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My twin brother (Maurice) and I were 10 years old at the outbreak of World War 2, with a brother (Roy) just 15 months older than us.

One particular memory I have is of us standing on top of an Anderson air raid shelter in the back garden of our house in Templecombe Way, Morden, Surrey, watching dog fights over Croydon airport and cheering when a plane was shot down and plunged towards the ground (we had no idea of whether it was a German bomber or a British fighter). At that time we had little fear and rather more excitement.

Another incident brought us face to face with reality. A land mine landed right in the middle of our road (which luckily widened out each side at that point); nobody was killed. Several houses nearer to the impact were badly damaged. We lost many tiles off the roof and windows were blown in. I went running down the road and didn’t realise that there was a rope stretching across the road at either end; it was at just the right height to catch my neck, pulled me up sharply and very painfully and I fell down heavily.

In 1941, because of the blitz, we were evacuated to Didcot, Berkshire, to live with our Granddad, and en-route our train was held up outside Reading station which was being bombed by a German aircraft (or maybe they were jettisoned by the bomber, which had been lit up by a searchlight). I recall being very frightened and wondering why we were going away from home to somewhere which it seemed was more dangerous.

Education was much disrupted at this time….however by and large we felt safer; I recall that we became friendly with Italian POW’s who were billeted behind barbed wire fencing which we passed on our way to and from school. Many of them spoke broken English and asked if we could get them chocolate, which we sometimes did………… without telling our parents we were befriending enemy soldiers!

It was deemed safe enough for us to return home in Spring 1944; the RAF had gained superiority and there was less fear of German bombers. Then came the doodle bugs (V1s)……a frightening time. One ‘cut out’ (it’s engine propulsion stopped) and glided down onto Cherry Wood, just missing a large air raid shelter, which was packed full of people, at the edge of the copse. Later came the V2s (rockets) which were equally alarming.

When the war ended we were 16 and were given the option of working in a munitions factory or becoming a Bevin boy and working in a coal mine; we opted to work in Foster's switchgear factory in Wimbledon where I remember using a lathe to make parts for tanks.

Two years later we were conscripted into the RAF (our elder brother had been conscripted likewise the year before) for two years; following 6 weeks of square-bashing we spent almost a year on a Wireless Operator’s course at Compton Bassett, Wiltshire, and finally became well qualified at sending and receiving Morse code. We were then posted to RAF Waddington, in Lincolnshire to operate wireless equipment, ground to air, in a hut which was in a field (!); there were opportunities to fly in Lincoln and Lancaster bombers on training flights (not as air crew) — this was not compulsory but I flew as often as possible because it was ‘for real’ that I was sending and receiving information on such matters as cloud height over base which was important for the pilot to have. There was a hint that those of us who did this might like to consider signing on and becoming fully trained as air crew when our conscription period ended…………but not for me; that would be the time to start my civilian career and become a journalist.

An abiding memory is the arrival of American Superfortresses at Waddington, shortly before the end of our conscription time. Those of us who had WAAF girlfriends soon lost them to the Yanks, with their nylons and abundant money!

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