Incredible as it may now seem, shopping was done almost on a daily basis - except Mondays. The shops were about a quarter of a mile away at Kensal Rise. Bacon and cheese came for Cramers. The grocers' was John and James where everything was weighed up individually. Biscuits were in large square tins in front of the counter - some with glass tops. Mum's shopping list is well recollected from pre-schooldays and would not have been much different, though maybe less extensive as the War progressed. Sugar, always on the list was known as half a pound of gran, (granulated). Tea was usually Teetgens in packets, but dried fruit such as currants was weighed separately and put into blue/purple bags - a leisurely process. The groceries were sometimes delivered later that day by a boy on a bike. Many of the commodities still have familiar names, like Saxa salt, Oxo cubes, Glaxo glucose and so on. Jam and marmalade was seldom bought as this was all homemade. Marmalade was a process which took several days. First the oranges would be soaked well and then halved and squeezed, the pips and pith put into a muslin bag which would be boiled up with the pulp. We had a special mincer which delivered shreds of peel. Nothing less than perfection was aimed at. Bought jam was 'Full Fruit Standard' which meant that it had a minimum percentage of fruit, with a universal labels, just the names of the basic fruit being different.

At Scratch Woods, Stanmore we went annually to pick blackberries; another important part of the family economy and another social day which is such a pleasurable memory of childhood.

The greengrocers' was a shop which had more visits than most. The assistant would attend to your wants and then shout out to the lady in the kiosk who took the money, something such as 'One and tuppence ha'penny, a lady' and that is what would be paid.

School was Chamberlayne Wood Road School and I recently learned that they were evacuated to this fine town and around. The smaller children shared a playground with the girls, the teacher would summon us back to school with a bell. The girls had a building where they learned cookery. I still have a sewing bag made of a heavy cotton base to which was added lots of embroidery in different coloured wools. At some stage, Dad evidently thought that we ought to go to a private school. This was at Brondesbury, a real hike there and back twice a day since we HAD to be given a proper dinner at lunchtime. My only memory is that it was chaotic. I can recall standing watching some children turning out the master's desk. He was called Gabby. It didn't seem right to me. Our time there was quite short, I think.

At the primary school I can recall the reading books had different colours for each level. I was lucky; reading came quickly to me and I had little trouble spelling. I recall being reproved for writing, Kenneth Almond has a rinkle [sic] over his nose. I wonder where he is now!

Our teacher was undoubtedly eccentric. Miss Lumley, (later married to become Mrs Phillips), she would put naughty children under her coat which was hanging up the wall. I can't recall any other reasons why I have this permanent vision of her eccentricity. I once stole some cardboard coins from school and got into frightful trouble at home and had to put them back in the cupboard without being seen. That was the worst part. I don't think that any of the children were physically punished by the ordinary teachers. Miss Prentice, the headteacher reserved that for herself. One assembly ca 1944 we had a visit from some Red Cross people and afterwards several of us were accused of messing about in assembly - although I didn't feel that we were particularly naughty. Up the stairs into Miss Prentice's room I went and she got out her Black Book and wrote in my name. She then rolled up my shirtsleeve and removed her ring. After that my arm was severely slapped. I told Mum and got a another telling off.

We had a wind-up Hornby train set, but it didn't; do much except go round and round. We had lead toy soldiers and some larger ones made from plaster on a wire frame. We played a lot with cigarette cards. Dad smoked Players and we tried to get a set of British wild animals. The larger ones which came with packeted tea left indelible memories e.g. Charles I with his pointed beard; Julius Caesar with the picture of Hadrian's wall in the background.

We were not allowed out to play but could go to the local King Edwards park. A huge part of this was devoted to allotment and a piggery with a huge boiler for reducing the waste which people put into 'pig bins', [words we still use instead of 'compost bin' in our family]. Another unforgettable smell! We only went there and messed around with a ball and that sort of thing. The park was partly taken over as a kind of depot for sand for sandbags.

If there is one thing which has left a permanent mark it must be the BBC. We were primarily a Home Service [Radio 4] family, although we did listen to some of the Light Programme output. I suppose Tommy Handley was the most memorable performer in the dark days of the war, with Mrs Mopp, Funf, Colonel Chinstrap and so on. I don't think his Tomtopia sketches would be very acceptable now, but, as I said, the past must be judged on its own terms.

But above all, [and I am sure you will have heard this many times before], it is Childrens Hour which left the most indelible and beneficial impression. I could write several pages about the programmes we enjoyed, but here are a few particular favourites. First, the one which captured the imagination of so many, The Magic Box of delights. It had a magical/mystical atmosphere about it and the music, (part of Victor Hely-Hutchinson's Carol Symphony), was so wonderful to ears which had not been corrupted by what passes for music nowadays.

Noel Streatfeild's Ballet Shoes, (Elgar Chanson du Matin, I think and a part of his 1st symphony).

