I lived at the Toll Gate at the beginning of Thorley Road with my Great Uncle, Grandmother and Aunt. We lived in a bungalow with a lot of grass and a greenhouse attached to the front porch. When the gun at Bouldnor Battery was fired at the enemy planes flying in the Solent, all our glass used to vibrate. It became a worry in case it smashed and cut us. So my Great Uncle made a dug-out affair in the garden.

All I can remember is a tin roof with earth over the top and the floor had shingle on it and there were four chairs. So on bad nights, we all sat in there while the air raids were on, except my great Uncle who stood outside to keep watch.
One night we were sitting there by torch light when suddenly my Aunt screamed and dived out of the door. No, we had not been hit by a bomb, but a little frog had suddenly appeared and jumped onto my Aunt’s leg. We never went down the dug-out again!

We spent the rest of the war in the passage in the middle of the house, or on the sitting room floor. I always had to have my head under the keyboard of the piano. I’ve often wondered since how that was supposed to protect me!

On one occasion during the day time, I was taken into Yarmouth Marsh and we saw a crater that had been made by a small bomb. It had rained a lot and the crater was half full of water with a duck swimming on it!

One morning the people of Yarmouth woke up to find the streets covered in strips of silver metal stuff. No one knew what it was until later in the day, when we were told that it was to jam the Radar Stations. But we had all been told not to touch it, even with our feet. After we knew that it was safe, lots of children collected it to play with.
Delia Whitehead nee Hunt b 1934