My room [postwar in Reading] was tiny. Their room had a double bed, our eating table, their trunks. Our ‘everything else’ room. We stayed 8 years. My mother had to fit in with the owner: cooking when the owner wasn’t cooking–dreadful for them. I’d sit in the shed in the garden mostly. I organised a couple of metal bars, so if somebody banged them, I’d know. I made it my little den. It was only a tiny little shed. I would sit & read. My mother would leave me a tea in a little round tin. That Gollancz leaflet? ‘Nowhere to hide their heads’ that was published at the end of the war, which my parents hid. This yellow pamphlet about concentration camps. I found it & I read it & I- absolutely terrified.