I was born in Wimbledon in 1933. It was heaven – I went to a lovely local school, in which kindness was everywhere and fighting and bullying were strictly against the rules. My parents weren’t planning on sending me to boarding-school; a day-boys’ grammar-school was nearby, and they took me there several times to visit. The atmosphere seemed splendid. Everyone was friendly and the food was delicious.
But suddenly, the Second World War was upon us. I was evacuated to Canada with some others. That was all right, and my host family was decent, but I longed to be back in London. At first letters arrived regularly from my parents. But in the middle of 1942 they completely stopped, and I couldn’t find out why.
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