The Threat by the Enemy from the Air

 

De Havilland, Hatfield

Hertfordshire Archives & Local Studies

 

De Havilland, Hatfield

Hertfordshire Archives & Local Studies

As I have already said, we lived in a small village.   People might think that we were safe from the threat of enemy aircraft, which generally made the big towns their targets.   However, it was our closeness to the De Havilland aircraft company which made us a target.

You will remember that my father was an experimental airframe design engineer, and he was working on secret plans to develop the jet aircraft, which was to take over from propeller aircraft, and were very much faster.

The factory produced some of Britain’s best fighting aircraft, and in the years from 1943, my father was one of a team which included the factory owner’s son Geoffrey DeHavilland and  Jim Mollison, both famous pilots and both involved in developing and flying the jet-engined aircraft.   As an aside, Jim Mollison was at one time married to Amy Johnson, another famous aviator.   He was also involved with the design of the first Comet, a single-engined, propeller aircraft, after which the Comet Hotel at Hatfield was named.   A model of the aircraft was the main advertising feature of the hotel, and it stood on a tall plinth outside the hotel for many years, as some of you may remember.

The Germans tried hard to attack the factory and destroy the runway, but were not successful.   It was in June 1944 that the Germans tried to attack the De Havilland factory using a new and terrible weapon in the form of a jet-propelled flying bomb called the V.1, which was given the nickname “the doodlebug” by the English.

These weapons were launched from the north coast of France and directed at various targets in and around London, including the De Havilland factory.   These flying bombs had a flame coming out of the back whilst they were in flight, and they were designed to travel only a certain distance before the fuel ran out and the bomb would then drop to the ground.   The rocket engine made a very loud and rather throaty whining noise, and it was said that, so long as you could hear it, it was still travelling and would not drop on you, but if the noise stopped, you were in danger of being hit.

How Families Spent Their Evenings

During the war, there was very little for people to do in the evenings.   There was what was called a ‘black-out’ imposed every night, which meant that there were no street lights.   Houses, pubs and shops had to have their windows blacked out, so that enemy pilots could not see where towns and villages were, and nobody could go out in a vehicle with lights showing.   Families and friends used to spend evenings together, often just listening to the radio or playing cards or board games.

The Night of the Doodlebug

I remember that one night our family had gone to visit my Uncle Bill and Auntie Dorothy, who lived a couple of miles away in Selwyn Crescent, Hatfield.   They had been joined by their neighbours (the Seeneys) from across the road.   The adults were downstairs, playing cards, and the children, including my brother, my sister and me, were upstairs playing games.

I remember Uncle Bill shouting up from the hallway for all the children to quickly get under the bed.   We didn’t know it then, but he had heard a doodlebug coming and then its engine stopped.    Immediately after that there was the most almighty explosion, the house shook and part of the ceiling fell onto the bed, on which we had been playing.

The doodlebug had dropped onto a house just two doors away, destroying the house and killing the little girl who used to sit next to me at school.   The most dreadful thing about that was that the little girl’s father, a soldier, was travelling home on leave that very evening and arrived just after the bomb had hit.

My uncle Bill was blown through the front door of the house and lost one of his legs, and my Aunt Dorothy received some severe injuries when glass from the windows penetrated her back.   She also lost her right thumb and two fingers.   They were both taken to Hill End Hospital, and later Uncle Bill had to have both legs amputated.

An Unfortunate Accident

A few weeks after that horrific incident, we had another very narrow escape, this time after one of our own planes crashed during the night.   It was a Blenheim Bomber, which had suffered damage as a result of an attack from a British anti-aircraft station.

It was alleged that the plane had first suffered damage from an enemy attack, including loss of its lights and other communications equipment. The pilot was trying to get back to his home airfield, but realising that he was not going to make it, headed for De Havillands.   British ground troops called on him to identify himself but, of course, he did not get the message, because he had lost his means of communication.

His plane was therefore attacked and shot down.   Some of the crew parachuted to safety, but the plane broke up in the air, and one of the wings struck the chimney pot of our house before destroying part of the roof of the village post office, two doors away, and demolishing the chocolate-dispensing machine which had stood in the courtyard at the front.   There were some huge tomato nurseries opposite our house, and the force of the explosion when the body of the plane crashed broke hundreds of panes of glass.

The force of the impact of the wing hitting our chimney brought down part of the ceiling in the bedroom which my brother and I shared.   I remember that my mother came running up the stairs to see if we were alright and thought that my brother was dead, because he was covered in debris and did not move.   He had slept through the whole thing!!

My most vivid memory of this incident was at being angry next morning on seeing that we had lost the machine which used to supply my favourite chocolate.   That assumed greater importance than the damage caused to the shop and our house.