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We were living in Harrow, near some underground bunkers which were the Command Centre for the Airforce. I was about four years old, and my father had taken me to see Fantasia, leaving my mother and little brother at home. When we came out of the picture house, a huge ‘dog-fight’ was going on outside, with fighter aircraft and searchlights sweeping overhead, and the occasional bomb falling.

All I could think about was getting home to my mother. Fortunately she was all right when I got there.

Towards the end of the war, after the doodlebug (or V2 rocket) era, I was doing a paper round. Generally they did not come near where we lived, but this one did. There was a huge explosion, huge clouds of smoke and dust. As I turned around the corner, the house that I was supposed to be delivering the newspaper into, was obliterated. I could see the wallpaper hanging off parts of the walls that were still standing. There was the smell of acrid smoke, and the bath which was still half full of water was hanging out of the house next door. There seemed to be no-one else around. Presumably the people inside were killed, as this was about 7.45 in the morning.

I can still remember so vividly, the memory will stay with me always. I was eventually spoken to by a warden who told me go home.

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