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I was 5 years old when war broke out. Sitting at lunch table with family, I heard on wireless when it was announced. Still went to school throughout the war. Father was in the London fire brigade. Uncle in RAF, posted in Scotland. Came home safe in ‘demob’ suits, brown pinstripe. Mother went into fire service too — job was behind the scenes — mainly to locate the fire in the ‘Watchroom’. Grandmother came to live with the family and look after the children.

I remember the VE day street party — long tables out in the street. I was ten when it finished. Didn’t realise the danger during the war. Walked to school arm in arm with friends. Living in Plumstead during the war — the RAF has a base in the fields at the end of the garden. Big silver balloons were winched/launched into the sky. Memories of war are happy. I accepted and ate what was put on the table — concrete inside the walls felt safe, and knew where everyone was, all together. After a night in the shelter — everyone singing — then straight to school! Tired but happy! No luxury foods, so I stayed slim, because all the food was wholesome. Now I feel that I am physically strong (have survived cancer, heart bypass etc) because of the wholesome food eaten during the war.

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