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Iwas an 8 year old boy in 1942 and Britain was at war when I was taken to hospital in Chichester by my mother, to have an operation for a TB swelling in my neck.
When there I had a swab taken from my throat, as a result of which I was sent home 3 days later because they said I was a diphtheria carrier.
My own doctor came to see me 5 days later, as soon as he heard I was home. He was annoyed. He said I should have been isolated and operated on. He took another swab from my throat which showed I was not a carrier after all and I was once more taken to hospital. This time I believe the hospital was St Richards.
I was put in a large ward with other children and had my first visit from my mother 2 days later. Then a girl in our ward really did get diphtheria. The ward was put in isolation. When parents including my mother next visited, they were not allowed in the ward, but waved to us through a glass screen.
I remember the day of the operation. I was allowed no food, so I sat watching the others eat, as my mouth watered. Later a nurse spent a long time cleaning my neck with a solution from a metal dish. I was given a tablet to make me sleepy. When I woke up the operation was over.
I heard the air raid siren for the first time since being in hospital. For a time there was calm, but suddenly deafening explosions were heard, which were close enough to make the building shake. Pandemonium quickly broke out, as children started screaming, some becoming hysterical, as they tried to hide under beds or blankets. The nurses were wonderful the way they ran into the ward and did their best to calm and comfort the children. They must have been scared, but showed no concern for their own safety. They demonstrated great courage. At the time I wondered why everyone was so scared, we were in hospital, they wouldn't bomb a hospital, we were safe,there was no need to worry, so I just sat in my bed wondering why there was so much panic and mayhem going on round me. Now I realise how naive I was. Calm was slowly restored after the all clear sounded.
The days became weeks, but still no visitors were allowed. Gradually, one by one some of the children were allowed to leave. Every time one left I wished it was me. The only contact I had with my family was by letter. There was no telephone available and if there had been my parents were not connected. I longed for a visit from someone, especially my mother, but I saw no one. Not my parents, not my brothers or sisters, not even a friend. I watched other children as they were allowed home. Oh how I wished it was me. Other children felt the same. I lost count of the number of times I heard the cry "I want my mum."
We had other air raids after this and the results were much the same as the first,but slowly there were less and less children, so the panic was more easily controlled by the nurses.
Slowly the weeks went by. The ward became more and more empty, but still no visitor was allowed. After 10 weeks ther were only 3 of us left. Then wonderful, we were to be allowed visitors. The next day my mother visited me. The air raids were extra bad that day. My mother told me the troops were coming back from Dieppe and the germans were bombing them as they returned. Until then I didn't even know any troops had attacked Dieppe.
I was going to be allowed home in 2 or 3 days. My mother asked that as we lived a long way away, was there any chance I could go immediately. The doctor came and examined me, before saying I could go home with my mother that day.
As we walked to the railway station another heavy air raid went on. We kept walking. We didn't know the whereabouts of any air raid shelters. I knew I was no longer in hospital, so did not consider myself safe, but nothing was going to deter me. Hitler could do his worst, but I was not going to stop. I was going home after 10 long weeks.
In my mind the raid on Dieppe and my leaving hospital will be for ever linked

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