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During the War we lived in Durrington in Wiltshire, right in the middle of 4 or 5 camps. If I stood at our front door and looked to the front there was Boscombe Down Airfield, to the right was Larkhill, to the left the huge Bulford Camp and behind me was the Netheravon Airfield where the paratroopers were trained. We were very used to the tanks going up and down. I remember one day standing on the bank opposite the house when a whole line of German prisoners appeared, walking from Bulford to Larkhill. We just looked at them — when I think back I think they must have been wondering about their own children. They had a sorrowful look on their faces. I was about eight when this happened — I think they didn’t want to fight anymore than our boys wanted to.

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