I know I should and every year am filled with a longing to do better and rush round the house emptying drawers and shelves on to the floor and unearthing many treasures such as my dark glasses (mourned as lost) and endless snapshots. After enjoying several holidays in retrospect I somehow lose heart and bundle everything back again. But this year I was rewarded for my good intentions by discovering a bundle of pieces I had written during the War for the Sketch magazine. The cuttings were anything but tidy, the margins thick with arrows, stars and balloons. But they were still readable and it was enthralling to be reminded of the privations and discomforts suffered by those living in what Authority was pleased to call a Safe Area. It made fascinating reading. ‘Did we really do those peculiar things?’ I said to my friend Caroline who had dropped in and was reading over my shoulder. ‘We certainly did,’ she said. ‘Did we really parade the streets at night wearing tin hats?’ ‘Of course we did,’ said Caroline.
