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My father was a glazer, and did not get called up — his was a reserved occupation. He was employed putting all the windows in various Camps set up for USAF aircraft. He worked at Rackheath, Attleborough, and other stations in Norfolk. My mother and I visited my father on one occasion in his digs in Wymondham. I remember helping a land girl deliver milk in a pony and trap around Wymondham. People would leave jugs out on their steps. We would fill the jug from the churn, and I thought it was a great thing. It was a special treat to go to Cromer, as the beach where we lived in Hove was heavily mined and we couldn’t go on it. We often saw dogfights between the Luftwaffe and the RAF above Brighton and Hove. There was a lot of Anti-Aircraft guns around the area. Towards the end of the war, we heard V1 bombs fly over towards London — the noise was very frightening. We had built a Morrison Shelter in a small bedroom in our house. It had an iron top and an open side like a cage. Before we got the Morrison Shelter, we slept in the cupboard under the stairs. My father and our next door neighbour used to stand on the doorstep watching the raids, and it drove my mother and I frantic. I am now showing a letter my father sent me while he was working at RAF Oldhurst. He was attacked by a German air-raid, and when running away fell in a ditch! He drew a funny cartoon on the back showing what happened.

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