One of my earliest memories was playing in the garden with my brother, John. I was about 4 and he was 8. In his usual form he was teasing me and then locked himself in our garden shed where he continued to call me names. One of the windows in the shed had a small hole in it, so I picked up a large stone and threw it at the window, convinced that my aim was sufficiently accurate to go through the hole. The noise of shattering glass brought mother rushing down the path, while I beat a hasty retreat to the outside toilet and locked myself in.

Every Thursday afternoon mother took me to see Auntie Wynn and we stayed for tea. I watched her making the sandwiches and turned to mother saying "Why does Auntie spread butter on the bread and then scrape it off again".

The infant school I attended was 500 yards up the road, and even at an early age I used to walk home with friends. Mother was always there to greet me.....except one particular day when she had gone shopping and was delayed. The back door wasn't locked (who locked doors in those days?) so I let myself in and searched all round the house calling for her; I was desparately worried and upset when there was no reply. Mother arrived breathless shortly afterwards and consoled me, but for years afterwards I always said as I left for school "Will you be in when I come home?"

War was declared when I was 5 1/2 and mum and dad decided we three children (Margaret 13 and John 9)should be evacuated to their friends in Tibshelf, a small mining village in Derbyshire. We didn't understand the serious implications of war and were excited...it was like going on holiday. Within 3 months we were home again - in time for the bombing.

Dad built a