大象传媒

After enduring that terrible Saturday when the Germans bombed the docks in East London day and night and being on her own (my father being in the RAF) my mother decided to take my sister and I to stay with her friend Mrs Keefe who lived in the heart of the countryside in East Bergholt. My sister was 8 years and I was just over a year.

Apparently we all crammed into the tiny cottage in White Horse Road with Mr and Mrs Keefe and her two children Patrick and Janice. I learned to walk in the fields at Flatford Mill, the heart of Constable country and because the cottage was opposite the White Horse Public House, Mum and Mrs Keefe had a birds eye view of the socialising between the GIs from the aerodrome and local girls.

My mother told me that the noise was horrendous when the Flying Fortresses used to fly round and round till they were all in formation before they flew off.

One day in March 1945 there was a knock on the door and there stood a boy, his bike was parked by the gate and in his hand he held out a buff envelope. He told her to sit down before she read the contents, but she said "I already know what it says". Her worst fears were confirmed when the telegram told her that Dad had not returned from a mission over Germany and was reported missing.

Later on it was confirmed that Sgt. William McMarth had been washed up and had been found by the Americans - he was buried in Germany.

Mum never lost touch with Mr and Mrs Keefe and once a year we would go back to that little cottage in White Horse Road to see the family.

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