大象传媒

It was a bright April day in 1941. My maternal grandfather, John Webster was going down to Leith Town Hall to pay his rates. He was in the Dover Patrol in the First World War and was too old for active service in this one. He worked in the Swedish Boatyard by the Water of Leith, a family man with one boy and four girls.

In the busy street, with trams and busses going to and fro, nobody paid any notice to the single aircraft lazily circling overhead. Almost effortlessly, the plane dropped a dark object and a parachute opened above. The plane then glided away with a soft drone.

Some people looked up and saw what appeared to be a pilot bailing out of a stricken plane. A small crowd gathered and speculated where he would land. My grandfather wondered what was going on and finally looked up himself. His keen eye recognised what it was. The Luftwaffe were in a habit of laying mines around docks, but this one was going inland.

He shouted out a warning and got the people off the street while the mine spiralled down towards Leith. It detonated as it hit the town hall roof, demolishing part of the building and damaging the surrounding houses and part of David Kilpatrick鈥檚 school. Rubble and glass as well as bomb splinters showered the street were seconds before the watching crowd had gathered. Fortunately there were few casualties, but many more could have been injured or killed were it not for vigilant people like my grandfather.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.