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1942: Here I am aged four with my mother Peggy. I used to order her around – once I shouted down from upstairs, ‘Mummy, I want a bath, and I want it now!’ My saving grace was inheriting her sense of humour. She was half-Irish and very sociable, with a great sense of mischief. My Army officer father John, in contrast, was serious and upright, though also kind, generous and easy-going
1945: As you can see here, I was terrified on my first day at boarding school in Eastbourne, aged seven. Patrick, my teddy bear, was my only comfort, but the other boys laughed at me so much I wrapped the little chap in a parcel and posted him home. Boarding school made me tough and independent, but less close to my parents than I should have been