- Contributed by
- People in story:
- Neville Cutler
- Location of story:
- Halstead, Essex
- Article ID:
- Contributed on:
- 15 March 2004
The last explosion we had heard was the arrival of a V2 rocket in Spansey woods on the edge of town,and that was weeks ago.Laying on my back on the sweet-smelling grass of the fields known as the "Bottoms" I sucked on a grass stem, looked down the steep slope of the field towards the river, and allowed my mind to wander. For the first time since September 1939 I allowed myself to think about what I would be doing,"After the war".
Something nagged at the edge of my conciousness...was it an insect buzzing? Was it the 50 cycle AC hum of a transformer? I craned my neck backwards to the top of the hill, and my question was all too soon answered. Silhouetted against the sky's cottonwool clouds was this black speeding thing, near enough it seemed to touch.
The 50 cycle roar was deafening. Pulses of compression siezed the walls of my chest and shook them in and out in time with the explosions from the Argus duct. It was a Doodlebug. Set to just clear the tops of the 300feet high hills in the area...with my name on it? Had I survived nearly six years of war, only to be taken out at the very last?
But I was safe. The engines always cut from fuel starvation as they began their dives, and this one was still running. I leaned forward, held up by my elbows and watched robotic death recede away from me until it became a dot in the distance.I could count my chickens again.
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