When the war started in 1939, I was twelve years old, in school and a member of the Girl Guides. The country had been gearing up for war for some months and most of the fields were under the plough, even those on the hillsides, except those left for grazing stock.

We were issued with identity cards and gas masks and had feelings of trepidation. I remember well sitting with my friends cracking hazel nuts with stones and discussing what we would do if the Germans arrived by parachute, discussing all manner of methods to kill them on sight. The thought that we might lose never once entered our heads. Britain never lost -end of story!

So the evacuees started to arrive, mostly from Liverpool- Broadgreen School, Chidwell High School, and many from different places, such as Portsmouth and London, in ones and twos. A few didn’t stay long, and returned home with home-sickness, but, in the main, most settled down and became good friends with the local children, joining the guides and scouts, brownies and cubs. I made two or three particular friends, Marguritta Elwell, a French Canadian with Chidwell Valley H.S., Doris Patterson, with Broadgreen , and Geraldine Smith from Portsmouth, whose father was in the RN. She was staying with her aunt who lived at "Pen- Trip"

If the air-raid siren sounded, while we were in school, we were allowed to go home if we were able to reach home within seven minutes. If not you stayed in a classroom, which had been re-in forced as a shelter. I was a good runner and could make it within the seven minutes.

Everyone was soon doing their bit and that included the children. Guides were taught how to make up hospital beds and roll bandages. We also collected masses of herbs which we took to the Dorothy Cinema annex to dry on matting stretched across the room.

I remember particularly gathering nettles from Ystrad Hall , tying them in bunches, suspending them on a broomstick and then two of us on bicycles, hanging on to each end of the stick, would cycle down the A5. Hardly ever did we meet anything, as petrol was rationed and those few people who owned cars had moth-balled them for "the duration".

We also went on farms collecting potatoes too, for 1 shilling (about 10p today) an hour, wearing old socks on our hands -gloves were too precious and cost clothing coupons.

My brother, Harry, was in the A.T.C. so we were both learning Morse code, which we used to send signals by flag, torch or with a little device which clicked a signal. My brother made two of these, attached by a wire between our bedrooms, so that we could send messages to each other. I reached 13 words a minute and obtained my Morse badge- nothing by naval standards.

Land girls were appearing on the farms. The Timber Corps girls would meet in the morning at Jack Jones’ garage, to be taken by lorry to their various destinations, soon to be joined by the many refugees, who arrived here from Europe. They were billeted in several places- Waverly villas, the old Evian Hotel on Bridge Street, Craig Ivar on Abbey Road.

I made a good friend of a German girl who was billeted there with her parents. Her name was Trudy Holtser, and, on one occasion I went there, her father was stripped to the waist, washing after coming from the forestry. His back was to me, and I was amazed to see that his back was striped with welts. Her mother told me that he had received them when he had been caught while trying to escape from Germany the first time. The second time he had made it to join Trudy and her mother who had come earlier. They had no possessions hardly, but they made the very most of everything, For instance I was impressed with the big Christmas tree they erected in the hallway, which they covered with small bits of cotton-wool to look like snow.

"Tyn Dwr" Hall was occupied by disabled children and, during one hard winter, the guides made a big snowball of papier- mache, covered with cotton-wool, the top cut away to form a lid. This was filled with toys and books collected from our own families and mounted on a sledge, which we pulled along in the snow to the Hall, where we put on a concert and a sing-song. One of the boys stayed on and was valet to Mr Harry Best for years.

During the blitz, which was hotting up, my father obtained permission from Mr William Lloyd Jones , who owned the Mile-End Woollen Mill, and lived at Glenerafon, now the Wild Pheasant Hotel, for the people in the area to take shelter in the basement there. The basement was where the huge sacks of wool were stored. The men made walls with these sacks, creating rooms for each family.

The enemy planes going over would drop flares and we would hear them hiss as they hit the river. We children would gather the strips of silver foil, which had been dropped to disrupt messages from our fighter planes.

These strips were used to incorporate our Christmas decorations, as they soon became hard to come by. Parachute silk also became much sought after for making under-wear. One night during a very dry spell a bomb fell on the hillside quite close to Bluebell wood above the woollen mill and all the men rushed up the field to put out the fire, which had set the grass alight, and was in danger of spreading to the wood.

The planes came across the valley, so most of the bombs fell on either side. The Eglwysegs were badly hit and the fires blazed for weeks. We could also see the red glow from the direction of Liverpool and I felt sorry for the evacuees, whose parents were there. One girl, I remember hearing, ran off home for the weekend and was killed during an air-raid.

