大象传媒

My father, who had served in the Royal Signals during World War One, joined the Royal Navy during World War Two. I was nine when the war began. I remember being told to lie down under trees in our garden should a plane fly overhead. As we lived near Southampton, I suppose my parents thought that enemy planes might be around.

My mother had prepared a 'hidey-hole' in the roof to hide us should there be an invasion. After her death some years later, I found that she had a store of morphine, which I imagine she planned to use rather than see my brother and me in German hands.

When my father went to Greenwich for training, Mum took us to Wells in Somerset. I was at school at St Brandons, a school for clergy daughters (which I was not!) The school had been evacuated from the Bristol area and was now in the bishop's palace in Wells. I remember having lessons in a gallery filled with pictures of long-dead bishops, one of whom had a history of cutting people's ears off.

Later I became a boarder. Our dormitory was in a large room with a vast chandelier above us. I remember thinking how badly cut we would all be if that should come down during bombing. At 10pm every night we were sent down to a basement room for safety. My clearest memory of that was the smell of cats. Every time I smell that smell, I am back there!

By this time the family were in Great Malvern, where there was a large naval camp. I went to a local school, which made me a rebel for life; it was so determined to make ladies out of us. It did not succeed!

During the holidays I helped our landlady to collect salvage. She had a tiny car, which she used to put into neutral if there was any chance of the car going without using petrol. We collected batteries, and also helped with 'miles of pennies' and Warships' Week.

I remember being colder than I had ever been before, and getting a good spread of chilblains. Before school we had breakfast in the kitchen with the oven door open to get some heat. Rations were sparse, but Mum kept hens, known as 'the old ladies', so there were occasional eggs. I don't think we ever ate 'the old ladies', as my father refused to kill them, and anyway, they really were OLD.

Towards the end of the war, Pa was stationed at HMS Raliegh and then at Appledore, North Devon. I used to be let out of school at the end of term, and travel long distances on my own. It felt very adventurous after being cooped up in a boarding school. I never told my parents, but during a long bike ride I was 'picked up' by an Italian prisoner of war. I was stupidly scared, but I was an ungainly 15-year-old, and I think he just wanted a chat.

When we got home at the end of the war, much had changed. Many of Pa's Sea Scouts had been drowned, as they either went into the navy or the merchant navy. Pa was too old to go to sea, so we were lucky. Rationing went on long after the war, with food even more difficult to find. I missed sweets dreadfully.

My children now tell me that I talk about he war a great deal. I think that's partly because I was at such an impressionable age.

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