大象传媒

I was just turned twelve years old when the war broke out. The unknown was frightening; as war was announced on the radio fear seeemed to flow through my veins instead of my blood. We were a family of four.

I was to witness dog fights often. One day an enemy plane was shot down and as he was coming down he was shooting at everything. My father and I were walking to our shelter when it happened and he threw me to the ground and covered me with his body. We were lucky, within minutes of him crash landing on Broom Hill people had armed themselves with whatever they could find,, mostly carving knives and the like. Fortunately the police arrived in time and an ambulance. He refused to be carried to the ambulance and it was said he had broken his back. His seat was metal and the plane like a heavy make of canvas which didn't last long when the souvenir seekers arrived.

I think the pilot died later in hospital. He was no more than a boy.

This story was submitted to the People's War website by Helena Noifeld and has been added to the website on behalf of Doris Sancto with her permission. She fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

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