ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½

Let me paint you a picture of the first day of war. I was eight at the time -- living at home in Bexley, Kent, with my parents and my younger brother, Michael.

It was a beautiful sunny Sunday morning. I was in the garden helping with the gardening. And then, I remember looking back towards the house, and there was my mother -- standing at the door with a teatowel in her hand, and a very serious look on her face. I'll always remember that detail -- the teatowel in her hand! She asked me where my father was. We all went indoors to sit down. She told us we were at war -- she'd heard it on the radio.

I knew at that age this was bad. I wasn't happy. Soon afterwards, the air raids sounded -- we knew it was the air-raid signal because they'd been playing it on the radio, so we'd know what it sounded like. My mother was to be very matter-of-fact in the years to come. This, after all, was her second war.

THIS STORY WAS ENTERED BY JOHN YOUNG OF ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½ SOUTH EAST TODAY, ON BEHALF OF MARIE HELYAR. SHE UNDERSTANDS THE SITE'S TERMS AND CONDITIONS.

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.