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I was an only child, sixteen years old and living with my mother and father in Bury, Cambridgeshire when war broke out. In the summer of 1940, my mother fell pregnant with my brother Tony, who was born in February 1941. I stopped having sugar so I could give my sugar ration to my mother while she was expecting.
We had a shelter, or dugout, in the back garden. It was made from corrugated iron and dug deep into the ground. My father was an air raid warden and every time the siren went off, we had to leave the house and go into the garden. The more heavily pregnant my mother got, the more she began to struggle. We spent quite a lot of time sitting in the dugout waiting for the all clear.
There was one night that I remember as being particularly bad. The siren went off at least half a dozen times. My pregnant mother was struggling to and from the house. Every time the siren stopped and we went back to our beds, no sooner as our heads touched the pillow, the sirens would start up again. We were up and down like yo-yo’s, I ended up getting so fed up I gave up and stayed in bed.
Bury was close to RAF Upwood so there was a constant threat of bombs being dropped on the airfield. After a while, we got used to hearing the sirens and it became an almost normal part of everyday life. Sometimes we would count the Lancaster Bombers as they flew out on a mission and then count them on their way back. One time I heard a plane crash in a field beyond Bury church but I never found out what happened to the crew.
Sometimes when I came back to Bury, on weekend leave from the Fire Service, I would get stranded at the train station, as the connecting bus would often leave before my train got in. I didn’t like being stranded in the dark, no lights anywhere because of the blackout. It could be frightening and you had to be careful especially as a young woman by herself. On a couple of occasions, I had to phone my father, who came to pick me up in the car, even though that could be a problem as petrol was rationed
When I was working in the Fire Service in Cambridge, I remember hearing doodlebugs overhead. You always knew you’d be alright so long as you could hear them. But once you couldn’t hear it… I don’t think any landed on Cambridge, but as with every air raid siren, you wondered who was being bombed.
Everyone always knew they were right in the middle of a war but we tried to make the best of it and get on with a normal life. It was a time of people pulling together and helping each other out. A real community spirit that seemed to bring people closer together.

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