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"This story was submitted to the People's War site by a volunteer from ´óÏó´«Ã½ Radio Berkshire's CSV Action Desk on behalf of George Corbett and has been added to the site with his permission. George fully understands the site's terms and conditions".

One of the most exciting events that happened in my vicinity, was that an aeroplane crashed just round the corner from where my friends and I were playing football in the street. The aircraft [we later learned that it was a Spitfire] came down on Downsell Road School that was, fortunately, uninhabited at the time. The ‘plane came down with an awful noise and we couldn’t get to the scene fast enough. It was a terrific spectacle as, within a very short time of our arriving at the scene, the aeroplane burst into flames and, daft as we were and in no way appreciating the danger that we could have been in, were delighted when the guns, no doubt triggered by the heat of the flames, started to go off with bullets whizzing everywhere. We never found out the cause of the crash but, as there was no air raid at the time, it was probably a technical hiccup with the aeroplane. The other good news was that apparently the pilot wasn’t in the driving seat so, presumably, he had baled out somewhere.

It was not too long after this event that, in 1944, the V1 flying bombs [the so called Doodlebugs] appeared on the scene. It was good fun for us watching them as they came over, making a strange sort of buzzing noise. When the engine cut out they would glide for about two to three miles, before hitting the deck and exploding. If the engine did cut out when they were more or less overhead you at least knew that you were safe, as we found out on one occasion. We were hunting around the site of a bombed out church in Leytonstone High Road, looking for shrapnel, when the engine of a flying bomb cut out when it was almost immediately above us. We dived under some wooden pews for shelter, expecting the worse but we need not have worried. The bomb finally hit the ground and exploded in Harrington Road a long way from where we were.

It was too much to hope that we would reach the end of the war completely unscathed and, I think that it was in July of 1944, we were bombed out. A Doodlebug fell on a Co-Op abattoir that was on the opposite side of the road in which we lived and the blast caused the windows of the house to cave in and brought down all of the ceilings, together with bits of the walls.

Even this drama had its funny side. The bomb dropped at night and, as was our custom at that stage in the war, we were all asleep on the floor of the front bedroom [apparently, it was considered safer to sleep on the floor than in a bed] and the explosion covered all of us in fallen debris. Now my Dad was an extremely heavy sleeper but, even by his standards, he excelled himself on that night. There he was, with most of his body covered in rubble and, believe it as you will, when the air raid wardens came in to rescue us, they had to wake Dad up!

Following the destruction of our home, we were taken to what was known as a ‘Rest Centre’ where we spent the next few days, before being re-housed. It was an upstairs flat, with the floor below being occupied by a lone lady. I put it this way because I really had no idea whether or not she was married, not that a ten-year old was aware of that sort of thing in those days. What I do know is that she had a ‘friend’ who was in the American Navy and he used to supply me with what he referred to as candies whenever he was on leave, which seemed to be quite regular.

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