大象传媒

'This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Gwilym Scourfield of the County Heritage Team on behalf of David Johnson and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.'

Doodlebug to Mars 鈥�
A Visit to Gran鈥檚 I鈥檒l Never Forget

I was three years old when World War Two started. We lived in Ewell, near Epsom in Surrey. The plain truth is that there were so many bombs and air raid warnings, we all got a bit blas茅 about it. My gran (mum鈥檚 mother) lived a short way away 鈥� about a ten-minute walk for a little one. Mum sent me off one day to invite her round. I must have been about seven, so I guess it was in 1944. We had got used to the V1s, too.- the 鈥楧oodlebugs鈥�. The engines made a loud throbbing sound. When they cut out was the time to worry. As long as you could hear them, you were fine.

This particular day I did hear the flying bomb, but 鈥� though it didn鈥檛 cut out- I got into a panic when I saw a couple running for the air raid shelter. There was a row of trees in front of the Co-op, partially concealing the brick-built shelter. I followed suit and ran across, but, for no particular reason, I didn鈥檛 follow the couple into the actual shelter. I stood under the trees. The flying bomb came down behind the Co-op. There was an overwhelming crash with a terrifying detonation, followed closely by the sound of breaking glass, dense clouds of dust and broken tree branches falling all around. Somewhere in all this I felt myself helplessly thrown to the ground. I couldn鈥檛 see anything for flying dust and debris.

I was pretty shaken, but eventually found my bearings and ran home.
The windows in our house were all broken and all the doors were off the house. Fortunately my baby sister and my mother were out in the back garden, so narrowly avoided the flying glass. They were both blown to the ground and the baby rolled under a laurel bush. Amazingly, she was not injured.

Dad, who was in the RAF as a Flight Lieutenant Catering Officer, was called and we evacuated to Exeter in Devon to our other grandparents. We stayed there several months whilst our home was being repaired. I remember going to school in Exeter. I don鈥檛 remember much about being at that school. I don鈥檛 believe my mind was fully on my work. One day, for no obvious reason, I put up my hand and said,
鈥淧lease, sir, I want to die.鈥�
The other kids had been told to be kind to me because I had 鈥渃ome from the war鈥�.

Several months later I went home to our repaired house. It was almost a year after the flying bomb incident that I experienced hyperventilating from what must have been delayed shock. The local doctor was called, but he was reluctant to give me an injection. Looking back now, I can understand how frightening it must have been for my mother to see her little boy totally unable to control his breathing. The doctor, however, reasoned that the side effects of the injection might well have been more dangerous than the medication. Mum sat all night with me and she read the whole of 鈥榃innie the Pooh鈥� stories. When morning came my breathing was still no slower. The doctor came again and this time gave the injection. It worked immediately, but I had to go into hospital for a fortnight for observations.

The hospital had been for mental patients before the war. It had been hastily made over to treat war casualties. There was no space for me in the children鈥檚 ward. I shared a ward with pilots and navigators who had been shot down over Belgium. Needless to say, I worshipped them. They were real heroes. The able bodied ones were somewhat out of control for the nurses. I remember being whizzed along in a wheelchair. It was great fun. Many airmen were badly injured. That didn鈥檛 stop them taking me as their mascot. I was stuffed full of rare wartime Mars bars. I reckoned the war was no bad thing that week!

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