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On a bright sunny morning on September 3rd 1939, at Bishop Burton, the headmistress of the village school informed my father that we were at war, again, with Germany. He related this to us over Sunday lunch. I was six years old. All adults went about their business with grave faces and spoke in hushed tones within earshot of children.

Of the many incidents I recall the spy under the guise of a tramp is still fresh in the memory. He pushed an old pram around, hidden in the bottom was a transmitting set. 鈥淕inger Whiskers鈥�, as he became known, was eventually caught red handed and it emerged that 鈥渉e鈥� was in fact a young woman.

During frequent air raids countless hours were spent in the cupboard under the stairs. The game of I spy was changed to determining the identification of the many planes that flew over head. The German bombers made a distinct drone. As the war progressed the news bulletins became more in our favour and I realised the end of the war was in sight.

VE Day was pronounced a national holiday, and as I went to bed that night much singing and laughter could be heard from the Altisidora through the open bedroom window. Not a night for sleeping!

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