Once every summer, Mum and Dad would take us to Southend for the day. We’d collect shells, fish for crabs and go paddling in the sea before eating a handsome fish-and-chip supper.

Hop-picking in Kent was another annual family outing. Aunt Edna, me mum’s sister, would come with us too. A funny lady, she would sing all the way there and all the way home. Viv and I loved Aunt Edna dearly.

But in life, things can change in an instant. That’s certainly what happened to me. One minute I was this carefree teenager, the next I had to batten down the hatches as life as I’d known it smacked me in the chops over and over again.

Anyway, enough of me waffling on. Not for the faint hearted this, so put on your seatbelts and prepare for a rollercoaster.

My name is Queenie and this is my story.

PART ONE

‘One might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb’

Proverb

CHAPTER ONE

Summer 1939

Eric Wade chucked the newspaper to one side. ‘It’s gonna happen, Molly, I’m telling you. Now Hitler’s invaded Poland, we’re bound to get involved. Expect an announcement soon, my love. We’re going to war.’

Molly squeezed her husband’s hand. Eric was thirty-four, a medium height, broad-shouldered man who currently had the weight of the world on his shoulders. His own father had been killed in action during the Great War and Eric was petrified of being called up as he feared the same would happen to him.

‘I was talking to Mr Ricketts yesterday and he said if the worst happens, it’ll be the younger lads they call up, Eric. The ones without families. Try not to worry too much, lovey.’

Eric stood up. He wasn’t a big boozer any more, but the thought of going to war was enough to turn any man to drink. ‘I’m off to the pub. I’ll see you later, love.’

Molly walked into the lounge to see her two daughters glued to the window. ‘Queenie, Viv, come away from there. You don’t want the new neighbours to think we’re a family of nosy parkers, do you?’

Viv obeyed her mother’s orders while Queenie stayed put. She couldn’t take her eyes off the boy she presumed was the youngest son. He was tall with a mop of wavy jet-black hair. At twelve, Queenie had boy mates but was yet to have a proper boyfriend. She decided there and then that when she was old enough she wanted a boyfriend just like this one. She’d never seen anyone so handsome before, but he was far too old for her she feared.

‘Queenie, I won’t tell you again. Move.’

Queenie reluctantly did so and was lunged at by her mother. Molly spat on her handkerchief and wiped the remains of her daughter’s breakfast off her face. ‘If you’re going over the road to ask the new neighbours if they’d like a cup of tea, you need to look your best,’ smiled Molly.