大象传媒

My mother and I, aged 10, had recently returned from evacuation in Shropshire, as nothing dangerous seemed to be happening in London. This was 1940 and not long after the blitz on London began. An unforgettable experience was my mother and I cowering in the Anderson shelter at the bottom of the garden, while a 'dog-fight' was going on right overhead. Bullets kept spattering on the roof of the shelter - we clutched each other ever more tightly - and after what seemed like an eternity, the bullets stopped raining down. We very cautiously peered out to see a German fighter plane spiralling down in flames and a British Spitfire flying away apparently unscathed. How relieved we were to find it wasn't the other way round and we lived to tell the story.

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