From 5-18 years old, I lived in fear, in a household where there was daily violence, abuse and anger. My cortisol levels were so high, I don’t think they’ve ever come down!

And I’m nearly 80 now.

Still plagued with life-long nightmares about these years, but , which are now, mercifully, less frequent.

Sadly, many children are living like this right now. My situation wasn’t unique.

But this is my story.

After my parents divorced, my father took up with an eighteen -year old girl, who was mentally deranged. She wanted my father all to herself, and I was in the way. An obstacle.

We were living in post-war Germany at the time. My mother had vanished back to the UK, and my father had obtained full custody of me in their divorce. Almost unheard of in 1950. But my mother wanted nothing to do with me.

However, my father was frequently absent, as he was working for the Foreign Office in the Transport division (British Element), helping in the restructuring of the country’s roads, railways, and so on.

I was largely looked after by a Polish nanny,Cecilia ( very young and sweet), and a German couple – Elsa ( the cook) and Willi ( the gardener).

We were a close-knit little family, and I was well cared-for, and, importantly, greatly loved. I recall lots of cuddles,kisses and many kindnesses, and treats. I was their ‘Mandylein’.

But into this idyll, ‘Dorothy’ arrived. And I shall never forget the terror I felt when I first looked into her dark eyes, full of raging anger. Suddenly, she had the opportunity spend time with me. I wished constantly that she would just go back to where she had come from.

She used to play this game with me that terrified me. She’d wrap me up in a rough, woollen army blanket. I can still feel its coarseness against my skin. Then tie me up, so I was in a confined bag. She would then hurl me round and round the room. I was a slight child; she was a strong girl.

I’d scream with terror, as I became hotter and hotter. Gasping for air .Trapped. Until she finally chose to put me down on the floor, and let me out.

By then I was gasping for breath, in tears, covered in sweat. I still remember the sadistic, mocking look in her eyes, as she laughed cruelly at my distress. She was enjoying frightening me. She took pleasure in seeing my fear and vulnerability.

Result: life-long claustrophobia. To this day, I can only sit at the end of a row in a darkened theatre, or cinema. If not, I have a major panic attack, and have to escape. The fear is indescribable.

Little did I know that this was just the beginning of years of torture that awaited me.