大象传媒

We, the Taylor's lived in Norroy Road, Putney, London, and we were all at home on that Sunday morning. My Father Frank, was in the Royal Navy and based at Chatham Barracks. He was home on a 48 hour leave with two of his Navy chums. They were of the opinion, that the situation in London, of continuous raids, and the V1's were highly exaggerated and that Londers were always moaning about how bad things were. My father, therefore, invited them to join him on his 48hrs leave, which they gladly accepted. My father, thought that it would be a good idea if they could see for themselves what it was like living in London with its constant air raids, bombings, incendaries and the V1's.
That sunny, Sunday morning of the 18th of June, my father, his two guests, my brother and myself were out in the garden, which backed on to the then Southern Railway, when the air raid warning went. My mother called us children in doors but, as the men remained outside, so did we. We were listening for the first sounds of the distinctive throb of the robot driven engines of the V1's. They were also known as Flying Bombs or Doodle Bugs, and were the latest threat to London and the South of England.
This Sunday morning at 11 a.m. we saw this V1 appear droning, over a large building called Zeeta House, as it came into view it's engine cut out, and as we watched, it started to descend and turn so that it was heading in our direction. Panic set in, mother rushed out into the garden grabbed us two children and made a dash towards the house. There was a thunderous explosion, and the blast blew us towards the house and ground. Fortunately, we were unhurt, just shocked and grazed. The blast felt warm and was followed by an uncanny stillness and silence.
The V1 made contact with the houses on the other side of the railway line, slightly to the right of us, on the Upper Richmond Road. My father and his two guests, were blown off their feet onto the ground,and they had every button on their uniforms blown off, so that when they stood up, still in a state of shock, their trousers fell down round their ankles. After hasty repairs, they departed as quickly as they could back to barracks, leaving my father to take stock of the situation. Needless to say, they never stayed in London again or were heard to say that Southerners were always moaning. A lessen learnt the hard way, I feel.
My youngest brother who was 2 years old at the time, was sitting in an armchair in the living-room, singing? tunelessly to the radio at the time of the explosion, he,was still rocking and singing but safe, and covered in ceiling plaster looking quite white and ghostly and completely unconcerned.
My father was granted compassionate leave to try and make our house livable, as part of the house had been blown out as well as every window and frame. But the devastation on the other side of the railway where the V1 had made contact with the houses still remains a vivid picture in my mind. At this point my brother and I were dispatched to our grandparents in Croydon for a week, so that our parents could deal with the aftermath of sadness of the loss of lives of those around them, and feeling forever grateful, that we, as a family, were all safe.
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