An Almost Deadly Errand: Childhood Memory in Birmingham

In 1940, I was 14 years old and did not realise what "war" meant. Until, that is, one Saturday morning when my father sent me to the newsagents to get a newspaper - a 5 minute walk from home.

As I emerged from the shop, I heard the sound of a plane, people shouting and screaming and a dreadful rat-a-tat noise. The plane, flying at rooftop height, was coming straight towards me, strafing the road with his machine gun. The dreadful sound was the bullets hitting the road. The screaming was coming from the men, women and children trying to escape this deadly fusilade. I stood rooted to the spot with horror and fear. Then my arm was grabbed and I was pulled into the shelter of the shop.

The shopkeeper had come to see what was happening and sized up the situation. He undoubtedly saved my life that Saturday morning.

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