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

At the ripe old age of 4 weeks old I was rushed to St. Bartholomew's Hospital, where I was diagnosed with Asthma. I had been unconscious for several hours, but being so young my mother thought that I was sleeping.

This stayed with me until my early teens. The old saying that you change every seven years appeared to be true in my case. I grew out of it at the age of 14.

When I was older, I guess about five, we were sent to Sunday school every Sunday afternoon. I can remember there was a lady dressed in a grey uniform and her name was Sister Dorcas. I think everyone down Popham Street will remember Sister Dorcas in her uniform. There was also a lady who was a nurse, attached to the church. The vicar I cannot remember at all, I guess they changed over the years, but Sister Dorcas was constant.

In Britannia Row at the back of our flats there was a hall, which always belonged to the church. When we were teenagers, we used to go to dances there. It was a Youth Club and we used to play table tennis, darts and dominoes etc. This hall is still used today, but it is now a recording studio.

When I was 2 years old, I was following my Nan around drinking my bottle of milk while she was cooking the dinner in the scullery. Nan was changing the boiling runner beans and the gravy onto different gas hobs, when I tugged at her arm and the boiling hot runner beans and water went over me.

Again I was rushed to St. Bartholomew's Hospital in Islington, from there I was sent to the Burns Unit in St. Albans, where the soldiers were sent from the war zone. I remember a nurse putting this yellow gauze on my forehead, which is where I took most of the scalding.

I also remember my Aunt Mary coming in to see me and when she left, crying my heart out. My Mum, I was told later in life, was waiting outside. She was afraid to come in, in case I cried. She said her and my Aunt Mary could hear me screaming all the way down the corridor, and that she might just as well have come in and seen me, as I couldn't have cried any louder!

I have never been able to grow any hair on that part of my forehead. I have always had to have a fringe or parted my hair to the side. Apparently my Mother had tried all sorts of remedies over the years, rubbing in stuff, trying out any old wives tales that may have worked but they never did.

My sister was older than me, two years to be exact, and she used to bully me. I was a sickly child and my sister Pat was prone to over eating, so she was overweight and hated me for being skinny. I was sent to Devon when I was ten years old by Great Ormond Street Hospital, to be built up, and I had awful memories of having to drink this thick cream milk. They used to make me eat all awful stuff that I never liked.

So, being true to form, I caught Whooping cough and had to be sent to the isolation room and later I was sent to the isolation hospital. My mother came by train to take me back home, thank God. I remember sending my parents a letter. It was told to me in later years that I had signed this letter 'Yours Sincerely, Kathleen Hinde' (Hinde being my maiden name). Everyone had a good laugh at my expense for many years after.