember why we returned to England, and to live in London, when the bombing there was at its most severe. But I do remember - as if it were yesterday - the ship, the people, the aeroplanes, being a refugee, some of the happiest days of my childhood and being in my Mother's beloved and very "cosy" homeland.

Autumn 1941. Returning to England from all but the earliest months of the war in Ireland, my Mother and I went to live with my Father in a rented London house just near, and south of, the river Thames. There was a bomb shelter partly above ground. It had a few very small blast-proof windows in the walls. Every night we would try to sleep there as the bombs seemed to drop all around us.

Of course it is difficult now to know what are real memories and what my vivid imagination has created over the years. But I am very clear that I could hear and feel the explosions and see fires near the river through the small windows. I remember my Mother giving me boiled sweets and comforting me in other ways.

We were not always at home when the Nazis dropped bombs. I remember being taken to Underground stations during daylight raids. One occasion stands out. Deep below London, the platform was crowded with men, women and children. Unlike my Mother and I, many had come prepared for a long stay. They had food and drink and some even bedding and a change of cloths. There was almost a party atmosphere. People with food sharing with those who had none. In contrast to the famous British reserve I learnt about later, it seemed as if I had many mothers and fathers there who cared for each other and all the children as though they were their own.

Unlike so many as the Blitz increased, we could and did move back to our own home and the relative safety of the London suburbs. Soon I was attending a local school with a daily practice drill to get into the shelter as quickly as possible. The school was not far from a Royal Air Force station. We had to put on the gas masks we carried always. In what seemed like no time - it was not a practice!

One morning the dreaded alarm sounded. We went to the shelter. "Don't rush - keep calm!". Immediately bombs dropped very near. The feeling and noise was terrible. Everything shook. The teachers were caring and attentive to the children. But they must have been frightened too.

"All Clear". We emerged from the shelter to find a large part of the school was just rubble. Later we were filmed to show how we had gone into the shelter and what we found when we came out. Even now, if there is a real alarm sound or on television or the radio, the experience comes to me immediately. And with so much war film on the television now I often look to see if "my bit" is being shown to illustrate children during the war. So far its not been me up there on the screen.

Other war memories are of a young Royal Navy sailor, the son of a family friend. Whilst he was on leave he taught me to ride a bicycle and made a very fine model of a Fleet Air Arm aeroplane. He was just how I imagined a big brother would be. Within two weeks he was reported dead. My Parents had to explain about death. Two important and contrasting lessons in a very short time.

It seemed that the only way to buy things was to queue. I remember queuing with my Mother to get a meal at a British Restaurant. But on that day the food was very poor and we left before we finished. I hope they had better food most of the time. In contrast I remember tea at Lyons Corner House in London. I sometimes look on the supermarket shelves to see if there is a "desert" like the ones I remember. So far no luck!

We were luckier than most for food. My Parents were always in or close to the food business. And we had parcels from Ireland. But there were many things we did not have. When first shown a real banana I was confused. Surely the fruit was a block of brown rather sticky stuff? The transparent paper covering was difficult to remove. Very brave people had protected and brought this from far away places along with almost everything else needed by a country under siege.

Seeing the wonderful "Good Life" on television always reminds me of our garden during the war. Before it had all been neat and tidy with lots of flowers and lawn. Now we had a large hen house and run with many chickens. Eggs and meat a-plenty. And most of the rest of the garden was given over to vegetable plot and fruit trees. There always seemed to be lots of mud and, depending on the time of year, quite a smell. I don't remember the neighbours complaining. They may have had the same or, at least had some benefit from our produce.

Towards the end of the war I remember very clearly being bought "Dinky Toy" aeroplanes, guns and army vehicles and my friends and I playing with them and lead soldiers in large war scenes we created in part of the garden. A friend's father had moulds and would make us more soldiers when we needed them. He had been in WW1, had a walrus moustache and would often tell us about the "fust war" in a very dramatic and sometimes frightening way. I also had a Triang-Minic clockwork Taxi and Jeep. They ran very well. I have no idea what happened to all those toys but for many years now I have been looking for an example of that Jeep. We seemed to spend a lot of our time playing Spitfires with our arms outstretched and zooming about making machine-gun noises. I can still see in my mind's eye the wooden tank and rifle made for me by a neighbour.

And as the war came to an end there was the unmanned flying bombs. Most people called them - "Doodle-bugs". We should have been in the Andersen shelter but my Mother would stand at the front door and watch and pray as they passed overhead. A unique pulsing noise then - silence. "Another one that will miss us this time". Near enough though. We had to replace our toilet pan three times as a result of shock damage from near-by explosions. Almost amusing, that was as nothing by comparison with the many people these dreadful weapons, and all the bombs before them, had killed and injured.

One incident stands out in my memory. My Mother spoke almost fluent German, learnt during many years working as a missionary. As we were leaving church one Sunday morning German POWs that had been allowed to go to the church under guard were all around us. My Mother spoke to some of them and they seemed very pleased. Perhaps it had been a long time since many had spoken in their own language to a woman. At first I was very pleased and proud to hear my Mother and how cleaver she was to communicate so well. Then, and even though I was still just a child, I could sense the animosity of the people around us. I could understand why this might be so for the POWs but I found it impossible then to understand why my Mother was included in the reaction. But I guess that even the most sincere spirit of Christian good will must have been hard pressed after nearly five years of a dreadful war.

May 1945. And then, suddenly it seemed, the war was all over. There were wonderful road parties to celebrate "Victory in Europe". Soon the streetlights were turned on for the first time since the war had started. I remember standing and looking in awe at those lights. And then discovering and experiencing so many things that had not been part of my young life until then.

Of these and many others, my overriding memory of the war is the care and concern of each other by so many people despite all the difficulties. A very valuable lesson then and, I hope, for now too!

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