I was nine. There was a war on. They Germans were bombing London every night. Father was fighting. Most were. You didn't want to be boy at school who didn't have a father or a brother or someone in it. Nasty things happened. I helped Peter thought that sort of thing was cowardly and said so. No one else could have gotten away with it, but he was Peter. They respected him. Even the ones who laughed wouldn't do more than that.
They sent us away because of the bombing. Not just my family. It seemed like half the children in London were shipped off to the country.