My friend Susan lived on the Bath Road in Harlington, literally opposite the runway, and could see the planes take off right in front of their sitting room window. Her family's house was built in Victorian times, and incredibly had no electricity, a coal fire, gas mantles for lighting, and an outside toilet. Her father serviced the aircraft.

My flight to Montreal took seven hours, and passed over Newfoundland. Flying in those days was 'posh', and many of the lady passengers wore fur coats and hats with a little veil at the front. My ticket was paid for by my aunt and uncle in Ontario. I went all alone, and wasn't a bit scared. (And I certainly wasn't a bit 'posh' either!)