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I attended a small village school at Helpston surrounded by several airfields the nearest being Wittering.
The skies were always full day and night; we became used to the roar and drone of heavy fighter planes.
Every morning my mother would check my canvas type satchel to make sure my gas mask and identity card were safely in it.
This particular morning mum seemed a bit uneasy and stood for longer than usual while we went into school.
Our lesson started when all of a sudden the siren went off, we were all told to put on our gas masks and put our satchels across our bodies. We were then lined up and marched very orderly to the air raid shelters.
I have never felt such fear, there seemed to be a hundred steps down this concrete grass covered mound, it smelt dank and mouldy.
Once in we found benches all around the outside walls, we were aloud to remove our gas makes and hook the straps over our arms.
Our alpha bet and times tables were recited many times.
I personally remember crying not quite knowing what was going to happen to mum.

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