Peter was ordered to report at school each morning with iron rations (corned beef sandwiches), as were all of the rest of the staff and the pupils. Monday – Tuesday – Wednesday, each day they filled in time until four o’clock – then they ate their sandwiches and came home. On Thursday, though, when he got home, Peter said, “Pack your own haversack and make another packet of sandwiches. The Old Man says you are to come too tomorrow”.

So we arrived at the school at about 8.30 am. Not only were all the pupils there, but many of them were leading younger siblings. At 9 am we started to march through the narrow streets towards Stratford station between pavements lined with parents and grandparents, weeping and waving. The scene was made all the more poignant as one of the older boys with only one leg was walking on crutches at the back.

We reached the station at last and lined up at the back of the platform. Trains came in and trains went out carrying other children but not ours. Eventually an empty train arrived and we were packed in. It started – stopped – waited – started again – and by 4 pm we reached Brentwood and were ordered out; collected ourselves and marched to Brentwood School where we gathered in the central quadrangle.

There were two WVS ladies there with as little table and a school notebook. Wearily they surveyed us.

“Let me see,” said one, “Mrs Gibson said she didn’t mind taking in a little girl with blue eyes and blonde curls. Can you see one?”

By 6.30 pm they had selected and billeted 23 children. Then they went home to tea taking their book with them. By this time the mainly conservative staff were very angry and some began to sing The Red Flag while my father went for the police. One policeman stopped all the traffic. The others took each took two children, piled into the waiting cars and went from door to door all over Brentwood ringing and knocking. When the door was opened they said “Police – these two children are yours for tonight,” and packed the children inside. By eleven o’clock all, including the staff, were under cover.

Ours wasn’t the worst, thanks to the Old Man. Five hundred High School girls had also arrived unexpectedly. At midnight several were found by their distraught headmistress in the local brothel, each sharing a bed with one of the prostitutes. Peter and I were allocated to a delightful couple who made us feel very welcome, and kept an enormous bowl of their own apples on the breakfast table for us. We stayed there for three weeks and our first cooked