About the contributor

I was 5 years old when the war started and I recall only the fact that it was all so interesting. One of the early air raids must have been unexpected because my mother didn't get us to the Anderson shelter before the banging started. So she sat us down on the stone stairs leading down from our flat.
She trembled with fear at the banging of bombs and anti aircraft guns, but I had no fear myself. I suppose I was at the age when my imagination could not extend to the real threat of those noises. But my mother was quaking and I placed my arms around her and said, "Don't worry, Mam. I'm here." And the night passed safely so that next day I was able to go out with my shoebox and collect shrapnel. And my mother took me on a tram ride to see the burning Goods Station in town, which had taken a direct hit, and burned with a fascinating blue flame because of all the sugar that had been stored there.
To me, war was a constant fascination---although becoming an evacuee (another story)got in the way.
I do remember the day the BBC news announced that the Bismark had been sunk. We were sitting at the lunch table, my mother and I, and my mother leapt to her feet, shouting 'Yes!' and flinging both arms into the air, like some demented football supporter celebrating a goal. Then she was off and along the garden to relay the news to her friend and neighbour.