Now you are 7 you don’t need to be registered as an unaccompanied minor any more, you can do it all by yourself. Take a taxi to the airport and then another one to get you to school when you arrive. Remember you have to change terminals at Heathrow.
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wow!
“Up the wooden hill”…
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During evacuation my Mum, 7, was told to look after her 5 year old sister. “You are not to be separated, you are responsible for her”.
No wonder my mum was always “old” for her age. 
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If you eat sugar you’ll get worms. They were mortified when we went to visit an elderly relative whose veins stood out on the back of her hands, and I announced that Auntie Janey had been eating sugar I could see the worms
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Mother - ‘go and play outside and don’t come back until teatime’
Me - ‘but it’s raining’
Mother - ‘then wear a coat’
And she always told me she loved me!
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Ha ha… Tim… you were fortunate… 
First house I remember had a cellar kitchen, complete with Iron Range, with a coal cellar, filled by the coalman, via a ‘hatch’ in the pavement outside, “Don’t go in there Bill, the ‘bogeyman’ will get you”, not a hope in hell of me venturing in there, no need for the warnin’ Mam 
My Mothers sister’s husband was always a bit of a practical joker (although I didn’t know it at the time!).
He told me they had a black cat which lived in the coal bunker.
While I was visiting, he would take a saucer of milk out to the coal bunker for the ‘cat’ and would ask me if I wanted to see it - which of course I did.
But, I never did get to see the blasted cat…
When I told him I couldn’t see it, he’d just say 'well, it’s in there - you can’t see it 'cos it’s black, like the coal!
Of course, there never was a cat but it took many years to work that out! 
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As a small boy I was driven from our home in Birmingham to Wirral by a favourite uncle, passing, he told me, through the Black Country. Highly excited, I waited for an hour before asking, “When shall we reach the Black Country, uncle?”
Huge, huge disappointment to learn that we’d passed though it. But it wasn’t black as I’d imagined, grass black as pitch, people ditto, everything black, black, black. One of my deepest childhood disappointments: that grown-ups don’t always mean what they say 
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Dad would tell us that eating burnt-toast was good for us… as the charcoal cleans our teeth… 
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And waste-not-want-not is a good maxim in any era, you may agree, Stella. You and I will remember a time when bread was rationed after the war (tho’ not for long). And bread was never cheap by the standards of those hungry ‘bread-and-scrape’ times 
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Few years past before I no longer worried about the bogey man, but there were some 'orrendous spiders in there
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I’ve no idea of the recipe… but I recall Mum making soda bread… tasted good… but, in those days, everything tasted good if you were hungry…
Not that I recall crying with hunger or anything dramatic like that… but… when we arrived at the table, we were certainly ready to do justice to whatever was served.
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Tell that one to kids today
Mothers should, children should (in their best interests which parents should serve) comply, although they may complain “Oh Mom!”, to which Mom will reply, “Oh Mom, yes, off you pop!”
Simple, well-tested and effective formula. 
My Mother to us kids, “don’t sit to close to the fire as you’ll get chilblains”! We had them anyway living in a old farmhouse & only two fires lit to heat the whole building, unless we were really ill or Christmas holidays & we had special treatment… we’d have the fire lit in the bedrooms.
During storms my mother would come up to where I was hiding in my bed and tell me not to worry, God was doing the washing up. He kept going in and out of the kitchen and flicking the light on and off, he was a messy washer-upper so kept flicking water on the floor and the thunder was him dropping saucepans. Then she’d always add that if God were a woman we wouldn’t have storms since God would be much tidier and better organised!
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God is a woman!
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Bet Mum said that!!!