- Contributed by
- BBC Scotland
- People in story:
- Kenneth Walton
- Location of story:
- Background to story:
- Article ID:
- Contributed on:
- 16 December 2005
This story was submitted Caera Walton from Kilbowie Primary School and has been added to the site with her mother's permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditiions.
My Grandad was 6 when WW2 started. He was with his mum through out most of the war because my Great Grandad was an R.A.F. Officer. My Grandad was living in Bournemouth and he was on an outing to the beach when the Germans 'Terror Bombed' their town because there were hundreds of soldiers & airmen stationed there training for the invasion in Europe.
When he was on his outing all the coast guards told them to go into the beach huts and stay there til the air raid was over.
The Germans used to do horrible things like like attach bombs to parachutes and send them down. From a distance it looked like a person whose plane had blown up and were parachuting down to safety, so then people would be running to help that person and they'd been be blown up.
Once my Grandad and his dad went to see the damage on another street and they were police and A.R.P. men running around helping the injured he thought it was quite gruesome and something he has never forgotten. He thought putting on the gas masks were fun at first but later became a bore. Once a bomb landed less than 100 metres from his house, bits of fragments hit off the roof of his house and some tiles slid off as well ( he had fun picking up the bigger fragments).
My Grandad, my Nana and my Great Grandad went on a holiday to Newcastle 7 when they were driving back they got lost because they had taken down the signs to Bournemouth but got there eventually.
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