We moved to a rambling farmhouse with a wide tree filled garden that included a resident ghost that we searched for on misty autumn nights. She was the grey lady who met her demise in the stables probably in the 1700s. The house was warm, open and spacious in a disorganised way .

My uncomfortable childhood had shaped me. I wanted to help children with similarly uncomfortable  childhoods. My husband who basically wanted a quiet life agreed to be a foster parent. (It must be love)

Our first foster children came a year later. Four boys to add to our three. Respite care for their single parent father who was a postman.

They were aged from 17 to 12. They all wet their beds! Not only that they were persistent thieves. They had been in the house 20 minutes and were eating shepherds pie when we discovered that the children’s money box was missing. We remarked about this and it reappeared! Their postman father had told them that it was fine to steal but if you were found out you should put the stuff back. Rather worrying for a postman.

The eldest boy regaled me in the evening with methods of breaking house windows without making a noise. He was a professional and had just come out of Borstal.

In spite of our efforts they left two weeks later with my grandfather,s George medal and my husband’s duffle coat.