I was three years old when World War Two started, wrote Barrie Markham Rhodes. I lived with my parents in west Leeds, where they had a small greengrocery business. This was almost next to a large munitions works and the neighbourhood lived in dread of the Luftwaffe finding it.

Somehow, they never seemed to be able to locate it accurately enough to bomb the locality, even though they often flew overhead to and from bombing raids on Manchester and Liverpool.

Our home air raid shelter was our cellar, where the roof had been reinforced with lengths of tramline and corrugated steel sheeting. The cellar walls of our small terrace had had a patch of bricks removed and then replaced, using a very weak mortar mix.

This was in case people were trapped in the basements if the above-ground property was destroyed by bombs. The weakened brickwork could be easily kicked or knocked out, allowing those trapped to move to the adjacent cellar and, if necessary, right along the terrace. Luckily, we never had to use this facility!

In our cellar we had a single gas ring on which permanently rested a large cast iron pan with lid. This pan always contained fresh rabbit stew. As our little shop was also a game dealership, we had ready access to a supply of rabbits.

One of my clearest memories is the aroma of bubbling rabbit stew, which wafted around us as we sought refuge in the cellar when the air raid sirens sounded. Rabbit stew remains one of my favourite meals to this day. The stew was to ensure that we would have nutritious and filling food should we be in the air raid shelter for any length of time.

We also had a good supply of warm blankets. I can't remember what we had by way of furniture (seating, beds, etc) in the cellar.

About a year into the war my father was called up for army service. As I had a brother by then, my mother had her hands full, with the shop to run single-handed, so I spent lengthy periods of time living with my granny in south Leeds.

Eventually, my mother had to give up the shop and we moved a couple of miles away to a big old, draughty house, with stone flag floors. The 'hot water supply' was a set pot (or 'copper') in the kitchen corner, under which a coal fire had to be lit. Our main heating and cooking was by an ancient, cast iron 'Yorkist' range.

We took our weekly baths in a zinc bath in front of the fire. On such occasions the set pot had to be fired up to supply enough hot water. The hot water was transported to the bath by means of a ladling can, which locally was known as a 'piggin'.

Our bedrooms were excruciatingly cold. To counter this, we used to warm a brick in the oven of the 'Yorkist' range, wrap it in an old jumper or cardigan and take it to bed with us as a 'hot water bottle'. The brick used to retain its heat for a long time and kept our toes warm and cosy.

The problem was that, once the brick had cooled, there was a tendency for it to be pushed or kicked out of the bed and the resulting crash as it hit the floor would waken up everyone in the house. Some nights, bricks could be kicked out of three different beds at intervals!

I can remember going about a mile and a half to primary school (on foot, of course) with my little 'Mickey Mouse' gas mask in a cardboard box slung over my shoulder. At school we were encouraged to collect and bring in newspapers and jam jars as 'salvage' - our childhood contribution to the war effort.

When victory in Europe came (VE Day 1945) we had a street party. I can't remember what we did for VJ (Victory over Japan) Day in 1945. My father (who had lost the sight of an eye in the war) came home.

A mature Barrie Markam Rhodes aged 62 in 1999.