大象传媒

I was about eight years old. The bombing had stopped so my mum, together with lots of other parents, thought it was safe to bring myself and my two sisters back to London from Oxford. We had become very casual about air-raid warnings, and tended to ignore them.

I was playing in next-door's garden and my mum was hanging out some washing, when the alarm went, which we ignored. We heard the distant throbbing of a doodle-bug, gradually getting louder and louder. Then the engine stopped! Doodle-bugs were pilotless planes packed with explosives and had no guidance systems. They were simply pointed towards London, or their target, with a measured amount of fuel. When the fuel ran out, the engine stopped and the doodle-bug crashed and exploded.

"GET DOWN THE SHELTER" yelled my mum, which I did, head first. Then came the ear-splitting noise of the explosion. I couldn't hear a thing for a few minutes and was covered in dust and dirt. Mum said afterwards that the doodle-bugs engine stopped and it started to dive straight towards us. Halfway down, a gust of wind caught it and it swung in a half circle away from us and landed on the next block, killing a number of people. Mum was routed to the spot, with her hands over her ears, and watched it until it crashed. She was very angry because the washing had been blown off the line and she had to wash it again.

Some time later, I heard that my brother, who was 17 at the time, went round to help with the rescue. He was fine until he picked up someone's head, thinking it was a cabbage. Then he was violently sick and had to come home. Not a happy memory for him.

My happiest memory was coming home from evacuation to hear that our school had been bombed. However, classes were still held in the open until a hall was found for us.

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