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I was eleven years old when the second world war started and I can remember that Sunday morning very clearly.
The Prime Minister was speaking on the radio telling the nation that we were at war with Germany but I was sent to church as usual.
During the service, the air raid sirens sounded and I was a nervous boy who had read a lot about the civil war in Spain and all the mayhem happening there.
I thought that we were in for an immediate dose of the same thing. I ran from the church in panic thinking that I would be safe if I got home, a few streets away.
I was ashamed of my fears and my school friends did not let me forget this cowardly act as they saw it.
My home town of Newcastle was not as hard hit as lots of other places but a lot of damage was done in some parts and where the bombs fell, of course, it was a maximum tragedy.

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