大象传媒

This story took place in 1943, when I was six years old. It is now 60 years later, but the memories of the incident are still very vivid in my mind.
My father, Cyril Beniston, was in the Navy and he was away at the war. I was living at home with my mother Dorothy (who worked in a munitions factory), and my younger sister Molly. My maternal grandmother Clarry also lived with us, and she was looking after my sister. But I had gone out shopping with my mother.
We were returning home in good spirits and a happy frame of mind, because Mam had been able to buy a few sausages from the butcher's shop using her coupons (it was all rationing in those days). We were nearly home, and just turning the corner towards our house. But suddenly there was a huge roar of an aircraft either overhead or approaching.
I should next explain that we lived right next door to the ammunition factory. It had been a shoe factory called the CWS Wheatsheaf Works in peace-time, and was one of the biggest Boot and Shoe factories in England. But for wartime purposes it had been converted to manufacturing ammunition (in the basement), and other munitions or war materials on the upstairs floors.
It also had a high clock tower, with striking clocks on all four faces, and could be seen for miles around. The clock was known, and still is known to this day, as "The Wheatsheaf Clock". Yet somehow the factory managed to survive the whole war, with only a couple of minor hits and one larger one in the grounds. My mother always used to joke that, "They'd never bomb the Wheatsheaf, or else how would the Germans know the time?"!
But it's a little more serious than that I'm afraid. Leicester is on the direct route between Germany and Coventry. And everyone knows that Coventry (where they made the Tanks and other Armoured Fighting Vehicles) took a terrible pounding during the war. And any German bomber that got a bit lost, got chased away by our fighters, got hit with AAA, or couldn't reach it's original target for whatever other reason, used to use Leicester as a Target-of-Opportunity to dump it's bombs.
Furthermore, where we lived was also not far away from Leicester Gas Works with it's Gasometer, and an Electricity Works with it's Cooling Towers - both tempting high-priority targets for the Luftwaffe!
To return now to the details of the incident, this may explain how a lone German bomber (for that is what it turned out to be) was doing flying very low (not much higher than the Wheatsheaf Clock) over the CWS Works from the general direction of Leicester Gasworks heading west towards Coventry.
Because it was flying low, the Wheatsheaf Building itself must have masked most of the noise, and I only first saw it (seconds after I heard it) coming over the factory and flying in a dead straight line towards my mother and myself!
At that moment all my life passed before my eyes (Yes! It really did!). But I knew my duty. Hadn't my Dad told me before he went back from Leave last time that I was the man-of-the-house now, and to look after my mother and sister whilst he was away?
With a strength, and a strength-of-purpose, that belied my mere six years of age, I brushed past my mother and stood to face the enemy square-on. With me, you see, I had a WEAPON.
It was a bow-and-arrow. Swiftly I loaded. No english archer at Agincourt got his arrow more quickly into the bow than did I. Pulling it almost instantaneously to full stretch, I FIRED.
Well, unfortunately, it didn't go very far. About two or three feet as best I can judge now with the memory of hindsight. And to make matters worse, even if it had have risen high enough up, that rubber sucker on the end probably wouldn't have done too much damage to the aircraft. Yes! It was a toy arrow! I know that now, but to a 6yr-old at the time it was the real thing!
But even if I had known, it wouldn't have made any difference. I would still have fired, and kept on firing whilst I had arrows left to shoot. No-one was going to harm MY mother.
However, sadly, that was my last and only arrow. And now I was defenceless, standing alone before the fiend. At that moment, in my own mind, I was utterly convinved I was going to die. He would drop a bomb on me, and I would be dead, that's what I thought. But I was brave. I didn't cry. I just hoped it wouldn't kill or even hurt my mother too.
Even as these thoughts were passing through my mind, I was looking at the bomber to see if I could see the bomb start to drop (so I could try and dodge out of the way when it came!). It was a German aeroplane, all right. It had those german markings all over it. And I could even see the pilot quite clearly. He had a flying helmet and a black leather jacket of some sort on.
And then, suddenly, he looked down and saw me! The look of astonishment on his face literally had to be seen to be believed! A young fellow-me-lad, with a discharged bow in his hand (and a rubber-sucker-tipped arrow lying nearby on the ground) still pointing towards his aircraft, and of obvious hostile intent towards him. Not at all what he probably expected!
Guess he knew then that his side couldn't win. They breed them with hearts of oak in England. And although it's all NATO and the United Nations nowadays, it must always be remembered that before that we stood alone on our island for 1000 years unconquered. We defied and defeated all-comers, whether gallic, teutonic, aryan, germanic or otherwise!
But to conclude, having spotted me and my mother and having rescued his false-teeth from down his throat, he flew on again into the sunset. He didn't drop his bomb or bombs on us, and we lived to taste and breathe another day. Nor was he ever seen or heard of again. That is the end of the incident.

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