Soon the town was filled with soldiers, the Cheshire regiment at Bryntysilio Hall, Army cadets at Bryn Howell and American solders stationed in Penley, not far away. Five hundred black American soldiers were stationed at Bala and would be brought to Llan in Army lorries on Saturday evenings.

They brought their own band, conducted by Billy Williams. They were called "Flying Home" and played at the Saturday night dances at the Town Hall.

The white and the black Americans were never allowed to come at the same time and it seemed, to me at the time, the white Americans were usually the ones to cause trouble. The black men would arrive with their big helmets full of sweets and fruit for the children, which they would distribute in the Smithfield.

Italian P.O.W. s were now arriving, wearing brown boiler suits with pale blue rounds on their back and working on local farms. One, Frank de Genaro, came back and married a nurse from the hospital and later worked at Air Products. His family are still in the area.

The German P.O.W.’s were more closely guarded.

Everything was, of course in very short supply and rations were meagre. We were fortunate to be living in the country. My father grew lots of vegetables, particularly onions, which for some reason were very scarce and for helping with the harvest, instead of pay, was allowed to have a row of potatoes from the field, and as children, we were very good poachers and were able to snare rabbits and get fish from the river and the odd game bird. Each week we gave up a little of our sugar ration which we kept in cocoa tins with our name on, so that mother could make jam and fruit jelly in the Autumn.

"Our gang" would also scout the hedges around the farms for eggs, laid away by the broody hens, usually in a clump of nettles. We would also climb the fir trees in the woods with a large handkerchief, tied at the corners and attached to our belts to collect pigeon’s eggs.

We always left two in the nest. I don’t think that anyone who grew up in the war years got over being thrifty- I know I haven’t- a war like that never leaves you. It was a huge part of our lives and was ever likely to be so, because it was here, and we were all involved, men, women and children- all fighting together for a common cause - AND WE WON! OF COURSE WE DID!

As I sit here in the garden, ready to write about times past, I can’t help mentioning the shoes I am wearing. They are brown leather brogues, bought at" Dicks" Shoe Shop in Castle Street in 1970. They cost about £4 then. Recently I took them to be repaired in Wrexham- the charge was £25 and the cobbler told me that the same shoes would cost in excess of £100 today, but the point is that in 1970 and long before that, I wouldn’t have had to go to Wrexham for them to be repaired as we then had good shops in town and each one had a cobbler.

Llangollen has always attracted many visitors for its beauty but it was not until recent years that it has become, what is known as a "Tourist Centre", catering mainly for tourists. I feel that this and supermarkets have ruined many lovely places. Wrexham in particular has been subjected to this by supermarkets. I remember it as a nice little market town.

In the past we had seven butchers shops, three green-grocers, two good fish shops, too many grocers to mention, plenty of newsagents, two forges, two saddlers, two dentists, two separate GPs, two barbers shops, not to mention the market, which apart from all he animals had many stalls selling everything, from pins to lino.

Never, as a child, did I take our valley for granted. I always thought I was blessed to be born here, for it was a child’s paradise. There wasn’t a lot of money around, but what we had we took care of, and people seemed much happier then- lots of laughter and women sang as they did their house-work, errand boys whistled all the latest tunes.

Almost every shop had its errand boy, some had two. They travelled around on bikes with big baskets on the front and there was quite a lot of competition amongst the lads to get into the best shops.

There was also the telegram boy in his uniform with a leather wallet on his belt to hold the telegrams.

A lot of goods were delivered then by horse and cart, coal for instance and greengroceries. We knew the horses well and would give them a bucket of water, an apple or a carrot and if a horse happened to relieve itself, there was always a rush to collect the manure for the garden- nothing was ever wasted, but if the horse urinated the rush would be for buckets of water to wash it away or the strong smell would linger for days if the weather was warm.

Some farms delivered milk twice a day during the summer months. No-one then had a fridge but we had pantries with tiles or stone floors and slate shelves to keep things fresh.

Kitchens were hives of industry during the autumn, with the making of jams, jellies and pickles.

Eggs were "put down" in white enamel buckets containing a solution of isinglass when they were in plentiful supply, for when they became scarce and expensive during the winter months. These were used for cooking.

The Christmas cake and puddings were also made then, containing brandy or whisky or rum and then stored in a well sealed tin. The mincemeat was also made then and sealed in big stone jars, along with pickled red cabbage, piccalilli, pickled walnuts and onions.

