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My brother, mother and me lived in Watford during the war. My father was away fighting - he was a desert rat. Even though Watford is considered now as north London, in 1943 it was still a pretty little market town. Where the cattle was driven to market through the streets on Tuesdays and Saturdays.

For the first few years of the war we were not bothered by bombing but on one particular night my mother had heard a doodle bug (or buzz bomb) stop overhead. She knew that once the engine had cut out it would drop rapidly and bomb whatever lay in its path. She quickly ran to wake my two year old brother and me - I was four and we all sat on her bed - I remember she was wearing pink pyjames - 'we are going to die now' she said. My brother and I looked at one another but didn't say a word. The bomb eventually dropped in Sandringham Road, a couple of miles away with a horrible loss of life. We then went back to bed.

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