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“Those girls should have a medal!”

One of the much repeated wartime stories in my family was of a night early in 1942. My Mum, Elsie Trevett and her sister Phyllis Thompson were living together in Palmers Green in North London. I was almost 5 and my brother 2 and a bit at this time and my sister Jean was just a couple of weeks old. when my aunt’s baby girl, Gwyneth, arrived at the North Middlesex Hospital. Of course the hospital would not let Phyllis and Gwyneth out unaccompanied and so on a dark winter night in January 1944 my Mum needed to get to the hospital to collect them — no taxis available and no money to pay if there had been..

But who was to look after us? In desperation Elsie turned to Mr Wheeler next door — a kindly but elderly gentleman who was not at all well — and he was left in sole charge of two toddlers and a new-born baby, while my Mum walked the two miles to the hospital through back streets and in the blackout of course.

Setting off back home with Phyllis and the tiny baby, one of the worst air raids since the dark days of the Blitz started but there was nowhere to shelter in the back streets so they just walked on. By the time they got home, frightened and desperately worried about us of course, they were both exhausted. Mr Wheeler was very impressed by them both - “Those girls should have a medal!” he said.

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