One of the memories of Mrs Kathleen Burdett (nee Hinde) who was born in London in 1940.

We lived in Popham Street in Islington, London N 1. We resided in a block of flats called Cornwall Cottages. There were four sets of these cottages and the other three were called Edinburgh, Queens and Albany Cottages.

These cottages formed the one side of Popham Street and another big block of flats called Quinn Buildings formed half of the other side of the street (we were to move there later in our lives). Also on the other side of the street were a few shops, a coal shop, a small grocers shop called Charlie Baily's and at the very bottom of the street was a sweet shop called Mary's.

There was a fish and chip shop called 'Stapletons' at the bottom of Popham Street. There we got one pennyworth of crackling. These were the bits that came off the batter when the fish was cooked and this was put into newspaper, as was the fish and chips. It always tasted better in newspaper. It never tasted the same once they started to use clean paper, hygiene and health and safety, but not so tasty.

The remainder of the street was debris due to the street being bombed. The debris we called the 'Green Hill'. We used to play 'wars' on the Green Hill. There wasn't a bit of grass or green to be seen, just rubble and debris. It was here that we used to have our fires for Guy Fawkes night.

The so-called Cottages were like the Green Hill, no resemblance at all as to how a cottage should look. They each had great arches for an entrance. There had been iron gates but these had been taken for the war effort. There were no iron gates, railings or spikes of any sort left anywhere.

Inside the gates were two large flights of concrete stairs, which led to the landings, four of them. They were very frightening to me and I always thought that I would fall through the steps as there were very big gaps in between each stair.

Each landing had lots of flats all the way around the landings and people had washing lines hung across from one balcony to the other, each person had their own line. We used to have some lovely warm summers then but we also had some very bad winters. In the winter we would have the family's outdoor coats on the bed, my Father's greatcoat, from the Air Force was the warmest.

My Nan, my sister and I all slept in the same bedroom but my Nan and I shared the same bed. I can remember coming home from school when I was still in the infants and my Nan having a glass of lemonade and a piece of Swiss roll ready for me. We would sit and have our tea together, a lovely memory. My Nan was the person who brought me up, my mother always worked, so my Nan and me were very close.

The road down Popham Street was cobbled, and when the traders with their wares, and their horses and carts came, the sound of the horses hooves on the cobblestones was a comforting sound.

It was 1940 and the war had been going on for over a year. My Father was in the Air Force. My first recollection of my father was when I was about four years old. There was a knock on the door and I followed my Nan to open it, I saw this man in a blue uniform. I looked up and up, it seemed to go on forever. The man was wearing a blue airman's uniform, and I knew who he was. I shouted to my Mum 'It's Daddy'.

He must have got leave, or furlough as it was called. I thought he was so tall, he was in fact only 5' 5'. We had a party when my Dad came out of the forces. We had quite a few parties over the years. My Mum used to play the piano, she was self-taught, and she could play a good party tune. We used to call them 'knees ups', as opposed to parties.

Nine times out of ten someone would have a bundle, meaning a fight, between some husband and wife or other person. I remember one time my Dad coming home with a lot of parachute material. My Mum made it up into two dresses for my sister Pat and I. It had flair to it, as you can imagine.

I remember a fire one night, at the back of our flats in Britannia Row there was a factory. It must have been hit by an incendiary bomb, the whole place was alight and there was smoke and flames, lots of people scurrying about. It was so close to our flats we could have all gone up in flames, but my Dad and other people all got together until the firemen came and helped to put it out.

We were all evacuated to the local hall. In our block, there were several flats that had been converted into shelters - these were all shored up with wooden beams. When there was a blitz on London the sirens would go, and we would be woken from our sleep and taken in our pyjamas to the shelter, wrapped up in our blankets from our beds and there we would spend the time, with our neighbours, until the 'All Clear' came for us to go back home.

Then came the time to see if we had a home to go to or if it had been bombed. The bottom end of the flats was gone, hence the debris, which was to be named the 'Green Hill'.

I can remember many years later, being at Canvey Island on holiday with my husband's family, and hearing the sirens that we heard in the war. The fear and panic turned my stomach. I never realised that they still used this sound. I believe it was a warning of some sort on the Island, whether it was for fire, or what I cannot recall but the fear in my tummy was dreadful.