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I was 9 and a half years old and on my way home from school in the Spring of 1941 with some school mates, when an elderly lady called out from behind a garden gate 'Are you Terry Christmas?' After I said yes, she said, 'I know your mother, she is the Post Lady.' 'That's right,' I said, and she then asked me to do her a favour. Would I mind running back half a mile and getting something that she had forgotten from the shops? I said that yes I would and said to my mates to go on home and I would see them later.
When I arrived back at the lady's home with her shopping, she asked me to come on in because she had a treat for me. She gave me a slice of bread and jam. Young people of today might not think that would be too much of a treat, but I can say that it was to me! We spoke and I liked her- she was a sweet dear lady and I had made a new friend. When I said goodbye, she said I could visit her any time, perhaps because she was old and lonely.
That very night 'Jerry', as we called the German bombers, came about midnight and the siren went with its warning for everyone to take cover.
I was asleep in bed with my brother when our mother came into our bedroom and said the bombs are getting closer tonight and the three of us should go downstairs and get under the dining room table (my father at this time was away in the navy.)
We had hardly got under the table when there was an almighty blast that blew in the front doors, and glass like daggers went flying all over the place. Fortunately the three of us were unhurt. After about an hour the siren went to sound the 'all clear' so we went back up to bed.
The next morning I got ready to go to school (which was Silver Street School, Edmonton) and when I was ready I went to call for my mates. We saw the NFS engines, the police and the wardens all clearing up debris around parts of houses which were still smoking. One house had taken a direct hit, and it was the blast from this that had hit the back of our home.
As we drew nearer we could see the rescuers trying to get to a double bed that was perilously rocking backwards and forwards on a window sill wall, and on the bed was a lady covered in blood and obviously dead.
Then it hit me- it was none other than the kind old lady who I had run an errand for the evening before. That was the moment I grew up to know what war was about, and if I live to a hundred I shall never forget that moment in my life.

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