I recovered from the impetigo and was able to resume my newspaper deliveries job at W.H. Smith. As air raids seemed to be declining after three years of evacuation, it was agreed that I should finally and permanently return home to London at the end of 1942 – as it turned out, just in time for a resumption of regular night raids. Labelled by our doctor as a ‘septic child’ on account of recurring boils and similar signs of vitamin C deficiency, he recoiled from my fingers that now reeked of aeroplane ‘dope’ arising from enthusiastic model building. Now 14 and no longer so puny, I was soon issued with the obligatory steel helmet and navy blue ‘Fire Guard’ armband in gold lettering, for duties in the six-storey block of flats, where we now lived. I still had to share a bedroom, sleeping on a mattress while Andrew slept on the base of one divan and my grandmother Noni had a second divan to herself – with her chamber pot close by. Ignoring our proper bathroom, she insisted on treating us to the sounds and odours of her chamber music and it was quite a relief to get up in the night for fireguard duty.
