Our next foster children were two waif -like girls aged 5 and 7 years. They had come for two weeks respite care whilst their mother who had run off with the butcher had more time to get to know the butcher.

They of course both wet their beds I became a dab hand at sheet washing.

The two weeks got extended to seven months, a period in which we got fond of them. At that time, it was considered important for children to return to their natural parents but the actual father, a navy man had already gone and the butcher was in his place.

I became severely ill because not only did I look after foster children but I also did bed and breakfast. All sorts came to stay, sometimes we were too full. We were near a long- distance walk and students would come and just sleep on the floor. They would read to the children. A memorable book was ‘Grimble at Christmas.’ I feel it was written by a Freud but I can’t remember which one.

I ended up eventually in a cottage hospital. I had been fitted with an iffy coil that gave me a pelvic infection. I had a hysterectomy aged 32. Luckily I had had my children. I suffered from a major haemorrhage after the operation and went down a tunnel with a light at the end. A warm -hearted woman with blue grey tickets with numbers. She looked at my ticket and said

‘Oh, it’s not your turn yet.’  At that point, I realised they were giving me life saving blood in the operating theatre