Winters were, without fail, very hard with snow rutted hard on the roads. Cars and lorries had chains on their tyres and all had to walk on the road during the thaw as huge dollops of snow came hurtling down from the roofs high above. It was a great time for children- making slides, which the boys would beat with their caps to make them really slippy, and sledging. There was no central -heating, of course, but we had a blazing fire, where we roasted chestnuts and made toast which we would eat with beef dripping and salt- quite delicious.

Oh, the joy of coming home from school to the smell of plum-duff cooking in a pot, or a pan of rabbit stew.-my brother and I always fought for the kidneys.

My mother had been a cook, so we always had good plain food- everything was made the most of and served with all the trimmings. We ate what was in season- never rabbit if there was not an R in the month, so each season we had a change of menu.

There was always a lot going on in the town, clubs and societies, the band, the choir, the operatic and drama societies. I went to see my first operatic when I was nine, as my sister, who was fifteen, was taking part. It was called "San Marino". I fell for the leading tenor, who was in his thirties- it was his costume, I think, that did it for me- a very brief infatuation.

In those days, a couple of the cast would be on duty in the town hall foyer to take bookings. The show would be on for three nights, Thursday, Friday and Saturday, when all the bouquets would be handed up to the stage.

Friday night was "Posh" night, when chauffeur driven cars would arrive, with their occupants in evening dress, and it was all good fun.

There was a lot of fun then and lots of laughter. I remember my eldest sister coming home with a wind up gramophone and the latest" hit records" from "Bryn Melyn" ( which was where Watkin Williams is today), and doing the Charleston on the table. My father was horrified -"what was the world coming to?". What he would think of the goings on today I can’t imagine.

We were all excited when the time came for the road to be repaired, because of the big steam rollers.

The men would cook bacon and eggs on their big shiny shovels and hand us lovely pieces of crispy bacon.

The huge steam engines would arrive again in March for Pat Collins Fair, which would fill the Smithfield with all kinds of entertainments. Everyone turned out for the fair- young and old, rich and poor, to enjoy themselves.

There were many tramps too, often men who had been injured in WW1, some minus an arm or leg. They were mostly regulars and would be walking from the workhouse in Oswestry to the one in Corwen. There was a couple, man and wife, I remember well. They pushed a big pram and would take it in turns to ride in it while the other pushed. When my brother went into the RAF during the war, he was stationed in Norwich, and was amazed to come across this couple, still pushing their pram.

Things were very "seasonal" then.

Things happened at the same time each year.

" Little Jackie" as he was called, would arrive on his huge stallion to service the mares in the area.

The hay-making in June, the harvest later, followed by the Harvest Thanksgiving in Church- no tins of beans then- everything was home grown.

Then the threshing machine would arrive to thresh the corn and we children would gather around when the bottom of the rick was surrounded by netting and the terriers were brought in to cope with the rats.

The Christmas carolling- We sang well from an early age as we were trained to sing at the local Eisteddfods.

New Years morning, children would go round collecting "Clenig"- quite forgotten today. We would knock at the door and wish the occupant "Happy New Year" or "Bluydden Newudd Da" and would receive a small amount of money cakes or sweets.

We didn’t do Trick or Treat then- that was an Americanism which came much later. We did have Halloween. The Brownies, guides, scouts, rangers and rovers all had their own parties. Some had a party at home. No-one dressed up, but we did hollow out mangolds and turnips to make faces with a stub of candle inside.

The River Dee was full of fish then and when the salmon were running we would go up to the Mile- End weir to watch them leaping in shining hundreds. They were the real wild river Dee salmon never seen today, since they started netting them in Chester years ago.

It was an education to watch Frank Jones, (known as Frank one arm), make fishing flies with the use of a vice. He would fish down on the rocky ledge below Caesars cafe, climbing down the iron ladder. He held his rod in a flag holder strapped to his waist.

Frank lost his arm whilst playing with his pal in a Dutch barn near his home. They found a gun, which unfortunately was still loaded, with dire consequences.

The children roamed the countryside all around gathering whin berries, blackberries, nuts and mushrooms. We came home from various activities during the dark winter months with not a care in the world. It’s like another planet today when children are shepherded everywhere. I would have simply hated having adults around all the time. I do remember one man exposing himself to us once in the river woods, but we pelted him with stones and we never saw him again.

And that was the world as I remember it then and then it was WW2 and Llangollen was filled with evacuees and refugees.