A Welsh serial with 'The professor' and a lad who kept saying 'Diolchs' (Shostakovich No.5).

The Zoo Man, David Seth-Smith; W R. Dalziel who spoke about films, the regional programmes - Tammy Troot, Molly Weir. Uncle Mac, [later found to have been an irascible and bitter man] presided with Uncle David Davies who had a beautiful speaking voice as did Helen Henschel, [a descendant of the astronomer]. She always introduced herself with the great theme from Brahms 1st symphony, last movement. I can still 'hear; the way she spoke the name Schumann – as Schumaan, All this was a great educator although we didn't just sit there glued to the set; other things were going on at the same time such as making model aircraft.

The nine o'clock News was always listened to. Another programme, on which I first heard Gracie Fields singing Sally in our Alley was Monday Night at Eight o'clock', [Oh can't you hear the chimes .......... [memory fails me] ... Radio Times]. [Yes they were plugging it even then]!

Saturday night was a kind of ritual.
The Six o'clock news
The Week in Westminster
A light music dancing programme with Harry Davidson and his Orchestra and the like
In Town Tonight with introductory music by Eric Coates’, his Knightsbridge March and a few scenes from London life, such as a Cockney lady saying “Violets, lovely violets” and the authoritative voice (of John Snagge?), “… these are some of the people who are in town tonight”. Brian Johnston was a roving reporter. He once broadcast riding a circus horse and was on a wire and hoisted up above the ring
Saturday Night Variety which included so many entertainers; Ted Ray, Peter Brough and Archie Andrews, Leslie Sarony, Anne Ziegler and Webster Booth, Vic Oliver, ‘Cardew the Cad’ Robinson; and a monologue by an undentified man, the subject of universal discussion. (So they followed the bloody trail, across the b[l]arsted heaf ....... An incredible medley of information and entertainment which would appear so very tame nowadays but which kept the National spirit alive when the country was in such very real danger.
The Nine o’clock News,
Saturday Night Theatre and then off to bed - sometimes earlier if the subject wasn't deemed suitable for young children.

Street games, etc. We were not allowed out to play on the street; it just wasn't the thing. My dad wanted a higher social standing than he had as a lad and he lived with this notion that he came from 'good stock'.

I remember being taught to ride a bike by my dad in the local park, but I don't think we got out and about much more than very locally until after the War. I can recall seeing hopscotch squares marked on the pavements; girls skipping with the impressive double 'swish' at the end. They also used to skip with a long rope tied to a lamppost or whatever, joining in one by one, I but can give you no info' about songs.

One 'game' we indulged in was collecting shrapnel - a daily search around the local roads; the first ones out got the biggest haul. We were allowed into the park to play where there were 2 sizes of slides and other mechanical amusements. There was a 'pointed hat', (I once got my leg caught under it as it circled and descended and was very wary of it after that), a see-saw, a pair of 'swings' where you faced each other and worked up a swinging motion by pushing hard on the pedals. One of these had an unfavourite end as the chain seemed to be too long and hit the back of the head. Also a kind of horse with about six sets all facing one way and again a rocking motion had to be set up.

There was a swimming baths but I think it was closed during the War.

We played with marbles a lot. They were called 'miggies'. Cigarette cards were also 'played'. This involved flicking them onto the ground and if yours touched another's you then won it. We used to go about with packs of dog-eared 'ciggies' (a WW1 term, not one we used as far as I recall), ready to play at any time - until the craze died down for a while.

When I was about 8, (1942) we joined the choir at the local C of E church. It became a focus of our social life and was somewhere to go on Sunday - pre TV and family car days. There were about 30 of us under the benevolent Mr George Vidler, supplemented by (mainly) young men who came home on leave from the services for time to time. Their uniforms were impressive. Choir practice was always on a Friday, two services on Sunday, three on feast days which included choral Holy Communion. The Gregory brothers were head boys, and got 2/6d, (12.5p) every quarter, the rest of us got 1/6d, (7.5p), a lot of pocket money for those days. I don't think that carol singing round the streets with a piano on a trolley started until after the war. We were taken for treats to the to the annual pantomime at the Richmond theatre. That meant a bag of sweets as well, provided from Canada.

Initially, my brother and I were evacuated to a house in Ross Road, Abergavenny, occupied by a couple and their baby son. Dad's mother came from there and we still had some relatives there at that time, I believe.

We had slept in a three quarter bed, but, used to sleeping alone we fought and argued and eventually were put into the double bed. I remember being surprised to see the couple in it one morning and wondered how they managed to sleep in such a small bed. It now seems very unjust, but I suppose that they were paid for looking after us. Memories of the milkman with his horse and cart and churn, the milk being drawn off using a long ladle - a pint or half pint as required and poured into the jug which you took to bring the milk back home.

