大象传媒

My parents, John and Grace Woods had married in October 1940.They were both working at the Vickers Armstrong aircraft factory at Brooklands, near Weybridge in Surrey.
My father had come down from Scotland because of the unemployment situation during the 1930's and my mother had come to live with her brother,Charlie,and his wife, Dolly,in Weybridge.
After the declaration of war,my father and some of his colleagues had gone along to the recruiting station to volunteer to join the R.A.F. On being asked where they worked, the recruiting officer told them to turn around, go back to work, and continue to build more aeroplanes as the country was desperately short of planes.

The day of the incident was a fine one apparently and my parents were outside enjoying their short lunch break of about half-an-hour, I think. Lunch breaks were taken in shifts, I suppose so that the vital work could go on.
I don't know how soon they heard the planes but I don't think that they had much warning.It was a bombing raid on the factory, one of several during the course of the war.
My parents dived for cover, I'm sure that my father would have shielded my mother. After the planes had left, they picked themselves up. My father had hung his jacket on the fence as it was a warm day, when he retrieved it the pockets were full of sand.
I think about 200 people were killed in that raid and more on subsequent occasions.
My parents found out later that it was an Italian who guided the German planes in to their target, an Italian who had previously raced at the Brooklands circuit before the war and who could recognise it from the air.
Brooklands had been constructed as an early racing circuit but had also been the home of early aviation.

At a later date, after my brother was born, my mother went to stay in Scotland out of harm's way. During this time my father was looking after himself, like many men.
One Saturday, one of his workmates was bemoaning the fact that he had the washing- up to do. When Dad asked what was so difficult about that, his workmate revealed that he didn't wash any dishes during the week, just used every dish,pot and pan in the house so that come Sunday he had a mountain of dishes to wash up. Dad dispensed advice, 'Wash them up and put them away. Then get out 1 plate,1 cup,1knife,fork and spoon, use them and wash them up afterwards!' Obvious really.

After the war in 1953 when I was 8, my parents gave a home to a young German lad called Heinz. He had been looking for lodgings and a friend of my mother's had asked her to help. So Heinz squeezed in our small bungalow with 2 adults and four children, there were twin brothers after me.
Heinz had been an orphan and at 14 found himself in the German army with a gun. He said that he didn't want to shoot anybody and he didn't want anybody to shoot him. He had finally surrendered to American forces in a wood.
Sadly Heinz died within a few months in a motorbike accident, just when his life looked to be on the up.
My parents might have hated the enemy during the war but they always respected individuals.
My mother died in 1996, aged 85, and my father, just before the New Millennium, aged 86.
To me, they stood for that special wartime generation.

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