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We lived just five miles south of Croydon, not an evacuation area, but my fearful parents send me off, firstly in late September 1938 at the time of the Munich crisis, and again a year later, three days before war was declared and I was about to start my secondary education. I was home again at Christmas, having been slotted into a class in the primary school around the corner from that house which subsequently disappeared under a landmine and blew in the grandparents’ doors and windows.

Despite being just five miles south of the heavily bombed Croydon the local schools were not evacuated; at one time mine was reduced to half days and occupied every afternoon by staff and pupils of another school destroyed in South London.

I sat for my General School Certificate during a doodle-bug summer – at desks which had been moved into one of the air raid shelters and arranged carefully so that near neighbours could not be overlooked. We were instructed to rule a line across the page whenever there was an explosion, on the assumption that our train of thought would have been interrupted, and due allowances made.

The art paper was assessed taking into account that colour would be affected by the inadequate light from the hurricane lamps. Revising in the garden at home in the free periods between papers I would watch approaching V1's, ready to run for cover if the engine cut before they were past, and delighting in the success of our fighter pilots if they succeeded in tipping a wing to direct the doodle-bug away from populated areas.

Once my exams had finished I was sent away again, this time to Staffordshire to an uncle and aunt.

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