大象传媒

It was a cleasr sunny day.Dad had my hand.I was all of three and three quarters.We were past the shops by the green.St.Christopher's across the grass,the sausage shop on the corner.
Suddenly aircraft,no siren and the staccato of firing as they whirled in their deadly game.
We ran or I was run.My feet hardly touched the ground.that hand pulled me through the air,down the hill,past the library,turn left towards the railway track and duck into a samll corrugated garage where a not of people had already sought shelter.How would that roof have stopped the bullets?At the time the mind didn't reason.It was an artificial; unreal barrier between up there and terra firma.
Silence.Heads poked around the door.It was all over.All over for the German crew too.We walked to the footbridge over the railway.There were two parachutes;one was on fire.The British fighter mad a pass and fired at the other.There was no mercy that day.
A few days later news of the funerals had spread to the street.They must pass by to our cemetry.
We stood on our front doorsteps and watched as the cortege passed.There was an eerie quiet and nobody spoke or did they?They were somebody's sons.Somebody did say that.Then the gates clanged shut and for many years two bare wooden crosses with number ,rank and name marked the memory.Then they were gone....repatriated to their homeland.

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