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I was eleven. My parents took me to Waterloo with my little suitcase. Saying goodbye was unreal, we knew the bombers would come, I would never see them again.

The train full of children and teachers took fourteen hours to get to Seaton junction in Devon. I spent most of that time in the lavatory being sick.

Some of us were taken in a bus to Beer where we were herded into the village school to wait for someone to collect us. That was the hardest part. I was the last to be collected, obviously no-one wanted me, why should they?

After that things got better, my foster parents, a childless couple, were kindness itself. I grew to love Devon and my parents survived.

Reproduced by Ipswich Museum with Mr Roberts's permission.

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