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I can remember quite vividly as a small child, standing on the balcony of our block of flats with my father, mother, and my two sisters. The oldest sister worked the whole war at the Foreign Office and thus was privy to information that everyone else was not.
Seeing the rocket stop she said "It is one of the pilotless planes", my father turning to her said "Pilotless plane, you must be mad" or words to that effect.
This eldest sister of mine worked all day on her shifts at the Foreign Office and then came home and did Air Raid warden duties.
She remembered so well the day or night when the news came through that the Hood had been sunk.
I, being so small, did not have any fear except that I did not like going down to the air raid shelter as I feared being buried and thought innocently that I would be dug out if we stayed in our third floor flat, being near the top of the pile. Living so close to Victoria Station, Battersea Power Station and the Gas works at Vauxhall we were under attack very often.
Sometimes a landmine would whisper down and take out whole streets of houses.
We went to school, our headmaster would tell us to be especially kind to certain pupils who had lost fathers.
The deprivation of food, toys, clothes, all on coupons, is difficult to remember. My sister, when she married after the war, wore a special dress designed by Norman Hartnell, it was designed so that the least possible material could be used and our clothing coupons were saved up to buy the satin.
When the Yanks came it was wonderful. They had taken over houses in St.George's Square and we children gathered round as they handed out chocolate, gum and rice. They were so far from home, some had never been out of America. In our flats parties went on every night it seemed to me as one could hear the old pianos playing. Anyone left in London tried to invite the Yanks into their homes to make them welcome. They in turn made our world a bit more exciting.
When the war ended, I was taken by my sister and remember that the bells rang out in celebration. I still love that sound now.
I wanted to write a small note as my eldest sister, mentioned in this short story, died last year.

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