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This story has been submitted by Alison Tebbutt, Derby CSV on behalf of Eric Sly. The author has given his permission and fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

As a three to eight year old boy for the duration of the War, here are a number of incidents I can recall during that time. I cannot give any particular date to any of these happenings and I am relying upon the vagaries of memory.
Just to give a little insight of the family, I am the eldest of three children, sister born 1941 and brother born 1944, Father was in the Army, finally in Europe, I always knew when he came home, I could smell the khaki uniform ! Mother maintained the stability and kept us in line.
One summer, neighbours, Mum and I were paying particular interest in an aerial ‘dog fight’. We were in the garden looking at the aircraft in the sky and could hear, what could have been the sound of gun fire, that’s what Mum said, and she was always right! Of course it would not have affected us, it was over in Danesmoor/Pilsely direction and we were in Clay Cross! The naivety and may be innocence of the time!
Whether that incident was connected with this next I could not say. I remember an enemy fighter aircraft (It looked like a fighter in the eyes of a romantic ‘sixish’ year old) was on display on a piece of waste land off Broadleys, near to Kenning’s garage. It was being guarded so we could not ‘pinch’ a piece as a souvenir. This land was later utilised as the location of a couple of static water tanks (I think there were two). These tanks were to supply water in case of a fire in the area due to bombing, and don’t forget it was next to Kenning’s garage.
When Mum heard the bombers flying over head during the night, we were unceremoniously woken up, bundled down into the pantry, three steps down, under the stairs and next to the gas meter!
At the end of the street was a chip shop, and if I remember correctly, there was some kind of double door -light lock- (Air locks came later and was a speciality of Flash Gordon !) to cater for the black-out regulations. One particularly black night walking back home, complete with chips and torch, I turned the corner and to my utter fright a huge pair of eyes were staring at me. I screamed and as fast as my little legs could carry me ran home, but I doubt if I got home before the cat, whose ever it was!
Whilst on the subject of ‘black-out’, I always viewed with wonder the railway signal lights when going home from Tupton on the bus and passing over the bridge near Clay Cross station, they looked like oases of colour in a sea of blackness.
As the end of the conflict was imminent, our ‘gang’ (I was all of nine, nearly, then!) started collecting wood, trees etc. for the Bonfire. Mum woke me at some un-godly hour (it was dark), the other members of the ‘gang’ were broad-casting and celebrating the event using dustbin lids as cymbals. "You’ve helped to build the bonfire, go and enjoy it". We did , and we were collecting early in the morning to build the next one for that night.
I cannot remember much about any street parties, but when Dad came home the flags were put out and the lights were candles in jam jars.

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