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My name is Pete Wisbey. I was born in 1939 and, therefore, grew up during the war. My father volunteered for the Royal Navy quite early in the war. Having been in the ��ѿ��ý Guard for a year, he turned up at his naval base and saluted the first officer he encountered with a smart army salute.
I have several memories. We lived with my grandfather who was a guard on the Southern Railway and thus in a reserved occupation. I was aware that people seemed to be able to detect whether an aircraft was “one of ours or one of theirs”. I remember asking grandpa how that was and he said it was something we put in their engines. Even at such a young age I thought how cooperative of the Luftwaffe it was to allow us to do that. I suppose it was easier than trying to explain asynchronous engines to a small boy. Grandpa was a keen member of the ��ѿ��ý Guard and he used to bring home a Bren gun and hang it on the coat rail in the hall. I could just reach up, pull down the cocking handle and pull the trigger. Much later when on national service with the RAF I learnt quite what a lethal weapon it is but I’m sure he was much too sensible to leave it with a full magazine and the safety catch off. 28 rounds through the bedroom floor would have made quite a hole! Like most people at the time I was raised thinking that the only good German was a dead one. During local VE day celebrations I was lowered into the cockpit of an Me109 on display and scratched my leg on a bent piece of the metal; presumably the thing had been shot down. I gather I screamed a good deal because I thought my wound would be poisoned just by touching this object from Nazi Germany.

Pete Wisbey

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