Doodlebugs, Air-raid shelters, Gas-masks

I was six years old when WW2 started,and ten when it finished. So I didn't see all that much of the dreaded Hun. Quite a bit of his bombs and doodlebugs,but not a lot of him.
I did have one encounter though that I'm sure must be pretty unique.And as I'm the only left alive now that knows about it,I thought I'd jot it down
In 1940 I was seven years old and living in Enfield,just to the north of London. The summer of 1940 was one of those rare,hot summers with not a cloud in the blue,blue sky for days and weeks.
We didn't see much of the German Air Force that early in the war.They were all too busy trying to bomb Southern airfields into oblivion.There was just the occasional dog fight high up in the clear sky -too high for us to distinguish which of the specks were ours and which the enemy. So when we spotted one spiralling clumsily down to its doom we cheered automatically, convinced it could not be one of our invincible RAF boys.
Then,one quiet sunny afternoon we were sitting in the living room – we didn't have lounges back then – my father sorting out some more greyhounds to lose his money on,and my mother and me reading. Quite abruptly – no warning at all - we were overwhelmed by a tremendous roaring of engines, seemingly coming from directly outside the window.
For a long moment we stared at one another in shock. Then we rushed out to see what was going on.
And were confronted by a real- life dogfight,spitfires versus messerchmitts, almost at ground level.
If you have ever attended an air display and watched as a brace of fighters racing along the runway at very nearly zero feet – that is the level of the dogfight that confronted us. To this day I do not understand why several of the diving,zooming,twisting aircraft did not end buried in the ground.
Apparently the Germans,convinced the RAF were fully committed to the south of London, had decided on a sneak attack against the industrial plants to the north. But Goering had made one of his many errors,and the RAF had kept most of their spitfires in reserve,on airfields out of bombing range.( Leaving the hurricane fighter to win the Battle of Britain ) Thus the sneaky messerschmitts were 'bounced' and had to fight for their lives.
Of course,as I stood,seven years of age, with my parents on the garden path watching the unexpected display I was aware of none of this.
Nor was I ,or apparently my mother and father, aware of the danger we were in.We watched as if we might have watched some marvellous 3- dimensional film.
Then a plane appeared,flying slow and level over the roof of our house. So low it's wing tip just missed slicing off the chimey. The cockpit canopy was open,which I knew was a universal signal that this pilot was no longer in the fight – out of ammo,out of fuel,damaged -and was seeking a place to land. He flew the length of our garden,then the garden behind, and finally disappeared from view beyond the roofs in the next street.
We saw the pilot quite clearly. And he saw us. Looking round he smiled at us – we could make out the white of his teeth – and waved.
Naturally we all waved back,and cheered. Then my mother gave a nervous giggle. 'He's a German!' she said.
I looked and saw the swastica on his fuselage.,and we all laughed at ourselves for cheering a hun.
So that was my little adventure. The day when,in the middle of a deadly aerial combat,one of the enemy found time to smile and wave at me. I of course never new what happened to him after. But I hope he landed safely,spent the remainder of the war in comfortable confinement,and eventually returned home to his country. Where perhaps he had a boy of his own,waiting for him.

And it certainly was the Hawker Hurricane that 'won the Battle of Britain' - accounting for 60% of enemy aircraft destroyed, while the remaining 40% were shared between all other aircraft AND the ground defences!

It has certainly taken me back in time reading all your interesting accounts of WW1"
I was born in1932 and remember running down our street when some playmates told me the Germans were coming, not sure what the Germans were but I thought I had better hide.
We had a shelter in our backyard and my Mum Sister and Brother would go there when the sirens went (my Dad died when I was eighteen months) Mum had her hands full trying to stop my brother dashing out to collect shrapnel when the bombs fell near, all his friends had a competition going to see who could collect the most.
If the warning siren went after midnight we didn't have to go to school until after lunch so my first thought was "what time is it"
I recall that there wasn't any street lights and we had to have blackout curtains up at the windows, the street wardens were very strict about that and they would rap on your door if they saw the merest chink of light.
Food was rationed of course and it was extremely difficult to manage with the small amount that you were allowed, when I go to the supermarkets now I cant believe the choices we have today and of course most people take it for granted that we have such a vast choice,understandably as they have never known what it was like to have so little and I hope they never have to.
My mother used to say to us :eat your dinner I will have mine later: which I suspect she didn't. I could write a book about my memories of the war but I suspect I won't

I'm sure my mother made enormous sacrifices to keep us - my father (police, which was a reserved occupation) and two growing boys fed. I sometimes wonder how, and if, today's housewives and mothers would have coped...

Before my time! (Just)