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This story has been submitted to the People’s War website by Peter Quinn of the Lancs. ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½ Guard and has been added to the site with Mr Whiteley‘s permission.

At four years of age, whilst attending the V E Day Party, I was delighted to be presented with, along with an apple and a flag, a wonderful yellow, sausage shaped, balloon. I had never seen a balloon before and was as proud as punch to have one of my very own. All the photos of the day show me proudly clinging onto my balloon.
The only problem was, I had to find a place to hide it from my horrible older brother Fred. Since I was crafty little character, I hit on the idea of hiding it in the rose bush in our back garden, reasoning that the thorns would stop my brother from getting it. A couple of hours later, I went back to looking for it and it had disappeared! Only a few shreds of yellow rubber remnants were left hanging from a branch. I’d never seen a balloon before, so I’d no idea where it had gone! Ten years later, at the age of fourteen, I suddenly realised what had happened to it. Until then I had always put it down as one of life’s great mysteries.

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