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I was born on 22nd April 1939. Being very much a War baby and living in Brighton, I was very aware of the sights and sounds of the War. Having an older brother of three years, who was always there to look after me, I can’t remember fearing the war years at all. One day all of the children of the street were playing outside but for some reason my brother wasn’t there to look after me. We were all playing tag or whatever the popular game of the day was, when the sound of the air-raid sirens were heard, and all the children scattered. I didn’t however. I suppose not having my brother to guide me home, I didn’t realise the significance of the sirens.

I was alone on the street. I looked skywards as I heard the drone of a plane’s engine. I later learned that the plane was a Messer Schmitt. As the plane approached me, coming closer and closer, I could see the pilot clearly. Momentarily we gazed at each other. Then he tipped his wings skywards and was off. What was in this young German pilot’s mind? Would he even think of blowing a young four-year old away? Obviously not. It wasn’t until many years later as an adult and discussing this with my mother, and unbeknown to me, when she had heard the siren she had rushed out to get me, saw the plane approaching, and froze. Unable to move, and unable to rush to the daughter she loved. If this hadn’t happened to her and she was able to come to me, might the ending have been different?

This story was entered on The People's War Website by Stuart Ross on behalf of Margaret Strutt, who fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

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