Prologue - The Return

 My life isn’t all that it seems, you may think I’m a normal kid , but you should never judge a girl by her cover .I mean my parents were spies for crying out loud, now me and my sisters are spies, this can’t get any worse right?...

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Roller Skates to Rolls-Royce The Story of a Young Man’s Progress Barry Michael Murphy 7 October 1938 – 15 August 2011 Copyright © 2012 by Mary Murphy

Before there were any bicycle stories to be told, my life was mainly restricted to playing outside in the street. In suitable weather a trusty companion and I would sit on top of one of two, tall dark green, electric transformer boxes, situated on the corner of Merlin Road and Hook Lane in Welling, Kent. These conveniently placed objects served as palisades, from where we fought off the constant attacks of Apache, Crow and Blackfoot. Other times we sailed the seven seas, high up in the crows-nest, on the lookout for Spanish galleons, ripe for the plundering. But more often than not it was Germans. We hated Germans, the Luftwaffe lost squadrons of aircraft to our effective, anti-aircraft position, divisions of tanks fell to our superior armament and more than one battleship was sunk to the seabed with all hands lost. We saved Britain daily (though peevishly we received no recognition for our services from His Majesty’s Government) and it was little wonder that the Germans came back nightly, attempting to destroy our position while I, my older sister, Mum and Dad slept in our Anderson shelter, 6 ft. 6 inches long by 4 ft. 6 inches wide, and he, with his family not far away, slept in theirs....

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