��ѿ��ý

I was a warden in and around Gerrards Cross. On my rounds I could regularly watch “Gerry” flying over dropping incendiary bombs and often our boys chasing them.

One night I stamped on one of the incendiaries to put it out and got my leg burnt.

We used to have a special place where we wardens would meet for a sit-down and a break. One night we met there to find it had been shot-up. End of our rests in that particular spot.

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.