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When I was two I was evacuated from Newcastle with my mother to a farm near Wigton in N/land.
As soon as we had an Anderson shelter in the garden we came home again. My father went to North Africa and my mother, who now had a baby aswell, had to get us into the shelter when the siren sounded. Mr Yellop the ARP warden came to help her. The smell of a parafin heater reminds of being in the shelter.

We got photographs and letters that my father had written and once a parcel of combs and
turkish delight. After the war the street lights came on again, we walked up and down the West Road every night . It was like seeing the illuminations.

One night I woke up and saw a soldier kissing my mother so I knew my dad had come home

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