Our street party tea was a muted celebration, full of uncertainty. Then, as now, we faced a long struggle towards a better world It is May 2025, it is 4am, and I am sitting up in bed, sleepless, looking out at a huge moon illuminating the still world.Eighty-five years ago, in 1940, a silently weeping seven-year-old lay on a cracked leatherette sofa in urine-soaked pyjamas, looking through an alien window, praying that that same moon would protect my mum and dad from the killer bombs falling in London. Continue reading...