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This story was submitted to the ´óÏó´«Ã½ People’s War site by ^{About links} on behalf of Margaret Willis and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

My eighth birthday was in June 1939. I lived in a semi-detached house in Coulsdon, which isn’t far from Croydon and Kenley airfields, an outer suburb of London, with my parents and younger sister.

I felt mixed emotions; fear but also a little excitement, to hear the voice on the radio announce ‘we are at war’. Also to hear my parents talk about gas and to have gas masks issued, to see my father putting sticky paper on the windows and making plywood screens for the black out were scary and exciting at the same time.

A brick building with a concrete roof, our air raid shelter, was built in the back garden with a blast wall erected in front. My sister, Gillian, remembers my father entering our bedrooms as the sirens started wailing, his face looking strained, picking her up in silence and carrying her to the shelter. Between the house and the shelter, I would look up and see German bombers caught in searchlights, weaving across the sky. I connected that sight with death and many years later that repressed fear manifested itself as a phobia of flying. Although I could fly at low level, flying at height in an airliner was unthinkable!

Unfortunately, we shared our shelter with our neighbours, as part of it was built on their land. Trying to sleep was difficult as our neighbour snored and the fearful sounds of the sirens and anti-aircraft guns rarely abated. It was unpleasant, but I did feel protected. During the daytime the shelter became a play area and I loved climbing on its roof.

As my father’s embarkation leave was finishing, he took me on a cycle ride. During this excursion, he sat me down and asked me, a 12 year old, to take care of my mother and sister. He was worried about my mother’s lack of education and her inferiority complex and wondered if she would be able to cope whilst he was away. I tried hard to do as he had asked, but my mother rose to the situation. She ran the National Service Group in our road and I would help her sell the National Savings stamps. Mother arranged our second evacuation to a village near Manchester and came as a helper. When we wanted to return home, she stood up to the dragon of a headmistress, who did not want this. Coping alone seemed to give her a strength she had not known she possessed.

Our first evacuation experience had been to Ilfracombe in Devon. The contrast with London meant a lot to me. I was fortunate to be with my mother and sister and I have good memories of sea, rock pools and the Polish troops’ glamorous shows.

I loved acting and I was delighted that the hotel opposite our house housed Poles who had managed to escape. They were an artistic group; musicians, artists etc. The hall in which they rehearsed was on a hill and I could bend down to watch rehearsals through the low windows. My mother would also take me to their shows and, excited and nervous, I managed to get the autograph of one of the stars.

We felt unspeakable joy on V.E. Day and hoped that father would soon be home. There was also great joy on V.J. Day although it was mingled with horror at the falling of the atomic bomb on Japan!

I had been on a holiday French course and I met mother at a London station. We joined thousands of people in front of Buckingham Palace. They were all deliriously happy and the lights were on!

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