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You asked specifically for anecdotes about the build up to DDay.

My sister and I were evacuated from London with our school (West Ham High School for Girls) in 1939 and were sent first to Brentwood, Essex, then in March 1941 we all moved down to Truro, Cornwall (which was rather like a foreign country to us).

By 1943 we were well established and living with a very kind family (with whom we still keep in touch to this day). Our parents remained in London throughout the war, but visited us as often as they could. They expected to come down in summer 1943 for their annual holiday, but by then Cornwall was a restricted area. This applied, I believe, to various parts of the country where troops were being assembled for DDay. We were only too aware of the build-up as there were convoys of soldiers everywhere, including many GIs. So in theory it was going to be impossible for our parents to come.

However, they were determined - and game! Our foster father knew a farming family a little way out of Truro (near Feock)
and they agreed to take my parents in for the two weeks of their holiday. In order to do this, Mum and Dad had to 'sign on' as agricultural workers and were then given permission to travel.

My father was a businessman, more at home in a bowler hat and smart city suit than gardening clothes, my mother a kind, busy housewife - but definitely a 'townie'. However, they had both done their share of fire-watching in the East End, and put out incendiary bombs; my father had also trained as an auxiliary fireman, so both were intrepid. They arrived at the farm, which had no internal plumbing and no electricity - oil lamps provided all the light.

Although the farmer did not really expect them to do much, my father felt that he was duty bound to work on the farm and spent many days hoeing carrots - and at one point weeding them by hand down on hands and knees! (which is how he really preferred to cut the grass in our garden at home). This provided much amusement for the entire household.

After their day's work, my parents then walked into Truro to spend time with us. They did this for their entire summer holiday, before returning to London.

At the time we thought it was a great lark, but looking back now my sister and I realise how hard it must have been for our parents and how much it meant to them to be able to come down to see us.

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