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Newspaper cutting.
By John Mills, of Fontwell Avenue, Eastergate.

Spat, spat, spat, around us — we look up to see several Junkers 87 winging away from Tangmere and the thunder of bombs exploding on the airfield itself. All of us working on the market garden that Friday in August, 1940, started to run to the nearest ditch to jump into away from the machine gunners in the German planes. We found the old boys of the 1914-1918 trenches already there, and they soon showed us youngsters how to keep your head down and save yourself. We look up to see a squadron of Hurricanes wheeling in to attack the bombers, shooting down several over Selsey and Witterings.

That was to us the start of a real war in West Sussex, with Ford Aerodrome (Royal Navy) being bombed on the Sunday. They turned out to be heady days for a lad of 15.

It started for me growing up in Walberton, a stone’s throw from Tangmere in the 30s, going to the Empire Air Dhows, seeing the Hawker Fury biplanes and then No. 1 and No. 43 Squadrons being reequipped with them, the sensational monoplane, Hurricane.

Ford Aerodrome, being civil at that time, was another interest for us boys and, with the coming and goings of both ‘dromes, soon became elf taught in aircraft recognition.

Summer of 1940 continued to be hot through August and September with a great deal of air activity. The air activity was mostly high up with the noise of engines and gunfire, white smoke stream patterns being made in the sky. We continued to work, be it in or out of ditches, to grow produce of fruit, veg, salads, on the land, being told on the radio that our efforts would save a seaman’s life because bringing food were being sunk by U-boats.

Seeing the Hurricane boys coming in over Tangmere doing victory rolls, another low with the pilot standing on the wing, reaching into the machine to guide it, smoke billowing from its tail, then the figure jumped, seconds passed, the parachute opened, and the pilot quickly landed in Fontwell Avenue, safe and well.

Those boys who had cycles, off we went in our spare time to various crashed aircraft, German or British, gleaning parts off them riding home with beaming faces.

As war marched on to September the excitement wore off and Jerry flew on to London to bomb. We cycled to Burpham to fish the River Arun for mullet, there were smoke trails high up in the sky.

Hot autumn days turned to a very cold winter in 1940-41 with night bombing around here. One German bomber was shot down and landed on a rubbish dump in Eastergate Lane. They are building a house on the site where it landed. Were all the unexploded bombs taken away?

In 1943 I was old enough to serve in the armed forces. I joined the Royal Navy, perhaps my aircraft recognition helped as a gunner on a destroyer up in the Arctic Circle. Russian convoys and operating out of Trincomalee Ceylon (Sri Lanka), around Burma, Sumatra, Malta.

Having now retired from the land, and in my garden, I smile to hear the hum of a Merlin and not the intermittent moan of Junkers jumbo engines.
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