大象传媒

My little feet were pedalling thirteen to the dozen as I tried to keep up with my cousin and his cronies.
they had bigger bicycles and were about four years older than I. My bicycle was a sturdy Hercules, but it was made for a seven year old and only had small wheels so they were able to race ahead of me. My mother insisted that my cousin took me out to play with him; of course I was rather a nuisance to him spoiling the image of the macho gang of young adventurers.

Cousin Ted had come to live with my family to get away from the wartime bombing raids around Croydon. My father and mother were both natives of Croydon, but my father's job as a representative for Hercules cycles had brought them to Essex where Iwas born thus making me an 'Essex' girl!

We lived in the charming old village of Coggeshall, which, in the middle ages had been a thriving woollen centre and boasted a very large parish church as a result of this wealth. Unfortunately, the only bomb to be dropped on our village landed on part of the church causing a great deal of damage. Our house was in a direct line with the church and only a few streets away. Huddled under the stairs we heard the whine of the bomb and the shattering explosion as it hit its target. how lucky we were not to be in an area that was heavily bombed. Our one bomb would have been thought of as pretty tame to Londoners, but it certainly put the wind up us.

with the onset of the war my father was drafted into a munitions factory seven miles away from our home. He worked a night shift and cycled to and from the factory, therefore he had to sleep during the day and when we came home from school we had to be silent or better still absent.

On this sunny August day in 1940 we were heading for a farm where my cousin had heard a 'plane had been shot down and there were some grisly remains lying around in a field and couldn't wait to find out if this was true.

As we approached a farm there was the rat-tat-tat of bullet fire and then the terrible screeching of a 'plane out of control and rushing earthwards, my cousin called out "run,scatter". I jumped of my bike feeling petrified, but suddenly I was picked up off my feet and clasped in the arms of a buxon lady who took me into the farmhouse and gave me a drink of fruit juice. she was extremely worried because her husband was out on his tractor in the field where she thought the 'plane had come down. With me in her arms, and the rest of the 'gang' in tow she set off for the field where a blazing inferno was raging. the 'plane had hit a haystack and was hissing and spitting as the hay burned brightly and the bullets erupted like fireworks from the fuselage. My cousin shouted 'get into the ditch' which we did just before the engine exploded.

We then saw the farmer running towards the 'plane, my cousin and his friends tried to run towards the 'plane but were hampered by the freshly turned furrows making their progress very slow. Miraculously the pilot got out of that 'plane and was walking about, however, it was found out the next day that he had seriously injured his neck.

My cousin always had an enduring curiosity about this incident and found out from the 'Battle of Britain' book that the 'plane had been a Hurricane from 56th Squad North Weald. the Pilot was Flight Lieutenant J E Gracie known as "Jumbo Gracie" and this incident took place at Palmers Farm near Halstead in Essex.

We gathered ourselves together and set of sombrely for home. No, we had not found any grisly remains, but we had undergone an experience beyong our wildest imagination.

My mother was furious with us when we got back because we were late for tea. A most unusual occurrence as being young and enduring rationing we were always hungry. We did not tell of our adventure because we did not wish to incur any further wrath from my mother. so it has remained a secret from that day to this, between my cousin and myself and of course the other players in this saga.

Jean Robinson
08.11 2005

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