I was born in The White House, now known as White Cottage, on Lighthouse Lane in 1898, and had a happy childhood with my older siblings, Arthur and Sissy. My father, Charles Smith, was the local doctor, and my mother, Martha, was a saint who took care of us all. They were good parents and I loved my family dearly.

Like any sixteen-year-old, I wanted to stay in bed that fateful morning, but my father’s raised voice drifted upstairs. I slipped into my robe and slippers and hurried to the drawing room where my family gathered around Father, looking over his shoulder.

GREAT BRITAIN DECLARES WAR ON GERMANY

The following announcement was issued from the Foreign Office at 12.15 a.m. Owing to the summary rejection by the German government of the request made by His Majesty’s Government for assurances . . .

Father fell silent for a moment. ‘Never mind what’s happening abroad, we’ve got our own problems here with the crisis in Ireland!’ he boomed, shaking his newspaper the way our turkey-cock shakes his feathers when a hen comes near. He dropped the broadsheet onto the coffee table and started pacing.

‘This is Churchill’s doing, and Grey’s speech in the house, yesterday! They’ve led us into this ridiculous state of affairs!’

Arthur picked up the paper. ‘Look, Father, there’s a call for military volunteers to serve Britain. I’ll sign up, of course. It all sounds rather exciting. It will be over by Christmas, surely.’

Mother’s hand went over her mouth.

‘Don’t look so worried, Mother, we’ll soon show them what’s what,’ Arthur promised.

Fully dressed and perfectly groomed, Sissy sat stiffly with her hands in her lap. When she spoke, it was with a certain aloofness. ‘You see, Father? If we women had the vote – and were represented in parliament – we would have objected to a war. I wonder what Mrs Pankhurst has to say about the matter.’

Oh, how I adored my courageous sister! One day I would be exactly like her, brave and bold and a champion for all women.

Father glared at her. ‘Don’t talk nonsense, Sissy. This is not the time for your games, and parliament’s not the place for girls!’

Mother put her hand over her mouth again to muffle a whimper, then, as if catching a little bravery from her daughter she spoke tentatively. ‘Now, now, dear. I think Sissy is making the point that she’s on your side.’

Before Father could roar again, there was a tap on the door and Mrs Cooper, our three-day-domestic entered, springs of ginger curls escaping her starched white cap. ‘I’ve watered the horse and fed the chickens. Eggs are in the larder, ma’am. Can I get on wi’ the beds?’

Father placed his fists on his hips. ‘Do you know we’re at war with Germany, Mrs Cooper?’