The Second World War defined my childhood. I was evacuated to Somerset from London. My younger sister was sent to a big manor house. I got the farm worker’s cottage. It taught me at an early age that, as humans, we’re on our own. That life is an individual struggle.
My mother was hard and muscular. When she thwacked you, you noticed. She had a temper, smoked, swore and got pissed. I vowed not to follow in her footsteps. My father was an invalid with chronic asthma. I was 13 when he died – he was only 40. I loved him deeply.
