LAST week we featured Audrey Rostron's early memories and this week she shares "the war years" with us.

World War Two broke out when Audrey was three-years-old and her brother, Howard, three years older than she was.

"It seemed to impinge very little on my young life although I do remember the air raid shelters.

"When German 'planes were spotted the warning siren — a variable wailing sound which we called Moaning Minnie — was the signal to get to the nearest official shelter as quickly as possible," explains Audrey.

Audrey and her family lived in Sunlight Road and the shelter they used was in the grounds of Bolton School. "It was a long way for my little legs to run," she recalls and remembers that if it was night time she would be carried there, in her dressing gown, and there they would stay until they heard the single, sustained, note of the all clear, she explains.

"We soon tired of trailing to Bolton School however as Hitler didn't show any inclination to blow us up mother cleared out the space under the stairs, put down bedding for herself and Howard and me and that became our shelter during raids," she says.

Audrey's father was in the AFS (the Auxiliary Fire Service) and after a full day at work (he was a senior clerk at William Heaton's cotton mill in Lostock) he would have a quick meal and a short rest then walk the couple of miles to the fire station at the end of Marsden Road.

"From here he, and his fellow watchers, could see the fires raging in Manchester which was a major target.

"Some bombs did drop on Bolton but the pilot was probably just getting rid of the remainder of his load," says Audrey.

Because of blackout restrictions there were no bonfires on Guy Fawkes night, says Audrey.

"So one day dad decided to give the local children a treat.

"He brought home some sort of incendiary device, presumably the type used to give the AFS men some practise at putting out fires.

"The demonstration was in the kitchen and the children were kept outside.

"About a dozen little noses were pressed to the window for the display — and what a display it was.

"The bright white light (presumably phosphorus) burned for several minutes to a chorus of delighted oohs and aahs from those outside.

"Such a pity that my parents didn't feel the same. The flare was not meant to be used inside, of course, and at the end of the display we could see greasy black deposits hanging from everywhere — from pots and pans, woodwork and ceilings and the carpet was covered.

"The whole room had to be re-decorated. Father was not popular," she says.

Audrey recalls that everyone had an identity card and numbers could be recited "to show any enquiring policeman that we were not (very small) German spies.

"I still have my card (NDTK 456/4) and these cards must have remained in force for some years as mine has a change of address label inside showing when we moved to Horwich in 1950."

Audrey also recalls gas masks which were carried at all times. They were made of rubber, she explains, with rubber straps to hold them in position and a clear window to protect the eyes. The protruding nose had a filter on the end.

"We had regular gas mask practise where we all looked like Walt Disney's Pluto.

"In fact the younger children had actual Mickey Mouse masks, presumably to make the idea of a gas attack more fun."

Audrey remembers eating "well enough" but says a lot of this was because of her parents' "ingenuity in exchanging food coupons for, say, tea which Howard and I didn't drink for sugar, eggs and margarine.

"Of course father had his allotment so we had lots of fresh vegetables and berry fruits and he would exchange some of these for tomatoes from a man with a greenhouse.

"We also had a third of a pint of free milk each day, given out in small bottles by the "milk monitor".

"There was also concentrated orange juice, initially for babies, then from 1943 for all children.

"We were also given a spoonful of cod liver oil each day but it was so revolting that eventually it was supplied combined with malt, making it much more palatable."

Audrey says she remembers the end of World War Two because the children were given the following day off school.

"It was very exciting but a few weeks later I came home after school and found mother crying upstairs.

"One of her favourite cousins had been killed by a sniper's bullet on VE Day.

"It was only the war in Europe which had ended of course. My father's cousin, Philip, was in Burma with "The Forgotten Army" and it was three months before VJ Day on August 14, when Japan surrendered and World War Two ended, that Phil could come home and marry Barbara."