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themselves with whatever decoration they liked, to make them into private dens. We were all very much aware of the music and fashion trends from back home, and the cellars were a reflection of British, not German life. Radios would blast out hits of the time, and there was a constant soundtrack of the Monkees and the Beatles. Songs like ‘I’m A Believer’ and ‘All You Need Is Love’ were always playing on camp, from radios in houses, and in the kids’ dens. When Mum was at home, she had her favourites, which seemed more ‘grown-up’ than the bands who were the noise of my childhood. Engelbert Humperdinck would croon ‘Release Me’ and ‘The Last Waltz’ in the kitchen, and I would wonder why she liked such sad-sounding songs.
    The cellars of many people I knew were like snugs. All of the old, unwanted furniture from their houses would get put down there, so there was a real hotchpotch of stuff in every one. There would be soft furnishings, lamps, record players, radios, books, comics, and a very warm feeling from such messy comfort in most places. I always loved going to friends’ cellars. Every time an Army family moved, their belongings would be transported in what were called MFO boxes. MFO stood for Military Forwarding Office or Military Freight, and the MFO boxes were used for sending personal possessions overseas. They were big wooden crates, rather like tea chests, and these were usually kept in the cellars too. They were made of four sheets of plywood with bendy tin riveted joints and an interchangeable pair of lids and bases, all kept together with half-inch screws. People would write the address of their posting on the outside and it would turn up at their new accommodation – this was back in the days when the Army did it all, long before major removal companies were brought in.
    Families knew they would always be moved somewhere else, so were ready to go at a moment’s notice, and would often keep things in the MFO crates for a quick move. The children would push the crates together to make tables, places to lie down, obstacle courses to climb over – there were many uses for those things, and I think they were the most common component of every cellar or den in Germany.
    Needless to say, we weren’t allowed to take command of our den. At that stage, I didn’t know many children who were in the same position, but Dad was absolutely adamant that we were not allowed into ours, and it was not our property. I never did find out why he was so hardline about this, but I knew I would get knocked about if I as much as set foot in the place. I believe it was just another way to control us, to emphasise that his word was the law, no matter what was happening in other families. I know he kept all his old Army stuff from all his years in the forces in the old MFO boxes, but that was it. Gary used to harp on about us being allowed down there, but there was no room for manoeuvre. He just didn’t want us to interact with other children – well, he particularly didn’t want me to interact with other children. I was kept on a tight leash.
    It was a very small world. News from back home would filter through, and British programmes on TV and radio were the norm, as we never really immersed ourselves in German culture, but we were also removed from things. The world was changing – huge new towns were being built in the UK which would change the landscape of the whole country, politicians were trying to gain access to the EEC, the National Front was emerging, and Britain’s nuclear programme was growing stronger. None of it meant anything to a little girl in a different country, whose mum had been taken away and whose dad had turned into a stranger.
    I had hoped for a happy life when we moved to Rinteln but, sitting there alone, such happiness seemed a world away. I heard a key in the lock of the door and sat up in the chair as my dad came in – despite being worried about him coming home, I desperately