...and here is Joyce's story in full:

Christmas 1943
by Joyce Gillespie

When I was seven we were all invited to my aunt's house for Christmas lunch.

Two hours later we all went to our house. It was mum and dad's turn to provide the tea. At nine thirty it was decided that our visitors would stay overnight. It must have been about ten o'clock on that Christmas night of 1943 when I went to sleep.

I woke up to hear the song 'Michael, row the boat ashore, Hallelujah' being played on the radio but it wasn't Boxing Day 1943; it was the third week in February 1944. I had diphtheria and I had been unconscious for eight weeks. On Boxing Day mum had not been able to wake me up, recognised the "smell" of diphtheria and sent for an ambulance.

I was taken to the isolation hospital with the bell ringing all the way. I must have subconsciously registered the sound because, to this day, the sound of an alarm bell affects me. It guarantees that I can never oversleep.

I was not allowed any visitors. Mum had to go to the Town Hall every day to look at the hospital lists on the door, to see if I was still on the "Danger List". When my name did not appear on this list, Mum knew then that I was at last getting better but I was not allowed any visitors.

Grandad used to come to the hospital every Saturday the whole time I was there and look at me through the window. No one tried to stop him. It could have been his height of six foot two inches with a shoulder breadth to match. It could have been the half dozen eggs from his hens he handed in without fail. I did not know this at the time, of course, but I do remember having a boiled egg with my name on it twice a week for the last four weeks I was in hospital.

One night the "sirens" went whilst I was still in isolation. Through the windows I could see the searchlights swinging across the sky and hear what were obviously guns going off and bombs dropping.

When I graduated to the main ward I had to learn to walk again. Before I could go home I had to prove to the Doctor that I could walk properly. I had to be able to walk up to and twice around the giant weeping willow tree in the gardens and back again. One day, when I was allowed to walk by myself, I took Sexton Blake with me and sat under the tree reading, losing all track of time. Eventually a nurse found me. Apparently they had been looking everywhere for me for an hour!

The Doctor gave me the All Clear and I left hospital on 21st March 1944, the first day of spring, twelve weeks after I had entered it.