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I was still a child when the war started, but lived near Martlesham Aerodrome, which was a fighter base. During the early years of the war we had shelters in the ground and I remember seeing German bombers attacking the Aerodrome. They were so close you could make out the squarish bodywork and windows of the planes and the pilots themselves- menacing in their black helmets. Quite scary for a young boy.

For a time I stayed at my Grandmother’s and one evening the Germans were dropping incendiary bombs in the area. They fell all around- but never actually touched her house. There were loads and loads of bombs when we emerged the next morning- you could see them everywhere.

Once, the air raid siren went when I was at school, and we were herded into the shelter. We were standing near the entrance when a Doodlebug came over. These were flying bombs that used to make a terrible noise- and when the noise stopped it would dive straight downwards. Well, this one stopped right above us. We were very scared… Fortunately it continued a little further before dropping.

Some time later we were sitting in a lesson when suddenly there was a huge blast! All the classroom windows shattered, the walls cracked, and we jumped under the desks. Afterwards- too late- we heard that it was a V2, like an American rocket with a bomb attached to it.

Every night from my back window I could see Doodlebugs flying over and the searchlights of the people trying to shoot them down. I think we were pretty much right on the Doodlebug route.

One night I looked out over my back garden- to see almost uncountable numbers of aeroplanes with gliders attached to them. They just kept on coming. I think they must’ve been heading for the landings at Arnham, Holland.

Whilst I was at university, an American aeroplane from Martlesham crashed onto my parents’ house. I was watching TV at the time, and saw it all, but without registering that it was my own house. Later, the police called to say that my father and mother were safe. It was the first I’d heard of it! My mother was in the kitchen and had run out the front, whilst my father ran out the back. Both thought the other had been killed. There was one remarkable thing: my mother, who was very careful about returning things, had a glass bowl with a trifle in that belonged to my aunt. When the house was hit, a brick fell right into the middle of it- but the trifle must’ve taken the brunt of the blow, because the cut glass bowl survived intact!

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