Dad's first promotion came at the Battle of Medjez-El-Bab - a group of soldiers were sent in Bren Carriers to fire on some German positions that were giving trouble. The others turned back but he decided to have a go and opened up the gun and kept firing until the Germans stopped. Upon his return he was handed a stripe and told to get it sown on straight away.

Dad always said what a hard battle Cassino was and what a good fight the Germans put up. He was awarded the DCM during this battle which was presented to him in 1946 by King George VI at Buckingham Palace. Since I was imminently due to make my appearance into life, my father took his mother, his sister Irene and my elder sister, Marilyn, to the ceremony. Whilst the king was talking to dad, my sister broke away from my grandmother and ran up the red carpet calling: "Daddy, Daddy". Apparently, he was reprimanded for the incident afterwards. I was 13 years old before I knew that dad had won his medal (a letter arrived from the army with DCM after his name one day). He never spoke about it and, whenever I asked, he would say he was just doing his job.
My sister, Marilyn, was born in 1943 and then, after the war, I made my entrance into the world. My first memories are of dad's posting to Egypt with the LFs in 1950 when I was about four years old. Memories are sketchy at that age but certain incidents always seem to stand out. Soon after our arrival in Egypt, my mother, being a young service wife and not aware of any danger, took my sister and I for a walk to explore the Arab quarters. Several youths came out of their houses and started to crowd round with abuse at this unwelcome soldier's wife with her children. She began to be seriously concerned when an older Egyptian came out of one of the houses and shook his finger at the youths - pointing at us children. You have to learn lessons fast as an army wife! We lived in an Egyptian-owned roof flat and our neighbours were Gene Howlett and his family. I can remember playing a game on the flat roof area when a stone raid started. We were all pulled quickly inside where my sister tells me we did our best to see from the window what was going on outside and where a man in a Fez was whipping up the storm. One of our family pleasures was swimming at French Beach where the usual swim was around the buoy and back. One day, to all our surprise, my mother suddenly announced that we were turning back before reaching the buoy. She said nothing at the time but she had seen a very large fish roll in the water. Her first thought was 'shark' but, once on dry land, she hoped it could have been just a porpoise!

Early in 1953 the LFs were moved on to Kenya to deal with the Mau Mau problem. On first arrival, whilst waiting to be allocated our accommodation, we stayed at The Silverbeck Hotel, which I remember straddled the equator. My sister and I went exploring as children do and, to our distress, we found some kittens that had been put in the river to drown. One was still struggling to live so we triumphantly fished him out and ran to ask if we could adopt him. He was named 'Moses' as we had found him in the bulrushes in the river! Moses never lost his fear of drowning. Whenever my sister and I had a bath, he would prowl round the edge, crying with distress and we would shout "help Moses, we're drowning!" One unfortunate day he slipped on a soapy area and landed in the bath with us. Chaos ensued as two wet children and a panic stricken cat fought to get away from screaming, splashing and sharp claws. He never again paced the edge of the bath but, after that, whenever it was bath time, he would still sit in the entrance to the bathroom crying pitifully.

One of the bandas had a monkey chained up outside as a pet and a bush baby in a small cage, which makes me shudder now. The monkey used to love eating locusts and I perfected the art of catching them on my way home from school (this consisted of holding the back spiked legs tight) and feeding them to him. He used to chatter in anticipation at my approach before grabbing at the proffered locust and biting its head off. A thick yellow substance came out of the locust and, as this would run down his paws, he used to lick it just like a child eating an ice cream as it melts.

Often Mau Mau attacks consisted of burning down houses and I can remember exploring the debris of one and finding some ornaments that had survived the blaze. I can also remember dangerously running through the huge rolls of barbed wire placed round the bandas - I don't think my mother ever knew!

Sometimes, after a mess function at Nyeri, we used to sleep the night in a mud hut with a thatched roof. One morning, after there'd been a "do" for the adults the evening before, my sister remembers that we children got up and went over to the mess. There was a piano there and my sister started picking out "God Save the Queen" when a soldier, who hadn't made it to his bed the night before, shot up and stood to attention. He was not very pleased to see us!!!

Of course, sad memories are bound to be there and I can remember the dreaded huge Safari ants climbing up our pet rabbit's hutch and finding him dead in the morning in a swarm of them and our black servant being taken away by the police for having a stash of the forbidden 'pombe' drink, said to be the alcohol the Mau Mau drank before a killing spree. We also had to say goodbye to our beloved dachshund 'Bobby'. One incident we came to laugh at later, although unnerving at the time: the Mau Mau prisoners had been brought to cut the long grass round the bandas on an extremely hot day. Mum, feeling sorry for them, sent out a tray of iced orange juice. To show their gratitude they returned to their job, with smiling faces and white flashing teeth, and proceeded to cut as close to our banda as possible. They were using the traditional weapon of the Mau Mau, the panga, which is a big curved knife (useful for work but also for killing) whilst we watched them nervously from the window. Moses, the cat, was having a field day catching rats, almost as big as him, as they tried to flee the pangas. He laid them out proudly in a line for our admiration!

Today I remember my attachment to the LFs with great pride. There are always drawbacks to anything in life and the army was no exception. However, on balance, I am glad I was a service child. What I lacked for in a stable education at one school and scant contact with wider members of my family, I made up for in knowledge of other cultures and to know that, once England's shores are behind you, you cannot rely on the checks and balances we take so much for granted. Service children learn to make new friends easily and to adapt to new situations, which many civilians find so hard. My parents have now passed away, and the great regiment of the Lancashire Fusiliers has passed away, but my experiences will always be treasured and today, in my display cabinet in pride of place, there stands my father's bright and distinctive yellow hackle.