Depending on the supreme skill and bravery of The Royal Air Force above, and their own determined stubborn resistance and the ringing words of inspired encouragement of Winston Churchill below, Londoners proved to the world in the Second World War that they could defend, hold and save their City, despite night and day bombing of a magnitude never before imagined nor experienced.

Bookshelves bulge with accounts of the valour of civilians during that epic period of history. The incredible heroism of men made daily reading in the newspapers. Here, we want especially to remember the heroic deeds of women, facing similar devastation and hardship. Moreover, they did so while trying to maintain livable homes for their families, wondering each night if there would be a home left standing by tomorrow morning.

However, we want to present their combined story in a different manner than the usual approach. We asked two older women of those legendary times to share with us their heroic deeds and memories.

London had been the first major Second World War city scheduled by the Germans to be "blitzed" into annihilation. Knowing the weakened state of the RAF, bloated boastful Herman Goering, Commander of the German Airforce (also known as the Luftwaffe) was sure Britain could be defeated in a weekend, adding scornfully that he would ring Britain's neck like that of a chicken. Churchill's retort: "Some neck! Some chicken!"

If London was the first major target, Britain's principal river estuaries with their dense populations and heavy industry were next.

Both women we invited to tell their stories spent the entire War in Merseyside, the renamed county area embracing the Mersey River. One is Freda Muirhead of England and Bermuda (after the War). The other is Annie McKinnon of Scotland, England and the United States (in recent years). They mirror the experiences endured by all British women.

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"During the War", Lois Aitchison writes, "I served with Mrs. Joyce Maxwell and Mrs. Edna Perinchief of the Bermuda Overseas Association, a group of dedicated ladies who kept in touch faithfully with our men and women serving overseas. Each month, we sent each of them news from home, the Bermudian Magazine and other items they would like to receive".

One sunny morning in Bermuda, more than 60 years later, Freda and Lois reminisced about Freda's role in the War.

Freda moved with her family early in the War from her native Old Trafford (scene of many major British sporting events) to Manchester.

Still in her teens, Freda volunteered to become a nurse, wishing to specialise in children's care. She could have applied to other possibly safer locations in Merseyside, but Manchester had become her home, and she intended to stay and serve in it.

To her immense satisfaction, the Royal Children's Hospital of Manchester accepted her application.

Manchester was conveniently located for the Germans in the air corridor leading to Liverpool. They were to feel its full wrath, day and night, as sirens screamed the arrival of the approaching bombers.

True to their Florence Nightingale heritage, the nurses were well organised with pre-arranged plans to care for the children. They marshalled them as quickly as possible down to their below-ground air raid shelters.

One nightmare of a night, a land-mine exploded within range of the hospital, ripping off a large portion of the roof. There were casualties, but by that time most of the children were in their shelters.

Many dead and wounded, littered the surrounding neighbourhood. The vacated children's wards were hastily transformed into emergency receiving stations.

Just visualise the chaos, the shock, the fear. But also acknowledge the boundless courage, dedication, efficiency and professional skill of the nurses in unsurpassed circumstances of extreme danger.

By any measurement, overnight these marvellous women became seasoned war veterans, coping with emergencies and horrors that, in all previous wars, was the domain of the front-line infantry. Tragically, far too many paid the ultimate price with their lives. Miraculously, Freda survived. She and her equally brave colleagues were destined to continue their burdened stressful lives as Manchester continued to be a major bombing target. After the War, Freda decided to go abroad, and answered an advertisement by the late Eleanor and Bill Andrews, Sr. (Charlotte Andrews' grandparents). Bill, an officer on the "Monarch of Bermuda" at the outbreak of the War, immediately resigned and returned to England to join the RAF. He was a native of Liverpool, the great Merseyside metropolis. Eleanor soon followed from Bermuda and they were married.

Bill won his RAF wings and went on to pilot different planes, including Spitfires. Eleanor undertook war service for the duration of the War and, as all British women did, lived through the horrors of German aerial bombardment, becoming a bona fide war veteran.

