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One ‘never to be forgotten’ day, I stood in the Beaconsfield Recreation Ground looking upwards at an enormous silver object, floating in the air high above me. Restrained by a tautly stretched, slender steel cable, shining in the winter sunshine, the Barrage Balloon, for that is what the silver object was although not yet fully inflated as one of the fins at the rear of the balloon was drooping. As the temperature of the gas in the balloon rose, the expanding balloon would soon lift the drooping fin. I stood fascinated at this huge balloon pointed one way and then the other and normally attended by Army or A.T.S personnel, but today no-one was around. I was the only person on this huge playing field, just me and the huge glorious balloon, high in the sky, directly over my head. There may have been an air-raid warning which I hadn’t heard or disregarded, that would account for the absence of people.

If, instead of heading for the shelters, you stayed up top during an air-raid, you stood a good chance of seeing some real action, however you also stood a good chance of being injured by some flying shrapnel. The thought of being injured in this way didn’t enter my head.
Westwards, from where I stood, about seventy-five yards away was the midland and great northern railway station. In great Yarmouth it was known as the ‘Beach Station’. Trains only travelled one way from this station, northwards, along the coast.
The day was quiet, too quiet, not a sound was to be heard, not even birds singing, absolute quiet. I don’t know why but I felt slightly uncomfortable, something wasn’t quite right, I couldn’t put my finger on it, why had the birds ceased to sing? Why, on this glorious day, did I shiver? None of this made any sense at all.
Then from the north, in the direction of the grammar school, I heard it, although ‘heard’ does not adequately describe the sensation, ‘felt’ is nearer the mark. At first it was so low it went unnoticed, but steadily the volume increased, I could hear it now, a low droning and yet there was nothing to be seen. Then, low over the grammar school, very low, a sudden glint of light, a flash. As the droning was steadily increasing I saw it, there was only one thing it could be. An aeroplane. Flying as low as possible it was hurtling my way at ‘breakneck’ speed.
I held my breath in awe, a real aeroplane, not just a vapour trail high in the sky but a gleaming, beautiful, polished aeroplane close at hand.
Now thundering over the Grammar school it was only a few hundred yards away, and with its twin engines ‘flat out’ the aeroplane was following the railway line although why, I wasn’t aware. I suddenly realised its flight path was very close to where I was standing, the steady beat of the slightly unsynchronised engines was music to my ears as it roared closer and closer. The front of the engine was ‘fully glazed’, and I could see a man, sitting right in the front of the aircraft. He was looking my way. Instinctively I raised my arm and waved, and he waved back! This man caught up in the throes of war took ‘time off’ to wave to a small boy! Flashing by, a tremendous noise, then gone. As it passed the only other things I noticed were the black cross on the ‘fuselage’ and the swastika on its tailfin.
Crikey! I thought ‘if this gets out, I’ll be shot as a spy’, thankfully it never did get out and I wasn’t shot.

Later on I found out that the plane was undoubtedly a Heinkel He III. At this stage of the war the crew would have consisted of three or four, and sitting in the front was the air-gunner, firing twin machine guns.
He hadn’t fired at me, I hoped he’d survive the war.

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