I was asked the other week 'what was the earliest memory I have?'
Well, it was when I was about three years old and we used to hide under the stairs from the bombs in the Second World War. How did we know when the bombs were coming, you might ask. Well, we had a big, Lassie-type collie dog who used to come flying into the house when he heard the planes coming. He had a sixth sense, which animals have. A few minutes later the bombs would drop, and by that time the family and the dog were safely under the stairs. Well, I say 'safely', but if a bomb had hit the house (thank god it never did) there wouldn't be anything left of the house and the next few houses, let alone the stairs we were hiding under! But we felt safe, which was the main thing.