Belt up if you want to survive the smog

NO, I’LL never forget the Great Smog of London in 1952. I was eight years old and my family had just moved from the lovely clear air in Llandudno.

The first thing I asked my mother was: ‘Where are they?’ I was missing the constant sight and cries of the seagulls over the town.

In London, if you opened the front door, black soot would cover you in seconds.

Our flat backed on to Brixton Prison and I was terrified as the siren went off so many times — there were more attempted break-outs in the foggy conditions.

One day the mothers tied our coat belts together so they didn’t lose us on the way to school.

My father could not return home from work for three days due to the fog. he had chest problems and shortly afterwards was diagnosed with TB and sent to a sanatorium. I didn’t see him for months.

When the smog finally lifted after a few days, it was like going to heaven.

It seems like a bad dream now, and must be difficult for people today to understand.