大象传媒

"This story was submitted to the site by the 大象传媒's Peoples War Team in the East Midlands with Pat & Ray Stickleys permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions"

It was the warm summer of 1942 in Salisbury Wiltshire. I was nine years old and very conscious of war and the dangers which were threatening us. Yet, my childhood was happy and in Salisbury we were not an enemy target area even though we often had air raid warnings. when the siren wailed and we scurried into the air-raid shelters. Though mostly the aircraft were passing overhead guided by the high Cathedral spire, heading for other, more military or naval areas. Salisbury was a green and pleasant place in which to be a child and often we were taken to our favourite spot known as "The Meadows". This was just down the road from where we lived in Ashley Road, Here the river Avon flowed by and it was here that I learned to swim. For the smaller children there was a paddling pool which we loved. adjacent to the pool was a play area with swings, seesaws climbing bars and a maypole. The "Meds" as we called it was really wonderful, surrounded by tall Poplar trees, a perfect play area for children of all ages to spend those halcyon days days of summer. Our thoughts were full of joy, play and the picnic we would soon be eating. The afternoon was still and quiet except for the laughter and shouts of the children. Then suddenly, without any warning, the sound of a fast flying low aircraft shattered our peace. At the same time we saw a German plane heading straight towards us flying only a few hundred feet above ground. As it approched, it's guns began to fire, seeming as though we were the target. It all happened so quickly, suddenly my Mother grabbed both Dave, my litle brother and me. We found ourselves down the bank of the little stream, which ran peacefullly alongside us. Mum had thrown us down with herself on top of us, covering us with her body. I managed to move my head in time to see the two black crosses on the wings of the Messerschmidt, which with guns blazing made towards the nearby Gasometer which I could see clearly. To my horror the Gasometer had been hit by bullets and burst into flames on it's side. At nine years old I understood that gas was inflamable and very dangerous, my terror was uncontrolled. I screamed hysterically, "It will blow up, we'll be gassed!". By now the plane had disappeared and my Mum had calmed me down, while little six year old David whimpered quietly underneath her. Trembling, I stole a furtive glance at the Gasometer, there was no explosion, in fact the flames were subsiding. perhaps we weren't going to die after all! This event has forged itself indelibley upon my memory and to me became thr epitome of the horror of war intruding upon the innocence of child hood.

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