大象传媒

It was a warm summer evening in 1944 and all us kids were playing football in the street. My Dad and a neighbour, Jack, were leaning on the fence discussing the mistakes Monty had made in the desert. The neighbour scoffed at the mistakes Rommel had made and spoke of Goering only in four letter words which I was not supposed to know.

The peaceful evening was shattered at once by the warning siren wailing like a banshee with croup. I asked Dad if I should go indoors to the shelter and he said no, but to stick around. My friend Mervyn stood with his head cocked listening. After a few minutes we heard the grim note of the doodlebug exhaust. Hitler's terror weapon Mark One. It came into view lower than usual, the black menacing shape gushing orange from its motor. "It's off course," said the neighbour who knew because he was in the RAF. "Going towards Essex, hope it hits Fords." He had a Ford which was always breaking down. 鈥淗ope it hits Chingford," my Dad said because he disliked a man who lived there.

As we watched Mervyn cried "Here come the Spitfires, crikey I hope we see it shot down when they get up close." "They won't get close sonny," said the neighbour. "For one thing it鈥檚 faster and they ain't Spitfires." The three planes coming down the street out of the sun flashed overhead at about three thousand feet with powerful thirty litre engines roaring and all us kids crying "Cor blimey, ain't they smashing!"

"Now watch, you nippers and see if they get it." "Out of range ain't they Jack?" said my Dad. Jack smiled as if he knew everything. "Typhoons don't use cannon for this kind of thing" said Jack, at which moment the three planes shot into the distance and smoke and flame erupted from under the left wing of each one. "Rockets by god" dad cried. "Cor, rockets鈥� we all cried. We all stared as smoky trails wove across the sky and then came a tremendous explosion and a great flash. Bits flew in all directions to the consternation of people living near Friday Hill especially the man whose greenhouse was demolished in the process.

"Got 'im by God," cried my Dad." Cor didn't it go off" I chirped. "Well of course it did," Dad sneered. "It's meant to kill kids like you. They carry half a ton of explosives". The Typhoons turned in formation and flew off the way that they had come. The next day Mum got the bus down Friday Hill and noticed a big hole in the road with a policeman standing by with his bike. I heard later that the doodlebug engine had crashed there and some kid had picked it up and taken it home to screw on his Dad's car to save petrol.
I said this was a lie, the engine would be too heavy to carry. I got a punch on the nose for saying it was a lie.

This story was entered on the site by Melita Dennett on behalf of Michael Papworth who understands the site's terms and conditions.

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