Dodging the Bombs & Bullets

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I was attending Eastbourne Technical School when the war broke out, travelling by train to Eastbourne every day. One of the road bridges across the railway, on the approach to Eastbourne station, received a direct hit. Fortunately the bomb landed immediately above one of the solid brick support pillars. It made a lage crater in the road and made a small hole through each of the arches each side, but the structure generally remained intact. Had it landed a few yards either side it would have brought down the whole brick arch. As it happened the trains were only suspended for a short time as they cleared away the fallen bricks.
Air Raid sirens were not sounded if only one enemy aircraft was seen. There had to be more than three hostile aircraft for an air raid warning to be sounded. This invariably meant they were not interested in us, but were heading for London or the industrial midlands. There was therefore more danger during the �All Clear‘ periods than during an air raid warning!

The danger came from �tip-and-run‘ raiders who came over alone, dropped a few bombs and scarpered. I watched one day as one appeared to be heading for Eastbourne, just along the coast. He suddenly banked round and started heading back. As I watched, I realised that the little black dots getting bigger all the time were bombs on the way down, and dashed into the house and under the stairs (said to be the safest place). Seconds later several loud �crumps‘ told me they had landed. They had passed over the house and demolished a house at the end of the road, killing several people.

Luckily our house was never hit, although we had plenty of windows broken by bomb blast. On one occasion after a bomb had hit the railway line nearby I found a lump of granite ballast lying on my bed! It had come through the open window.

Another of Gerry‘s tricks was to come over at very low altitude, overfly a road and machine gun the houses. One day I was cycling home from my grandfather‘s when I heard the sound of machine gunning. I was alone on a long, straight, open road and could see the aircraft approaching. Ahead of me was a bus shelter protected by sandbags, and not wishing to be used for target practice, I pedalled towards it as fast as I could, threw down my bike and dashed inside just before he roared overhead. I always suspected they were newly trained crews, sent over to gain experience.
I was a choirboy at St Stephen‘s Church, Bexhill and my father was also a member of the choir. One Sunday morning towards the end of July, (28th I think) the rumour went around that a German aircraft had made a forced landing at Buckholt Farm, just North of the town. Immediately after the service, Dad and I set off on our bikes to find it. We found it all right, but were stopped by a soldier sentry (could have been Home Guard) at the field gate and were allowed no nearer. We had a good look; it was a Junkers 88 and appeared to be completely undamaged. After the war I learned that the Navigation equipment had failed and they were completely lost and running out of fuel. The aircraft was taken over by the RAF for evaluation. (Photo on p.178, Vol1 ”The Blitz Then & Now®)
During August or September 1940 the family were camping at New Morgay Farm, Staplecross, which is about ten miles inland from Hastings. During the day we used to watch the battles going on overhead. We could hear the machine guns firing, but the planes were usually at such a height that we could only see the vapour trails, and the occasional parachute coming down.
We were camped in a field on the west side of the road which led from Cripps Corner into the village of Staplecross, bordered on the south and west sides by woodland. To get a better view on this occasion I had climbed on to the roof of an ex-chicken house and eventually neck-ache forced me to lower my head. To my surprise I saw three aircraft low over the woods to the west, heading my way. The larger one was flying straight and level, the other two were zooming round it and firing at it. The trio passed over the woods to the south of me at only about 100 ft and I could see it was a Heinkel 111 being attacked by two Spitfires. There was no return fire from the Heinkel.
As they disappeared over the road I jumped down and ran up the field to a gate, crossed the road into the field opposite and could see the two Spitfires circling round a small smoke column about a couple of miles to the north-east. Several people had gathered by this time, and an army dispatch rider pulled up on his motorbike and said ”Where did it come down?®. We pointed to the circling Spitfires and he set off to walk in that direction. ”You‘ll get a lot nearer if you carry on to the village and turn right® we shouted. ”Thanks® he said and returned to his bike and roared off up the road.
As we stood watching, suddenly a huge ball of fire and smoke rose up from the site followed by a colossal bang. We all instinctively dived into the nearest ditch (luckily dry) and took cover. No debris came anywhere near us and we watched as the smoke cloud gradually drifted across the sky. Years later when I saw the film of the first atom bomb I was reminded of this incident, as it looked exactly the same.
The next day we set off on our bikes to find the crash site. Into the village then turned right, and sure enough after a few miles there it was on the right. A few of the locals were poking around among the wreckage, so we joined them. It had force-landed in a field adjacent to the road. A tall hedge bordered the far side of the field, a section of which was reduced to half its height, with all the broken-off branches lying on the ground with stems pointing towards the centre of the field, where there was a large crater. From this crater, burn marks radiated out for many yards. Small pieces of the plane lay everywhere. The tailplane, engines and outer parts of the wings were the only recognizable remains. I found a piece of metal with a nameplate on it, clearly identifying the aircraft as a Heinkel 111K, a bit of 70mm camera film and part of the camera, a fragment of map (Rostock to Danzig), a fragment of parachute silk and a number of rounds of .303 ammunition. These and a few other scraps are still in my collection.
A few days later I was told that a Hurricane had crashed in woodland, a little to the North of where the Heinkel had come down. We eventually found it. Clearly it had gone straight in at high speed as there was little left that was recognisable. Bits of the wings were concertina-ed front to back, and there was lots of mangled wreckage. The engine must have been well down in the ground. I found a few bits and pieces from the instruments and that was about all. These I still have.
In October 1940, we moved to Oxford to escape the bombing. By this time over 100 high explosive bombs and many hundred incendiaries had been dropped on Bexhill, a town of about 25,000 inhabitants. I plotted them all on a map, which I still have.

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