I suppose it was because of all the ‘crying wolf’ the previous night that, if the sirens sound tonight, Mother has persuaded Father we shouldn’t go to the shelter. Instead, we’ll all settle down to sleep under the dining table and kitchen table that Father and I manoeuvre into position in the back room.

*

The first siren sounds just after midnight, and it’s only about five minutes after that that we hear the ack-ack guns start up, so we know this time it’s for real. Then the whoosh and boom of the bombs rattling the windows, getting closer and closer. The thunderous noise never seems to end, shaking the foundations of the house, and even round the edges of the blackout curtains we can see the glow in the sky.

At one stage, Father risks looking out. The room is suddenly flooded with orange – as though the sky is on fire.

‘Jesus!’ is all my dad says. ‘Perhaps we should go to the shelter.’

‘It’s too dangerous to go out now, Arthur,’ hisses my mother. ‘Now close that and get back under here.’

Fred is screaming now, with my mum trying to shush him. My father puts his arm round me, pulling me close, and then is soon snoring despite all the noise. To start with, I just can’t get to sleep, then eventually I drift off too.

*

The terror we felt when we heard the ‘up-down’ wail of the air-raid siren is in total contrast to the joy now when the sirens sound the all-clear – a low whine rising to a constant higher whine – almost like the howl of a wolf (well, how I imagine a wolf would sound – I’ve never actually heard one in real life).

Father’s snoring away and misses it, and Fred’s sound asleep too, but Mother can sense I’m awake.

‘Try to get some sleep now, Arnold,’ she whispers, so as not to wake the other two. But the adrenaline is still rushing round my body, and I wonder if my friends from school are all right, or if any of their houses have been hit. As Father did before, I get up and sneak a look behind the blackout curtains. The sky is overcast, so I know the orange light isn’t the dawn. It’s coming from the city centre – and it’s obviously still ablaze. Although the all-clear has sounded, I hear other sirens – no doubt fire engines, ambulances and police. It must have been the biggest night of bombing yet. It seemed to go on for ever.

Then a noise that is out of place – or should be out of place by now. The drone of aircraft engines.

I just have time to dive back under the heavy oak dining table before there’s a gigantic roar like a tornado, a deafening explosion, and the sound of glass shattering.