Writing for Fun
August 2016
A Matter Of Life And Death - Reg Pound
It was 3rd July 1944.
I was 13 years old. Just beginning to wear long trousers.
A couple of weeks ago the Jerrys had started to use flying bombs, V1 ‘s or Doodle bugs as they were also called.
At first the sound of the bombs and the sight of the flame and smoke coming from the engine was frightening. But now the novelty of hearing and seeing the bombs flying overhead had worn off and their regular appearance became accepted as a way of life. In fact whilst they were flying they presented no immediate threat. It was when they had exhausted all their fuel, fell silent, stopped flying and dipped their now down to complete their deadly journey to explode on earth where the danger laid.
It was about 11 O’clock.
I should have been at school. Truancy was easy to explain. Dad was away.
Mum was working under some direction of labour scheme.
English classes were on Thursdays. Strange that was the day most bombs fell causing me missing lessons and explaining the poor prose and grammar of this story.
I was walking across West Ham park when I heard an approaching doodlebug.
The park had an anti-aircraft emplacement. One gun surrounded by a few sandbags, in the middle of what had been the park’s cricket pitch.
The soldiers manning the gun used the old cricket pavilion as a make do barracks. Sometimes during quiet days the soldiers would get us kids to run errands round to the local shops. ‘Keep the change’ was a good source of income for us.
Today wasn’t a quiet day. The gun originally meant to shoot at conventional bombers was now used to shoot at the VI’s. For me it became a spectator sport to watch the gunners pop at the flying bombs as they flew overhead. As far as my experience went, never with much success.
The doodlebug I heard was now in range of the park’s gun and the gunners started firing at it. I stayed to watch. As I have already said, whilst the bombs were flying they offered no threat. The sound was almost comforting, it was if the noise of the rocket stopped and the bomb no longer propelled and dropped to earth the danger occurred. A deathly silence.
That’s what happened. The noise stopped, the bomb dipped downwards, it seemed to be coming straight for me. I run towards an air raid shelter at the park’s entrance. I felt a rush of air made by the bomb.
Then it exploded.
What if . . . I had survived and reached the safety of the shelter. The world will never know.