We were there when I had my sixth birthday, 1940. I remember so very clearly having breakfast and the presents being opened, I was too young and naive to understand that I was cheated, the baby having far more presents given to him than I had. Immediately opposite the house was common land going up to the Little Skirrid. We were often out there playing - one night in Summer until it was dark; really exciting being up so late!

We were sent to the local school and I recall a plane coming over so low that the pilot was clearly seen. There were only one or two classrooms. One day we were all sent away from school, to different houses, (air raid exercise, I suppose), and we got playing with some matches. Punishment followed as the lady told the school about it. That was unjust as she was supposed to have been in charge.

Along from the house in Ross Road was a Morgan family, related to my dad, I believe. Old Mr Morgan said it was quite alright to go and pick apples from the field opposite the town park, (outside of which, incidentally was an old [WW1?] tank which we clambered all over and played in). One evening my brother and me went to the field and picked a lot of apples. A man suddenly appeared and we were in trouble. He made us throw all of the apples away into a far part of the field which was a mass of tall thistles. As luck would have it, my brother had a cocoa tin, (about the size of a standard baked bean tin, say) with him and he had put two apples in it; so we were not entirely disappointed. Old Mr Morgan didn't want to hear about our life and hard times when we went to see him on the way home.

After the abortive evacuation my brother and me spent two long summers in the Forest of Dean with relatives of an uncle. We stayed in a cottage at Yorkley Slad, Blakeney right on the edge of the Forest. Nearby was the local chain-store, the Williams and Cotton shop.

The cottage owner was a widow and took a dislike to me. I got into fearful trouble for putting a dirty glass into the bucket used for drawing water from the well and she was very severe with me when I absent-mindedly slapped my brother on the back the day after he had been sunburned.

One time I wasn't to pleased with her either; we used to go mushrooming and one lot was condemned as 'horse mushrooms'. But I later found them eating them for supper.

Separated from the cottage was a bungalow occupied by the Snook family. Madge was a very house-proud woman and you had to take your shoes off when you went in. Her husband was a miner, (who later shot himself), and they had a son. Gordon, older than me and my brother, taught us a lot about country life and knew his way about the Forest. We did all the usual things that boys get up to; bathing in a small river, Blackpool Brook - now a picnic area, litter et al., tying knots in the tops of young fir trees, gobbing on ground beetles, saying 'spit blood or die', making the beetle give out a red fluid.

We spent a lot of time at a local pond called Ned's Top. This had a wealth of fish, newts and salamanders. There were always dragonflies around and we believed these creatures to be dangerous, so we spent a lot of time fruitlessly flailing at the with bracken.

A couple of times we walked to the River near to where the now-demolished Severn rail bridge was, towering above us whilst we waited for a steam train to go over it.

I also recall walking along a railway track to Lydney and seeing a man trying to bathe in the Severn, he came out absolutely covered from tip to toe in the oily mud and then gave himself a mud bath. Another long walk was to Soudley ponds. We passed through a decaying part of the Forest and had great fun pushing down the slender dead trees .We found a slow worm at Soudley - and it had to be killed, such was the thinking of those days.

And the disappointment of a walk to Speech House. I had been suitably primed about its history and meaning, but it was used as a hotel and the likes of us weren't allowed anywhere near it.

Our uncle had another cousin, Cousin Amos' - who lived at Blakeney, a tidy walk from the cottage. I clearly recall going across the wooden 'donkey bridge' and up to Amos's cottage where his garden which reached down the hill was full of roses and he explained about grafting. He might have been one of the charcoal burners whose a huge carefully laid piles of wood were dotted about the Forest. His wife was a strange woman. Another trip was to a huge rock which jutted out of the side of a hill, Rock of Ages it was called. Once we lit a fire at the base of a tree just inside the forest and got a real telling off because the smoke was spotted by one of the several watch tower guards. A stupid thing to have done, but that's childhood.

More about wartime food. We ate porridge in the winter. It either had the cream from the top of the milk + sugar or treacle. We ate a lot of sweet 'bread and milk' too. [Our children, born in the 60's refused to eat it; likewise rabbit stew, but then our daughter had been brought up on Benjamin Bunny or whatever].

We loved rabbit - especially enjoying the process for darkening the gravy, making caramel with sugar in a spoon put over the gas until it liquefied. Rabbit always had chopped parsley added to the broth. We were particularly fond of the rabbit's kidneys. Sounds horrible now, doesn't it?

Grandma who lived just round the corner, always made a brawn at Christmas from a pig’s head. She had been in service, and so, like the jam and marmalade making, it had to be done properly. I I must confess that I still make one every Christmas; a vile procedure - but after a few days and the memory has faded - one of my favourite delicacies.

Well, that's about it. I hope you achieve whatever you are studying for, which must be quite an important thing for you to have advertised in the Daily Mail. It's is not my paper; my Mum who is now 90 takes it and I just happened to spot your effort.