大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Susan Stefiuk of Age Concern Shropshire Telford and Wrekin on behalf of Mrs Hazel Roberts and has been added to the site with her permission. The author full understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

At the outbreak of the Second World War in 1939 my family had just moved from Cuckfield in Sussex, to live in the pretty village of Writtle in Essex. I was six years old and my brother Keith was eleven years old, I was sent to Writtle school, and my brother went to a Catholic school in Chelmsford, which was the nearest town to the village.

Writtle was the village that the first broadcast made in this country came from.

From early on in the hostilities we felt the impact of the war as the position of the village made us vulnerable, as we were in a direct line from the cliffs of Dover over to London, and the German heinkel and dormier bombers always seemed to take that route over our houses to reach their final destination, and if they were turned back, they always seemed to release their bombs on our fields and property.

Of course another reason for our weakness was that our village was surrounded by flat Essex countryside, which was ideal for the airfields scattered around us which housed the spitfires and lancaster bombers these were protected by artillery searchlights, and many barrage balloons.

North Weald aerodrome was very close to Writtle and was a prime target for the German Luftwaffe. It held the main operations room which plotted the route and numbers of the German bandit bombers and messersmitts as they came over the coast to attack our country, then our spitfires and artillery were prepared to intercept them before they could reach their targets.

We also had Hornchurch aerodrome, where Wing Commander Douglas Badar had his squadron鈥檚 of spitfires in readiness at all times.

Also in Chelmsford which was two miles from us, we had Marconi鈥檚 a wireless works and Cromptons and Hoffmann鈥檚 which was a ball
bearing works which was originally owned by Germany, which were regularly bombed, in fact Hoffmann鈥檚 was set ablaze with incendiary bombs and all the night workers were killed.

Well, as you can guess none of the local children had a very good education, as so much of our time was spent in the shelters.

I have a memory of us children going to school on what had been a green double decker bus, which still kept on running despite the bus station in Chelmsford being bombed the previous night, the bus had its roof missing.

We climbed upstairs over broken glass to get to the front and sat on burnt out seats, and sang at the tops of our voices songs like 鈥淵ou are my Sunshine鈥� and 鈥淜iss me goodnight Sergeant Major鈥�. It was almost as if we children were saying 鈥淵ou can鈥檛 break our spirit, no matter what happens.

THE BATTLE OF BRITAIN

The year was 1940, my brother Keith was twelve years old and I was seven years old, when the Germans mounted a huge bombing raid on Britain aimed at obliterating London.

It was a beautiful clear sunny day with fluffy clouds in the sky, the people who live in our part of Writtle stood in the road or outside their houses, no one bothered to shelter when the siren went off.
It was as if we all knew instinctively that we were about to witness something of monumental importance historically that was about to happen over our village. There was an air of expectancy and comradeship about the people which I have never encountered before or since.

We all knew that, if the German bombers that were flying over us in overwhelming numbers, had no opposition, they would crush our tiny island if they were able to reach London and deliver the devastating bombing attack which had been planned in Berlin.

As we all looked skywards we watched as wave after wave of German Heinkel and Dormier bombers headed over our houses towards London.

Suddenly I shouted to my brother 鈥渉ere come our boys鈥�, as I saw our spitfires emerging from behind the clouds.

The spitfires roared in, there were only a small number of our planes against all the might of the German luftwaffe. Our pitfires were like angry bees, picking off the German bomber鈥檚 who would not break formation.

Then the messersmitt fighters, which were there to protect the bombers attacked our spitfires. We saw lots of what we called (dog fights), which ended sometimes with both spitfires and messersmitts being shot down.

Still our spitfires doggedly kept up their ferocious attack against seemingly overwhelming odds, with great bravery. We saw planes blown to pieces, both German and British and wreckage was strewn all over a large area in (East Anglia) Essex.

Then much to our amazement the German squadrons started turning back over Writtle, they did not even drop their bombs. The luftwaffe passed over our houses and headed back over the cliffs of Dover to Germany. The squadrons had gaps in them where they had lost bombers. Airmen were parachuting out of their damaged planes. Some of our spitfires did a victory roll, we all let out a cheer when this happened.

It was thrilling that I witnessed with many others, this extraordinary battle, it would appear at first sight to be as futile as David fighting against the mighty giant Goliath.

This experience made me feel proud to be British, and grateful to our pilots who had driven the enemy away.

Winston Churchill was right when he said 鈥淣ever in the field of human conflict, was there so much owed, by so many to so few鈥�.

There was a period of quiet after this, but of course Hitler soon made it clear that his attacks on the United Kingdom were not yet over.

The flying bomb was developed called a Doodle Bug, this was a pilot less bomb. Once again these were flying one after the other over Writtle heading for airfields and London. A lot were shot down by our artillery.

Very often the engine would cut out and the doodle bug would dive to the ground or it could drift on another half a mile before hitting land and exploding.

I remember an occasion when a doodle bug鈥檚 engine cut out over our house. Mum was first out of the room and in the Anderson shelter. Dad ended with his feet in the coal scuttle and his head under a chair. I dived for cover under the table with my legs trapped under an armchair. I don鈥檛 know what happened to my brother.

There was a terrific explosion but luckily the bomb had drifted on about a quarter of a mile so we had a lucky escape.

Now the tide of war had changed, our Lancaster bombers were now droning over our houses and out over the cliffs of Dover to attack Germany.

The war was drawing to a close, it was in the last week of the war in May 1945 that my sister Diane was born. I recall taking my baby sister of Oxney Green where people were celebrating VE Day (Victory in Europe), to collect half a crown for my sister who was born the last week of the war. There was a large bonfire and lots of happy people that we were now at peace.

I very often think of how patriotic people were in those days, and recall the words of a song we sang.

There鈥檒l always be an England
And England shall be free
If England means as much to you
As England means to me

The sacrifice made by the heroic airmen
In the Battle of Britain should not be forgotten

Soon there will be no more veterans
Soon there will be on more airfields
Keep their memory for generations to come

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.