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My very first recollection of the Second World War was just before my fourth birthday in September 1939,being taken with my mother to my Father's cousin in Somerset in our Austin 7. Father's cousin, Ted, and his wife, Lil, were lovely people. They had a son called Jim who was 14, and an Alsatian dog called Fang with whom it was love at first sight for me.

The house was a very old thatched cottage. It had a special dining room which in use during my time there. The living room was the centre of the house, with a range and a large round table, and through a door, a small scullery at the back. There was no bed for me in the bedroom I shared with my parents, so I slept on two armchairs put together. Father went by bike and train to work in London during the week. Mother and I, riding a full sized lady's bike, went along the road each Friday evening to welcome him for the weekend- a little while before we had left home I had taught myself to ride a bike. I could just balance (not on the seat, of course), to ride this monster. I went into my parent's bed on weekend mornings when cousin Lil brought us tea and biscuits- custard creams! These were not available after rationing came in.

It was a different world in the country, and it felt lovely. The weather was warm and sunny and war was not in my understanding, unlike my parents who were 14 when the First World War finished. I occupied myself sometimes fishing for "tiddlers" with the village boys in the stream across the road- there was a shallow ford right outside. I would go next door to see the two elderly spinsters who ran a small haberdashery. It had a boardwalk and fretted porch in front like old American streets. we used to walk along the road to a farm for milk. Cousin Ted drove the school bus and I would be allowed to go with him sometimes, touring the local villages picking up or depositing the schoolboys. We would sing war-time songs, I imagine from the First World War - "Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag" being one of them. This period, of course, was during the "Phoney War", but as no bombers appeared over London immediately and everything was quiet, many people returned home, as we did.

When we returned home to Bromley after, I imagine, a few weeks, our neighbour, and Father had set to work to dig a large hole in the shrubbery between our two gardens. This became our shelter throughout the war. The top was made of reinforced concrete that was covered with layers of soil, and eventually grass, etc. grew there. We entered down a few steps and round a dogleg (this was to guard against bomb blast). There were bench seats on either side, and another at the end. Our legs dangled into a long, deep tank to protect us from rising damp. Bunk beds had been built on either side which could be dismantled during the day. It was a very tight fit, and I remember my grandfather sitting up in his bunk and hitting his head on the concrete roof! Although I remember the warning siren, I was so young I was never scared, but I objected to being woken up during the night to go outside. I think we had a small electric fire for heating, and we certainly had an electric light. We had to make a dash back to the house for the "loo" though! There could be as many as seven of us in the shelter when Father was at home, plus my baby brother, born in February 1942.

Before the shelter was finished we slept on a mattress on the floor of the dining room , getting as far into the understairs cupboard as we could, the safest place, so we had been told.

Our neighbour was called up to serve in the Army and went abroad early in the war, leaving his wife and daughter. Father volunteered for the RAF and was accepted for Intelligence, to do with deciphering aerial photos. However, despite, I understand, continual correspondence, his papers were irrevocably lost and he continued with the ARP. Every house in our road - possibly ten semis on each side of a newly built and unfinished housing estate - had windows blown out, and received many pieces shrapnel. Our house was the only one where the windows remained intact. One pair of houses further up the road were hit by a landmine, and were virtually demolished. My parents gave the family who lived there a bed for the night. They had been in their Andeson shelter, but the little boy had looked up at the wrong moment and received the blast full in his face. I recall the boy's eyes were quite brown as if filled with earth. I don't know what happened to him.

Another hazard was cannister bombs which shed several incendary bombs. These the enemy hoped would ignite anything they might land on and cause mayhem. We all kept buckets of sand handy. I remember one landing on our front driveway and my grandfather pouring sand over it- no damage done. We were also equiped with stirrup pumps which projected water from a bucket onto any small fire.

Later in the war we also had a doodlebug land in the field behind houses on the opposite side of our road and further up. In the morning, it seemed to me, every child in the neighbourhood was there to examine this strange "thing". Fortunately, it just missed all the houses and no damage was done. We all collected any bits and pieces we could find- there was some of this doodlebug, shrapnel and burned out incendary bombs in a box in our garage until we moved after the war.

There was a public air raid shelter at the end of our road, very near to us, where people went with their bedding every night, but which we didn't use because we had our own. There was another shelter- a Morrison shelter- which I never saw, which could be erected under a table in the house, I believe.

Up the hill, at the top of our road, the road came to an end in fields and woods. The concrete road continued for a distance and then there were "tank traps". These were deep channels to block enemy vehicles from proceeding. As the ground was sandy and clay the water accumulated- a very sticky place for children to "muck about"- and dangerous, when I think about it! Of course we were forbidden to go there, but, naturally, we didn't take much notice of the warning!

