My parents wrapped us up in hand-knitted vests, liberty bodices and woollen socks. Our coats were tailored at Catleughs in Kings Lynn and over them, large mohair scarves were pinned round us to keep us warm. But all the layers couldn’t stop me crying with cold and suffering hot aches in my hands on winter days.

As a child, pain seemed just another aspect of life. A lot was expected of us, but we were also allowed enormous amounts of freedom and had to take responsibility for the consequences of our actions. While learning to ride a bike, I went over the handlebars and cut my head open. I still have the bump to this day. I had to be able to cycle to get to my primary school two miles away. I was not yet five years’ old.

On another occasion, as I was coming home from school on my bike an evacuee boy stood in front of me with his arms out and said I couldn’t pass. I wobbled and fell off my bike again, this time breaking my leg. It was in plaster for a few weeks but I was even further laid low as I caught the mumps. I had to languish with my leg on a chair for weeks. Doctors did home visits in those days, which you also paid for.

Yet another mishap befell us when we set off in our best clothes to have our photographs taken by the local photographer, Mr Lane, who also happened to be the village postman.

Peter was a baby in a pushchair and Pat, Kathleen and I had to trundle him two miles to Mr Lane’s house. We all posed, beautifully dressed for the photograph, but on the way home we started to run with the pushchair, it overturned and Peter ended up in the dyke. Fortunately, there was no water in it, but we came back decidedly more dishevelled than when we had set off.

During winter mother knitted our clothes - matching jumper suits in pink with mock pleated skirts. When we grew out of these they were unpicked, the wool washed and wound into skeins to be reworked again. Dad taught us to knit as Mother was left-handed. I knitted a bathing costume from this pink wool. We also pegged “Readicut” rugs from scraps of material. Dad made us a woollen pegged rug each with a design printed on it. One of them had a tiger.

During the war, rationing meant we had to conserve clothes coupons so we no longer undertook trips to the tailors. Instead we went to a local dressmaker who re-fashioned things for us. I was 10 before I was taken to buy a dress from a shop. We also had arts and crafts lessons at school. I made a raffia bag and we all took turns at knitting the teacher’s vest. I dread to think what shape and size it finally ended up!