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The end of August, at nine, I was playing around with friends in the air raid shelters at Biggin Hill, my father was in the RAF life didn’t appear any different .

Sept 1st, my mother was frantically packing cases as we had to leave and stay with a friend for the night in Bromley. The next day we were on the way to Stamford, mum, I and our dog.

We were to stay with my grandparents. Sunday morning war was declared , we eventually found a small house, toilet outside and a tap in the yard. When the sirens went we were in a cupboard under the stairs, but we were safe, not like the WAAF’s down the air raid shelters at Biggin Hill, who lost their lives.

I started another new school, All Saints, the work was so different from my previous schools. When the sirens went we had to run up the road to the cellar of a pub. We could hear the bombers going over.

After a year I had settled in Lincolnshire and my father came on leave and we were going to Scotland on holiday to see his family. It was an overnight journey and at one stage we could hear machine shots as a fighter was following the train, there were no casualties.

We arrived for our holiday, I remember it rained all the time. My mother was dismayed at having managed to get 2 pork pies from Nelsons, they were served to us hot — something we were not used to!

The rest of the war passed by, and life went on. Dad had been part of those who went over to Dunkirk to bring the soldiers book, as he had been a boatman in his youth, he was discharged often during the war having served 32 years in the RAF and we were settled in Stamford for the rest of my parents life.

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