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Is that you banging about, Mary?

My mother called this up to me late one evening, only to discover that it wasn鈥檛 me this time; it was the usual bangs and thumps associated with an air raid 鈥�

I was ten when the war started. I remember listening apprehensively to talk about a 鈥渃risis鈥�, then feeling disappointed when I heard that there wasn鈥檛 going to be a war after all. I remember crying because my mother wouldn鈥檛 let me be evacuated. 鈥淵ou wouldn鈥檛 like it 鈥� for the first night you鈥檒l have to rough it鈥� which sounded exciting, and only made me want to all the more.

However we managed to get out of London and into Hertfordshire, thus being in the position of having evacuees 鈥� both official and unofficial 鈥� coming to live with us. Friends from London were only too pleased to catch the 鈥渨orkman鈥檚鈥� early train to London each morning rather than spend a night in the blitz. Two relatives turned up at our door: 鈥淲e haven鈥檛 taken our clothes off for a fortnight鈥�. When our house was full, we found room for them with neighbours.

We didn鈥檛 escape the raids entirely. There was a siren situated next door, pointing straight at our bedroom window. The Warning seemed to go regularly each evening just at bedtime. We resignedly brought down our pillows to a large mattress on the kitchen floor. My younger sister shared a narrow chairbed with our evacuee, one each end, so that the evacuee鈥檚 feet reached my sister鈥檚 pillow; she played happily with them, saying they were her babies.

Later we brought beds down to the lounge, where I slept very comfortably on the sofa.

I remember windows sticky and smeary or covered with netting. There was a cartoon in the buses, of a passenger trying to pull the netting off and being reprimanded:

鈥淚 trust you鈥檒l pardon my correction,
That stuff is there for your protection.鈥�

Some wag answered:

鈥淭hank you for your information,
I want to see the blinking station鈥�.

Then there was Lady Macbeth in her dressing gown, rubbing her hands. 鈥淪he鈥檚 just had her soap coupons鈥�.

Which reminds me of the itchy rash. No one seemed quite sure, but the suggestion was that it was vitamin deficiency, and we applied vile-smelling Sulphur Ointment. Eventually we had to admit that we had scabies. It was never decided whether our evacuee caught it from us, or we from her. She was as clean as we were, but she did have to mix with undesirables at school.

It was cured by being 鈥減ainted鈥� all over with some even more evil-smelling substance.

I remember barrage balloons, sandbags, sugar from Barbados, saccharines in tea and custard, rabbit or whalemeat for dinner, using my own 鈥減ersonal points鈥� (sweet coupons), taking my gas mask everywhere 鈥� 鈥淗itler will send no warning, so always carry your gas mask鈥� 鈥� it filled half my weekend suitcase.

I could go on and on.

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