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I was two years old when the war began. Dad served in the Fire Service. Mum welcomed refugee’s into our home, until Ipswich begun to be unsafe. I have a letter sent to her from Buckingham Palace thanking her for this service. She also knitted socks and scarves for the servicemen, and I have the pattern she was issued with in November 1939.

Grandad, who fought in the First World War, was a night watchman on Cliffe Quay. One of my aunt’s was a cook in the WAAF; she knew Douglas Bader. My uncle, aged 18, was in the Parachute Regiment. When his plane was shot down over Germany they were captured and presumed lost for several months. There was great joy when Uncle was reported alive, but injured in hospital. The Americans found him and those who were left of his regiment locked in a barn.

I was about five years old when we had two very lucky escapes. A bomb dropped in the next road, killing the families in the bungalows that were hit. The blast from that bomb blew in our front door just as we were trying to reach the air raid shelter. As Dad pushed me and mum into the next room, the windows blew in. I can still feel to this day the force of air that hit us.

In another night raid my mother, who had recently had my twin brother and sister, had already been taken to the outside shelter. Dad, a neighbour and myself followed when a doodlebug droning over head stopped. Dad and the neighbour threw me to the ground and laid over me, my mum and neighbours down in the shelter sat listening and afraid, when it spluttered and droned on again — Close one!!

Us children had a great escape when Nacton Road Junior school was bombed in a night raid. My dad was on Fire Duty and helped to put out the blaze. I also remember walking with our teachers from school, to collect acorns to help feed the pigs.

I have many memories of dried egg, ration books etc, and mother very clever with a needle, converting hand-me downs from aunts and uncles into garments for us children.

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