I've still got mine, although I had long forgotten about it.

Hidden away in a drawer full of the usual detritus which a long life tends to accumulate is a document which was a major part of my life for a good many years.

I may have difficulty remembering what happened to me last week or even yesterday if the wind is in the wrong direction but I can recall quite vividly the day I came to possess that important little piece of cardboard.

It is tattered now, having spent a good many years in various handbags, briefcases, back pockets, not to mention the last goodness knows how many years in a box of photographs, newspaper cuttings and other useless items.

What a come down for what was, in its time, one of the most important documents I would ever own.

What was this important piece of card? It was my identity card - a sickly-yellow piece of tatty card with a photo, alleged to be of me, with my name, address at the time of issue and a reference number.

Identity cards were a novel concept in those far-off days. They were things foreigners carried about, not things any self-respecting English man or woman could be expected to have on them.

I can recall, as though it were yesterday, the day when we were issued with our brand new cards, to be taken with us wherever we went and produced on demand to any person in authority.

In the event that meant any Tom, Dick or Harry who had nothing better to do than stop you doing what you wanted to do.

My card, whose number is engraved upon my soul (OAUD 27 3), showed I was from a large organisation (the OAUD bit), that my personal number in that organisation was 27 and that I had been the third person to be issued with a card in that group.

I think I was asked for my identification about half a dozen times during the whole of the war years but I preserved my identity card religiously.

After the war you needed your identification number for your National Insurance and the NHS and my card saw the light of day on a few occasions and then fell into disuse.

By then we had so many bits of paper to identify ourselves that mere bits of tatty cardboard were not good enough. I doubt if anyone ever did anything very positive with the information the cards stored but at least it looked as though they were fulfilling a useful purpose.

Eventually most people lost or mislaid their card and we conveniently forgot about national identity matters.

The cards must have cost the government of the day something to produce but we were never told how much and we certainly never had to pay for them.

Now, however, things have gone full circle and there is a move to issue everyone with a national identity card mark II.

But this time around it is going to cost you a hefty £40 and be used as a receptacle for all the useless information about you that can be gathered on a magnetic strip.

It could carry all sorts of details about your life, some of which you would probably prefer not to become public knowledge.

There will no doubt be the usual protestations that nothing will be disclosed without your express permission but I would not put money on it.

If you are careless enough to mislay it, you could be in deep trouble, not to mention having to pay for a new one.

Of course, I may not be around long enough to be caught up in the second distribution of cards but I'll happily let the powers that be inspect my original identity card - after all, it got me though the war okay!