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My Grandad, John, who is 96 and still alive was in the Fire Service during World War II. He played a vital role in the war effort, helping to put out hundreds of dangerous fires that the bombs left all over the city. He was stationed at Manchester Square, towards the West End and finished up in Forest Hill and then the ‘Flower House’, a big old country house which was eventually knocked down and turned into prefabs, close to Downham.

He met Winston Churchill on one occasion, as he walked through the city at night to meet the firefighters who were carrying out such a good job in such difficult circumstances, down near Aldersgate Street, near the Barbican, where they had been fighting all day to put fires out following the bombing raids the previous night.

Another occasion he told me about was when they had been fighting fires for two weeks without a break and some fire fighters came down from Manchester to relieve them. They went up to Ipswich, completely exhausted, for a break, although they were still officially on duty and could be called back at any time.

He has told me stories about the flying bombs. He was walking down his road one day and he heard the bomb go over and when he reached his house, it had fallen in the back gardens, destroying the back of his house and killing a neighbour’s wife and child who were sheltering in the Anderson shelter. Ironically, if they had stayed indoors they would have been safe. His own wife and daughter had been evacuated to Wales.

His own school in Thornton Heath was taken over to help with the war and his school, along with 2 others were squashed into the big hall of another school. I said that I expected it was extremely chaotic (remembering my own, more recent, school days) and his response was that ‘no, you could hear a pin drop’.! Obviously, discipline was stricter in those days!

His own life was probably saved on one occasion by the steel helmet which he wore. A piece of shrapnel became embedded in the helmet, which fortunately, protected his head, leaving only a small scar that he still has today.

He still eats every scrap on his plate, even if he is still eating way after we have all finished, obviously still remembering the days when they were food rationed and lucky to have any.

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