大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War website by Sue Sutton on behalf of Keith Stacey, the author and has been added to the site with his permission. the author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

I was born on April 20th 1940 at 17 Prospect Street Reading, Berkshire.

The house I was brought up in was a large four storey house that had six bedrooms, two lounges and two basement rooms and a coal-cellar. And my bedroom was at the very top.

Also living in the house were my grandad, grandma, two aunts and three cousins and of course my mum and dad (Sybil and Dennis). Ten of us in total.

Many times I re-call watching the planes over-head, going or coming back from another raid etc. You heard the 'drone' of the planes long before you could see them.

I also have vivid memories of hearing the air raid siren sounding and having to run into the back garden to get into the air raid shelter, (those sheets of corrugated iron dug into the ground). I often wonder who had the job of digging the large hole that they went into!

It was cold and damp - in winter - in these shelters and we had to huddle together to keep warm. If you were lucky, you sometimes got to sleep on the canvass bunk bed. No luxuries in those days. You couldn't even light a candle or use a torch. And it always seemed at night that the siren sounded. I had to come down five flights of stairs. very frightening!!

The first memory of seeing my father during the war, was him coming down the street (on leave I presume) in that awful 'itchy' khaki uniform. I remember him picking me up and hugging me and my mum. My two sisters were born a year later. Funny that!!!!

The VE Day party was great. I remember being on a very long table with loads of other children and their parents (mainly neighbours I would think). We had jelly, cakes, sandwiches and lemonade/orange drinks.

There were flags, paper hats, streamers and bunting across the street. People were singing and dancing. It was wonderful. But I didn't really understand what all the fuss was all about.

But I am glad that I do have some memories of the war. Be it good, rather than bad, like so many people had it. Tough times.

So, words are not enough to thank all those who lost their lives.

My family were some of the lucky ones. My dad was one of seven brothers and they all survived the war in their different military services.

How lucky is that?

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