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This story has been added by Alison Tebbutt, Derby CSV Action Desk on behalf of Shirley Moore. The author has given her permission and fully understands the site's terms ansd conditions

At the start of the war, I was seven years old, living in Beeston, Nottingham. My mother promptly gave me the ration books-she could not cope with them, so I became responsible for all the shopping until 1953 when I married. We were still rationed then.

For eighteen months we only attended school part-time, but if you worked it right you could manage to get into other classes. I remember when a bomb dropped nearby in King Street, all the children were looking at it.

My father was the local ARP Warden, which involves more stories. On the whole we had a good time. During the holidays we went camping and in return for the field we hoed sugar beet. We also helped on a farm. Our reward was a lift back from the fields on the tractor.

Food wasn’t very interesting, but we never really went hungry. School dinners were a treat. Dinner was meat and two veg, gravy and a pudding. This was all for the price of five pence (old money).

We could all tell the different planes by the sound of the engines and used t cheer ‘our boys’ and boo the enemy.

Black-out was the rule and we got used to it, despite black eyes and bumps. We frequently used to apologise to lamp posts by mistake.

Not far away was Woolaton Hall and we played there a great deal. It housed German POW’s. We used to make faces at them from the windows of the Hall, we felt so brave. Later on it became home to the Americans and we were barred by our parents.

My Father was able to help the ADC. They were very polite and young. We learned later they parachuted into France and were all killed, as the Germans were waiting for them.

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