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We were one of the lucky families in WW2. Firstly, my father survived six years at sea as a merchant navy officer on the Atlantic, then in the Middle and Far East all without being torpedoed, although his company lost half of its pre-war fleet of 104 ships due to enemy action. He was in one Atlantic convoy where 13 ships around his were sunk in one night alone. Convoys could not stop to pick up survivors.

Secondly, at home our house near Croydon aerodrome was fortunately not damaged or destroyed by bombing and we ourselves survived unharmed, notwithstanding the fact that the Borough of Croydon was hit by 142 flying bombs, more than any other borough, in the summer of 1944.In Croydon the V-1 flying bomb attacks killed 211 people, seriously injured 697, slightly injured 1277 and damaged 59000 houses of which 1400 were completely destroyed. The bombs were known as ‘doodlebugs’. The nearest to us fell quarter of a mile further along our road, destroying houses. Anyone who saw one of these black bombs flying at 400 mph low across the sky or heard the V-1’s deep throbbing pulse- jet engine stop, followed by silence then an explosion a few seconds later will not forget

I was seven when the war started in 1939 and the main memories I have are as follows:

Long journeys by train to Liverpool and Glasgow (which took 14 hours) to stay on my father’s ship while he supervised the unloading of cargo. Forests of barrage balloons protecting the ports. The big Oerlikon gun on the stern of the ship against surfaced submarines and Bofors anti- aircraft guns. Unrationed good food when the ship had provisioned in America. The novelty of curry as the crew was from India.

At home the incredibly loud noise of anti-aircraft barrages during an air raid. The unmistakeable sound of German twin-engine bombers approaching. The lookout for wicked looking pieces of steel shrapnel on the ground after a raid for my collection and the occasional prized shell cap.

The family sleeping in an indoor Morrison (the Home Secretary) air raid shelter in the dining room. This was a table height steel box about 6 feet by 4 feet, a bit small for one adult and two children.

Visiting Trafalgar Square to see my first real aeroplane close up. During ‘Wings for Victory Week’ in 1943 a Lancaster bomber was erected in the square to encourage contributions to National Savings, which the Government would use to build more Lancasters, etc.

Keeping chicken for the first time for the eggs. Launching one from an upstairs balcony not realising it couldn’t fly and getting into serious trouble.

My final memory of the war years is of building a simple radio receiver, which needed neither mains nor battery power. Through heavy old-fashioned headphones, I could listen to the Home Service and Light Program on the ´óÏó´«Ã½. After the 9 o’clock news each night the ´óÏó´«Ã½ broadcast coded messages in French to the French Resistance. The signature tune, which introduced these messages, was the first four notes of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, which sounded like the letter ‘V’ (for Victory) in Morse code: ‘dot dot dot dash’, followed by the words ‘ici Londres’ and then several messages which were short sentences in code, e.g. ‘the dice are on the carpet.’ A few weeks ago in the rum-up to the 2004 anniversary of D-Day I watched a TV programme in which a Frenchman who had been a teacher in Caen in 1944 and a member of the Resistance, showed a similar simple radio set to mine, his now being in a museum. When he heard the message ‘the dice are on the carpet’ he knew it was the order to start sabotaging the railways and that the invasion would soon follow. His radio (and mine) were known as crystal sets, and were small enough to be kept hidden, in his case in a bean tin, and mine in a cocoa tin. The components were just a crystal and metal ‘cats whisker’ to tickle the crystal; a coil of wire, a variable condenser; an aerial and an earth, plus headphones. I think it received long wave only. There was no amplification so one had to listen to it in a quiet place.

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