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We lived in a big house in the country south of London, and a long way from even a village. Whilst only little I remember seeing the doodle-bugs flying over our house on the way to London. My Father always said that when you could hear them you were safe - it was when the engine stopped that you should worry.

One night my parents rushed into my room and took me into their bed and put chairs and a table over us. Suddenly there was a huge noise very nearby and the sky went red. We were all very frightened but the house did not fall down.

In the morning we walked down to our gate and there were long grooves in the drive and the gate had disappeared. Just down the road was the bomb in a big hole almost hidden by trees. When we got back to the house we saw that that the roof of the chicken house had disappeared too and it appeared that the bomb had 'bounced' by our front door and slithered all the way down to the gate and beyond before blowing up.

We were very lucky.

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