My childhood was disturbed and frightening. I was four when we left London as the Second World War broke out. We lived in Barrow-in-Furness as the Barrow Blitz commenced: hiding under the stairs, windows were blown out and ceilings fell down. One night it was so bad we had to walk through the bombs to an air raid shelter.
Claustrophobia plagued me into adulthood. I struggled to sit in the middle of rows and always stood by the door on the underground. At all times I needed an exit route. Nowadays, you’d see a therapist for help, but back then you just pushed through it.
I fell into intelligence by chance. I worked as an archivist before getting married, then my husband was posted to India. I was a diplomat’s wife, holding coffee mornings and the like, when I was tapped on the shoulder and offered a job as a typist in the service. I was grateful for an end to the boredom.
I listen to the radio in the middle of the night. It’s probably a function of old age that these days I don’t sleep soundly. I live alone with my two dogs – I think I’m comforted by feeling someone’s there with me.
Being a public figure was uncomfortable at first. When I was told I’d become director general of MI5 – the first woman to do so – I was informed my name would be public. It was the prime minister’s decision, there was nothing I could do. When one newspaper published a photo of my house, we had to go into hiding; an IRA member was arrested with newspaper clippings about me.
In my line of work you have to believe that for all its weaknesses, our democratic system is worth protecting.
I’ll always regret not being with my mother when she died. I was away with work and failed to leave a contact address or number. She died in hospital having fallen down the stairs; but I didn’t know until later. We’d always been close. I’ll forever wish I’d been there in her final moments.
Divorcing my husband seemed a faff. We separated back when our children were young, but the paperwork felt like an effort. Now, I’m rather glad we didn’t. We’ve become friendly again in old age, living together during lockdown. Yes, we argued, but we’ve mellowed. It’s a good recipe for marriage, I’d say: split up, live separately, and return to it later
My children would probably say I was quite detached as a mum. I worked hard and was often away. We managed with au pairs, grannies and kind neighbours. Still, I always tried to be caring and encouraging, and now – with my five grandchildren – I’m far more present.
I like getting older. People look after you. It’s a relief to no longer feel responsible for the world and all that’s happening. I hate this war, but I’m ancient, so I can do nothing. Being powerless brings a sense of lightness that’s rather pleasant.
The Devil’s Bargain by Stella Rimington is out now, £14.78, guardianbookshop.com