Sitting in her gracious home, with its splendid views of the sparkling South Shore beyond the sun-dappled trees, it is hard to believe that, were it not for a premonition, Morwenna Wilson would not be alive today.

Living in Chelsea, London with her mother, Lynette, during the Second World War, the young Miss Lowry took in stride the dangers of air raids and falling bombs, but like everyone else she was also determined to have some fun. Dances were a popular way of escaping reality for a few hours, and informal venues sprang up everywhere. On Friday nights her friends Elizabeth and Ambrose would collect her and head for a room in St. Luke's Hospital, just off the King's Road, where an old-fashioned gramophone ground out dance music.

"There was a little beer and wine, but not much because everything was rationed," Mrs. Wilson says.

One Friday, Ambrose telephoned to say that his wife was ill so they would not be going dancing.

"No matter," thought Morwenna. "I will just walk there." When her mother learned of her plans she became very upset and pleaded with her daughter not to go, but the young woman was determined.

"Oh, Mother, I want to go," she protested. "I shall be perfectly all right, and I promise I won't be late. You can wait up for me if you like," but Mrs. Lowry had a premonition. With tears rolling down her cheeks she implored her daughter to stay with her, and in the end she gave in.

"The next morning we found that the dance room in the hospital had taken a direct hit from a bomb and everybody in it was killed. I still get goose bumps thinking about it," Mrs. Wilson says. "If my mother hadn't said, 'Please, please stay' I would have gone. I just wasn't meant to die."

It would not be the last time her mother would sense danger and take steps to avoid it or the only time the duo would escape death.

"One night she was travelling home in a taxi, and as the driver headed through the blackout towards Sloane Street, mother suddenly told him to go another way," Mrs. Wilson says. "The driver protested, telling her that going the long way 'round would be a lot more expensive, but she insisted. The next day we learned that a bomb had fallen at the junction of Sloane and Pont Streets leaving a huge crater. If the driver had continued on in the darkness, they would have fallen in and been killed."

On another occasion, the bombing around Chelsea was so bad that Mrs. Wilson decided to leave her own bed and, taking her cat with her, climb into her mother's bed. Hardly had she done so than a land mine came down at the end of their road. The force of the explosion blew the bedroom window in on top of them, showering glass everywhere. But worse was still to come. As they cowered under the eiderdown a large, mirrored dresser also fell on top of them. The next morning Mrs. Wilson had to walk barefoot through a carpet of broken glass to find a pair of shoes, and she also discovered that a 12-inch shard had sliced through the beautiful silk neglig?e hanging on the back of the bedroom door as if it were butter.

"You don't forget things like that," she says.

Her many war memories include queuing up for a gas mask, and travelling on a bus when the driver ordered, "everyone on your face" as an air raid began.

"Imagine putting your face on a dirty bus floor," she winces. "You heard the buzz bombs going over but you didn't see them; you just hoped they would crash somewhere else."

For all the threats to public safety, however, Mrs. Wilson says there was never a problem with personal safety.

"You would walk along in the blackout with your handbag and not one person would ever think of robbing you. Imagine trying to do that today."

On a lighter note, she recalls that getting a permanent wave involved the many rollers being connected to an overhead machine by cords. When an air raid siren sounded, hairdressers had to move swiftly to disconnect their clients so that they could flee to safety.

Travelling by tube, Mrs.Wilson remembers seeing stacks of mattresses on the platforms - grim reminders that people actually slept in those crowded, smelly underground stations every night.

Still, life was not all doom and gloom. People also found time for romance, and Morwenna Lowry was no exception.

The dark-haired beauty eventually fell in love with a dashing Royal Air Force pilot officer, Flight Lieutenant James Lockhart, and they were married on November 9, 1940 when she was just 19 years old. Like most war brides, she saw little of her husband because he was on active duty overseas, and since they couldn't afford their own accommodation she continued to live with her mother. At the time the estimated life span of an RAF pilot was six weeks, and she knew that tomorrow was guaranteed to no-one.

