August, 1940, Hathaway Road, Croydon. A nice summery day. A lazy sort of drone sound in the air.
"Ooh look" says Dad "They're dropping leaflets!"
He's pointing to the sky and I see a few blackish spots fluttering downwards. Quite small looking things; nothing special.
Seconds later I hear the thump, crump, crump thump as the "leaflets" hit the ground. Dad yanks my arm almost out of its socket as he whisks me indoors. They're bombing the Airport.
Oh well, no leaflets to read then. Never mind, there's always tomorrow.
This is my very first memory of the Nazi attempts to obliterate my town, my family and the rest of us. I was five-and-a-half at the time. Would I ever have a 6th birthday? Well, yes ... and quite a few more to boot.
Oddly enough, those early years were quite an exciting time for me and my two younger brothers. Eventually I would have two more brothers, but right now there's just me, Philip, Geoffrey, and baby John.
More to follow.....