大象传媒

It was a June Sunday in 1944 when I attended a morning service at my local church. All was quiet as an aeroplane flew over. "Must be one of ours, " I thought, as I had heard no air raid siren. A distant thud made me think that ack-ack guns were trying to hit a stray enemy plane. Another aeroplane and another thud, this time much closer. Still no wailing warning to warn us. explosions were getting nearer and as each plane passed over, the church rattled and the congregation were becoming anxious. the priest abandoned the service and advised us to hurry home and stay indoors.

My mother and I scurried along the road listening for the enemy and ready to duck into a doorway if a plane came too close. The wireless gave no news of attacks although a newsreader said that there had been exploding gas mains in London! (this proved false information publicised for the enemy to hear.)

Many rumours were put about and the mystery of exhaust trails seen near the Kent coast, led the public to believe that a new mystery weapon was flying to Britain. During one twenty four hour spell there were one hundred bobs propelling and causing devastation as they fell. From July to August that year, at least 5,745 people were killed and 16,000 injured. Gun batteries tried to hit them as they flew across the coast on their path to the Capital, and many were successfully exploded over the countryside. In an effort to foil the enemy, barrage balloons were placed like guardian of our skies forming a curtain of steel.

This V1 was released by the enemy from specially erected long range firing platforms nearest England, where they winged their way across the channel with an awesome buzzing noise. They mostly arrived in the daylight and exploded before penetration to cause the maximum of damage. It was possible to follow their night journey by the exhaust flame, and count the twelve seconds after the engine cut out before it exploded. The next three months was an apprehensive time not knowing when or where they would drop. There was no safe haven from these lethal weapons. I still see and hear them and the fear is very real. First a drone high up and out of sight, then as it gets nearer a continuous buzz. 鈥淧lease let it go on and not stop, I silently plead鈥�. As the engine stops my blood chills. In the following silence I run for cover to wait for the explosion and destruction that follows.

There were humorous sides. One day, my mother was carefully carrying the families ration of eggs, when a buzz bomb cut it鈥檚 engine. A large gentleman coming towards her shouted: 鈥淨uick misses, lie in the gutter.鈥� Doing as she was bid, the man lay over her protecting her from any debris. I wonder how he explained egg yolks dripping from his clothing to his family!

As Autumn came to England, so did the V2s from Holland. Still the buzz bomb but with a much deadlier accuracy. Schools were demolished with pupils dying beneath collapsed roofs and falling rubble. The public appeared stoic, yet I was terrified and could tell no one of my fears as I started my first job. I tried to appear grown up and not worried, but I never travelled by the tube train just in case I got blocked in.

The last firing of these instruments of far and destruction was in March 1945, just two months before the end of World War Two

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