I was born in 1940, during the war, in Lambeth Hospital, wrote Mrs Carol Wright of Kent. Father was called up soon after. I have memories of mother crying when she opened letters from my father. After being evacuated to Cambridge I then went back with my mother to live with my grandmother at Forsythe Road, near Walworth Road and East Lane, Kennington.

I do remember watching from our garden shelter when the fiery glow from the V1's went out which meant that they would fall and destroy whole streets. We were lucky as the one behind ours was reduced to rubble. Of course we were told not to play in the ruins and naturally we ignored this sound advice and played in the shells of bombed buildings.

When having to make a dash for the underground station during an air raid my cousin complained about her feet, my aunt took her shoes off to reveal that, in the rush, gloves had been put on instead of socks.

Forsythe Road has since been replaced by high-rise blocks of flats.

I remember the milk lady and the horse-drawn cart and the measuring jugs doling out our ration. We would buy tea and sugar in blue paper cones from a shop on the corner.

Smells remind me of things. Polo fruits :- of an aunt's American boyfriend who gave us fruit 'Lifesavers', they smelt and tasted the same. My cousin and I used to eat them hiding under the long cloth on a table. Brown paper and string, of when I was sent away to convalesce after a bad bout of measles and opening the parcels from my Mother who was not allowed to see me while I was there as it would upset me. The smell of the lamp and black goggles as us children who had been ill were sent to have 'sun lamp treatment'.

Gas burning, nannies gas iron and lamps. Hot washing - the whitewashed boiler that stood in a corner of the scullery. Dust - the dressing table with the blue lace doilies that Grandfather had made when he was ill with T.B. (Tuberculosis). He died before I could remember him. Clay pipes - I had one instead of a dummy as I had seen someone smoking a pipe and wanted one. Chocolate - reminds me when sweets came off ration and seeing the empty jars on the shelves.

Fish paste sandwiches, and blancmanche - the street parties with our piano being wheeled out with cigarette burns, everyone used to smoke. Bread pudding - the children used to queue up when the smelled Nan's cooking. Coal - the damp cellar and the cover on the pavement where it was delivered. Steam train engines: how exciting a train ride was. I had cousins who lived at Leigh on Sea. My Mother being helped on a train by a soldier and my wanting to lie in the netted luggage rack.
The key in the letterbox and the front doors rarely locked.

A neighbour calling 'You all right love?' to my Nan. The Tallyman calling and us being told to say 'Tell him Nan's not in' and we repeated what we had been told to say. I stuck a penny black stamp (belonging to an older cousin) on the wall. The mouse trap which I was told not to touch and of course did just that, to see why I shouldn't.

An aunt coming in from fire fighting. Everyone crowded into the kitchen, sitting on the arms of chairs or on laps. Aunts and my Mother painting black lines on their legs. A wartime wedding with fake cake tiers. Teenagers petting in the street shelters and us smaller ones being told to keep out.

My Nanny being washed down in the tin tub in the kitchen in front of the fire. A wire mesh larder on the outside wall. Nanny in an armchair and us children watching chins develop with each grunt as she fell deeper into sleep.

Banners across the street to welcome home the Servicemen and Dad coming home a day early carrying his kit bag.

My husband who was born in 1934 remembers a plane shooting up Nunhead Railway Station and a sailor protecting him with his body under the railway bridge, the marks the bullets made in the brick walls remained there up until at least 1958.

Here is a poem I wrote some time ago for my family: -

Wartime Memories

I remember when my grandma
would sit in her back yard
Plucking the annual chicken
they say the times were hard

An old black range, a scent of wood
the gas lamps hiss and splutter
Bread and dripping tasted good
we didn't miss the butter

An outside loo, a wooden cell
oft a retreat I'll wager
Where you could have a read as well
off squares of old newspaper

Uncle John when home on leave
sang of windows shining bright
When all were taped and grimy
from the bombs that fell at night

Looking out from our shelter
as the lights went out up above
But I never felt afraid
surrounded by family love

I asked to sit on big Nan's lap
her reply was that she'd none
But with hands clasped tight behind her neck
I'd manage to hang on

Nan's shoes were tied together
then I'd call her as I hid
She often called me a 'cowson'
and I wondered why she did

But she was loved sincerely
and was my very best friend
As often I'd hidden behind her
when sought by those bent on revenge

Visitors, they came and went
soldiers, sailors, and airmen
Somehow room was found for them
even a tramp was made welcome

And when the family gathered
there was never talk of gloom
I was lulled to sleep by those voices
in that Forsythe Road front room.