In the evenings Father would go a mile up the road to the Air Raid Warden's Post. From there they were informed of approaching enemy aircraft and the siren was sounded. Following a raid the wardens went with their torches, if bombs had dropped locally, to search for any wounded or people in need of help or first aid. there was no street lighting at all, and all windows were covered with blackout fabric. One night Father entered a bomb-damaged house and shining his torch on a bare leg, was horrified he would find a body. It turned out to be a false leg! I think that the people had evacuated. Perhaps one of them hopped away!

During the worst part of the bombing my maternal grandparents came to stay with us periodically. One evening Grandpa was making his way up the road in the dark to join the "card school" at the air raid warden's post when he fell over an empty dustbin which rolled him into the gutter. No damage was done, but it made a good story when he arrived. the wardens occupied themselves playing cards and doing the football pools between fulfilling their duties.

When I was five I met a girl my own age while out playing. She and her family had come to live further up the road. I believe their previous home had been destroyed in an air raid. Three of us, including a boy living on the other side of the road, played together. However, the most alarming part of the war for me was the sudden disappearance of children- friends- who lived around. I would go out as children did in those days to find a friend to play with, only to find their house boarded up. Or they were just not around any more- presumably gone to stay with relatives in an area further from London. Even my new friend from London went away sometimes. There seemed nobody to play with at times and I would feel very lost.

My brother was born in 1942 and my mother was much taken up with looking after him of course. My maternal grandparents would come and stay for a while. Grandpa set to work in the garden to "dg for victory". Part of our back garden was turned into a vegetable plot, and we had a run for a few chickens. Although balanced in content, rations were meagre. Mother would save all the vegetable peelings and boil them up in a bucket with some sort of cereal to feed the chickens. Into this were put crushed egg shells for calcium.

Our parents had to be very inventive in order to give us birthday and Cristmas presents. On one occasion I was given a coloured rubber ball and I was thrilled! Another time Father made me a leather pencil case with a zip- this was a greatly prized item. He also made me a satchel for school. The most wonderful present came one Christmas. It was an old wind-up gramophone with a few 78 rpm records- songs from Walt Disney films, one or two of hymns and just one of "Uncle Mac", presenter and story teller from Children's Hour on the radio. He was singing "Hush, Hush, Hush, Here Comes the Bogeyman", and "If You Go Down to the Woods Today". Such a treat- there was no television and books were scarce, paper being in short supply.

Thinking of school, we were fitted with gas masks. These were tested by a visiting inspector. My gas mask case was made of beautiful tan leather and I was very proud of it. We carried them everywhere in case the Nazi aeroplanes dropped gas bombs. In school we were provided with a third of a pint of milk a day. I didn't like this as it always seemed to be luke warm- yuk! My brother also had a gas mask that was designed specially for babies- a kind of tent with a window. I don't think he would have enjoyed being put in it!

The summer of the Battle of Britain seemed very exciting and I recall the weather was sunny and hot. We all stood in the garden watching the buzzing aircraft above- but not too far from the shelter entrance! My grandmother was convinced that she had actually seen the "wicked look" on the face of a low-flying enemy pilot!

In the summer of the doodlebug time we went to spend a few weeks with my Aunt, Uncle and two girl cousins. They are a few years older than I. I thoroughly enjoyed my time there painting with the younger of my cousins and going out with them to play in their friends' gardens. My brother was around two-and-a-half and Father and Uncle made him a wonderful little car to sit in out of old pieces of wood. on one occasion I had gone to meet my cousins from their school. As I walked along the road a doodlebug came over making a terrible noise. I turned to run home and it seemed to follow me. I thought that when the engine stopped it might land on me. I could not run fast enough, but all was well. Earlier that summer the V2's came. These made no sound but for the explosion. We were at tea one afternoon around the table when an awful bang came. It blew open our French door. We all slid under the table, but quite forgetting my brother strapped into his high chair! It had landed about a mile away on a garden nursery killing one person. The librarian, a friend of Mother's, was in her library much too close to the bomb, but she heard nothing! However the windows back and front were blown in. She was very lucky to escape without injury. I think this happening must have decided my parents to go to my Uncle's.

VE Day came at last. I was 9 and my brother 3. The public shelter had many wooden bunks. These were joyously carried out and a huge bonfire made on the open ground avove- a great celebration to start with. A little later a party was organised in the the fields at the top of our road. There was a marquee- I still have a scar on my knee where I fell over a metal tent peg! We had a fancy dress competition for the children. I don't remember who won, but I was dressed as Brittania with helmet and trident. My clothes were made from cast-off soft nappies stretched across my chest. My brother was an Air Raid Warden with my father's badge and tin helmet,the clothes made from blackout cloth. (I have a photo of us all).

After all the excitement we had to settle down to a normal life again, which was, of course, not normal to me. It was rather an anti-climax after all the fuss. We still had rationing and ration books for a few years. However, excitement came again for the family when in 1946 we moved house. The war for a child of my age who suffered no trauma had been mostly a happy time. Sadly not so for everyone.

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