Meanwhile, a friend of hers had fallen in love with a Canadian who was stationed in Chichester, Sussex, and they were planning to be married. When his regiment organised a dance her friend asked the then-Mrs. Lockhart if she would like to go.

"We will find a man to partner you who will appreciate the fact that you have a husband overseas," she promised.

And so it was that the two young women set off by train for the rendez-vous.

"We settled into a hotel room and I put on my prettiest dress," Mrs. Wilson remembers.

At the dance she was introduced to William T. (Bill) Wilson. Tall, dark and handsome, he was a captain in the 17th Field Artillery, a Canadian regiment which he had joined from Toronto University when war broke out. Capt. Wilson was the first Bermudian Mrs. Lockhart had ever met. In fact, she had never heard of Bermuda before, and had no idea where it was. Nonetheless, the two got on famously, and Mrs. Lockhart proudly told him all about her pilot husband. Most unusually, she also gave the charming Bermudian her telephone number with the advice that if ever he came to London and would like to visit her and her mother, they would be delighted to see him.

"I didn't think he had many friends," she says.

Back in the war-torn captial, Morwenna Lockhart went about her daily life, eventually working as a secretary in the Office of War Information at the American Embassy in Grosvenor Square. Like everyone else whose husbands were at war, she prayed daily that hers would be safe, but alas it was not to be. One day she received the dreaded telegram telling her that her beloved James was "missing, believed killed". Just two short years after leaving the altar in joy, she was plunged into widowhood. Fate, however, would soon deal her a healing hand.

Two months after their first meeting, Bill Wilson arrived in London and rang to invite her to lunch.

"I told him about my husband and he said, 'Perhaps you don't want to come then', but I said, 'On the contrary, I would love to come'."

It proved to be the first of many happy meetings, during which their friendship blossomed into love and they became engaged. Mrs. Wilson remembers the proposal well.

"He more or less said, 'Will you marry me, and can you ride a bicycle?'" she laughs. "When I told my mother I had fallen in love with this man from Bermuda she looked it up in the atlas and exclaimed, 'My dear! Bermuda is a just dot - it doesn't even have a shape! She did, however, like Bill very much."

The couple were married at Holy Trinity, Brompton church on February 17, 1945, he in his captain's uniform, and she in a pale blue suit with a custom-made hat of ostrich feathers. They settled in London with their spaniel, Montague, and eventually became the parents of a son, Gavin.

With his regiment, Capt.Wilson took part in the D-Day landings during which his jeep was bombed. As a result of his injuries, he was invalided out of active service and posted to regimental headquarters in London.

With the war finally over, Mr. Wilson made arrangements to bring his young family to Bermuda where he planned to resume his interrupted banking career. Ever the gentleman, he also invited his mother-in-law to join them here.

"Coming from her son-in-law I thought that was the nicest thing that could possibly happen," Mrs. Wilson says. "Mother had a very good job with Reader's Digest, and she was also a great bridge player, plus she had a lot of friends, so it was quite a lot for her to give up, but I was her only child so she came to live here. We found her an apartment near us, and eventually she became a member of the Bermuda bridge team in international tournaments."

Thus it was that the couple, along with their baby son and dog, boarded the Aquitania to begin the long journey back to Bermuda. The journey across the Atlantic was rough, and the ship was packed with returning servicemen and war brides.

"You couldn't put anything down because it would be stolen," Mrs. Wilson says.

On arrival in New York the family transferred to the Queen of Bermuda for the final leg of their journey to a new life.

In all, the couple would enjoy 45 years together before Mr. Wilson's death in 1990. During that time the couple would also have a daughter, Charlene, and Mr. Wilson would rise to become chief general manager of the Bank of Bermuda Ltd. He was a keen fisherman, and also a member of the Royal Bermuda Yacht Club.

"We were so in love," his widow remembers.

Ironically, on Friday, November9, 61 years to the day she married Flight Lt. James Lockhart, the immaculately groomed and still-pretty Mrs. Wilson will be selling poppies in remembrance of all those who, like her first husband, gave their lives in the cause of freedom.