Freda Muirhead loved Bermuda from the day she arrived with the Andrews family.

Now retired for many years, Freda still serves as a Pink Lady at the King Edward VII Memorial Hospital. She regularly visits seniors in retirement and nursing homes.

"I spent several afternoons," Tommy Aitchison recalls, "chatting with Annie McKinnon when after a severe fall, she was in rehabilitation at the same nursing home in Arizona where Lois resides permanently.

For all six years of the War, Annie lived in Bebington, Cheshire, on the south side of the Mersey River, near Birkenhead, a major ship building centre.

I recognised quickly the lovely lilt of Annie's Scottish accent (a gift I come by easily. My parents were Scottish).

Annie and her husband, Malcolm, were born in Greenock on the River Clyde. Married in 1938, they moved almost immediately to Bebington, where they lived all their married life.

They had been married for 65 years when Malcolm died in 2003.

Now 99 years of age, she had come to the United States on the death of her husband to live with their daughter, Diane Jackson, in Payson, Arizona.

I was impressed by the large collection of newspapers and magazines spread out on her table, many of them Scottish. Her amazingly sharp memory reflected her love of reading and interest in current happenings.

Malcolm had been a star football player with Scottish First Division clubs Greenock Morton and Glasgow Rangers. Malcolm had followed the same route as that years earlier taken by Alan Morton (five feet, four inches), who is still the greatest left-winger in the history of Scottish football.

Malcolm came to Merseyside as a young marine engineer to take a position with Cammel Lairds Ship building at Birkenhead, and rose to become chief engineer.

Later, he was employed by the large oil refinery at Ince, one of the most sought after targets of the Luftwaffe on its way to and from Merseyside. A few residents still remember the roar of RAF fighters taking off from their nearby aerodromes in pursuit of the bombers.

Luck or destiny (frequently both) play a vital role in war. One night a land mine fell close to Bebington, but landed in soft ground, failing to explode. Next day, the overworked Bomb Disposal Squad diffused it. The late John Patton, MP of Bermuda was awarded the George Cross during the War as a member of the Bomb Disposal Squad in London.

Another time, the McKinnons were less fortunate. A powerful bomb fell close to their house, causing extensive damage and bringing down every ceiling.

During the War, British civilians had to join local defence units. Malcolm was exempted from regular military service because of his vital employment. He enlisted in the Home Guard.

Women served with distinction in Civil Defence. Nightly, they had to deal with the results of exploding bombs, especially the ubiquitous incendiary fire bombs.

Even local bus service, the only available transportation in a limited way to civilians, was not immune from attack. During raids, passengers had to leave buses and find cover wherever they could.

Once, when nearly home, Annie had to jump out and run, diving into her bomb shelter with moments to spare.

In trying to maintain some semblance of home life for their families, British women raised the art of improvisation to unbelievable heights. Not least when trying to provide acceptable meals.

Rationing was severe. Shortage of coal often dictated that, if there was to be a cooked meal, it would have to be cooked outdoors on an open wood fire. Odd bits of wood and fallen branches were the only items of fuel, Annie could scrounge.

Over and above all the other calls upon them, women spent millions of hours sewing for service men and women, making uniforms, knitting socks, sweaters, scarves and Balaclava helmets (head coverings invaluable in cold weather).

However, there is a tragic postscript to Annie McKinnon's story. Just as we were beginning to think of special ways to celebrate her 100th birthday next February, we learned she had died.

Annie was a lady of immense spirit, patriotically and in every other way. Looking far younger than her years, it is easy for me to remember her whenever I think of "lest we forget".

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When we pin our poppies on our jackets and dresses this November 11th, we must renew our admiration and gratitude for the courage and heroism of an entire generation of British women. Not only did they defy the Germans, they did so on a front line defined by their bravery.

Let us, then, raise our glasses to the memory of every one of them, and forever honour and remember them.