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I was living with my parents in Singapore when the Japanese invaded the island, my father being stationed there at the time with the Royal Army Ordnance Corps. I remember the planes coming over and bombing the docks.

We as a family lived in Chancery Hill Road/Lane and had a dug out in the garden in which we sheltered, it was a frightening experience for me as I was only 5 years old but not as frightening as finally being put on board the troop ship the Duchess of Bedford in 1942 with my mother. Conditions on board were appalling and very overcrowded. The docks were ablaze around us with the Japaneses planes overhead. My Father was at the docks to see us off, he stayed behind, he was to leave on a smaller boat with other members of staff to re-group on another island, the name of which I cannot remember, he was shot out of the water and swam ashore and taken prisoner by the Japanese, many of those he was with were not so lucky and died in the raid. He was then marched from camp to camp until finally put in Chiangi Jail.

In the meantime my mother and me set sail with a convoy to UK, but unfortunately our ship took a direct hit and was unable to follow the convoy, we called in for temporary repairs and continued alone, I believe the convoy did not fare well and were destroyed, we finally reached India where proper repairs were done. We were not allowed ashore as disentry and enteritis was rife aboard, including myself.

On the next leg of the journey we called into Durban, South Africa where my mother and me became evacuees as I was too ill to continue to the UK. The South African Government took us in and looked after us. We finally came to rest in a small seaside town called Warner Beach where we stayed until 1945. We were then called forward to Capetown where we boarded the ship the Andes and set sail for Liverpool where we landed safely.

For me the experience was not so bad but for my mother it was terrifying, she was on her own in a strange country, with a small child and no money, added to which she did not know what was happening to her husband. In my eyes she is one of the heroines of the war years.

My father was eventually released and returned home to us in 1946, scarred from the experience but fortunately in one piece, he lived until he was 94 years old.

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