then she became aware of the ominous drone of a squadron of enemy bombers approaching from the north-west.
Realising she was very exposed out here on this country road she quickly turned off the lamp and wheeled her bike over to the hedge, where she pressed herself into the deep shadows. Looking up, she could make out the silhouettes of Dorniers, Heinkels and Junkers, accompanied by their smaller, swifter fighters. Spitfires, Typhoons and Hurricanes were harassing the fighters, and some furious dogfights had broken out.
The enemy planes were heading south, which meant theyâd completed their raid and were dashing for home. But Mary knew that the danger wasnât over, for those returning bombers often dropped the last of their deadly cargo on the towns, villages and farmlands of Sussex so they could make a lighter, swifter departure.
She cried out as she saw a Spitfire take a hit and burst into flames. Searching desperately for sight of a parachute, Mary watched the plane go into a nosedive and heard the resulting crump as it hit the unforgiving ground. There had been no parachute, and Mary could only pray that the brave man flying that Spitfire had quickly lost consciousness before the end.
Amid the rattle of gunfire and the boom of the Bofors guns there was a distant explosion that had come from somewhere to the east, and another two that were nearer Hillney. She huddled into the hedge, aware of the glow in the sky to the east and west as the dogfights continued, the distant searchlights swept back and forth, and the enemy bombers continued laboriously on their way to the Channel. Had Jackâs train been one of their targets? Was he still safe? The railway lines were horribly exposed on that branch, with only a couple of tunnels to hide in and wait out any raid. She closed her eyes and prayed fervently that those terrible images going round in her head would not become reality.
As the drone of the enemy bombers faded and the Spitfires chased their counterparts across the Channel, Mary retrieved her bike from the roadside ditch. She was shaking from cold and a terrible fear for Jack. Her first instinct was to return to the station and see if there was any news of his train â but then she realised it was much too soon for any reports to filter through. She would go home, she decided reluctantly, and telephone the stationmaster first thing in the morning.
Her legs were trembling as she slowly continued her journey. The silence of the night was distantly disturbed by the âall-clearâ siren and the clanging of fire-engine and ambulance bells, but all she could think of was Jack, trapped on that train as the bombers flew overhead.
It was some minutes before she realised the sound of a clanging bell was getting louder. She stopped pedalling to look over her shoulder, and saw the hooded lights of one of the Hillney fire engines coming towards her at speed. Moving to one side, she watched it pass, and then quickly cycled after it.
The fire engine was soon lost from sight, but it was swiftly followed by an ambulance, and Maryâs fear for Jack was overshadowed by the very real possibility that something could have happened in her village or nearby. If that was the case, then she would be needed to help her father bring solace and cups of tea to those in distress.
She was praying fervently that the fire was beyond the village, harmlessly burning in a field and not jeopardising any lives. Yet as she drew nearer to Harebridge Green she could now see the red glow in the sky, and the thick dark smoke that billowed across the pale moon.
Mary pedalled faster, and as she entered the village she heard shouts from those who were on the pavement, and saw a human tide of hurrying men armed with stirrup pumps, sacking and spades. She was deaf to their shouts, blind to everything but the terrible red glow at the other end of the village.
As she took the final bend, she realised she was hurtling towards randomly
Realising she was very exposed out here on this country road she quickly turned off the lamp and wheeled her bike over to the hedge, where she pressed herself into the deep shadows. Looking up, she could make out the silhouettes of Dorniers, Heinkels and Junkers, accompanied by their smaller, swifter fighters. Spitfires, Typhoons and Hurricanes were harassing the fighters, and some furious dogfights had broken out.
The enemy planes were heading south, which meant theyâd completed their raid and were dashing for home. But Mary knew that the danger wasnât over, for those returning bombers often dropped the last of their deadly cargo on the towns, villages and farmlands of Sussex so they could make a lighter, swifter departure.
She cried out as she saw a Spitfire take a hit and burst into flames. Searching desperately for sight of a parachute, Mary watched the plane go into a nosedive and heard the resulting crump as it hit the unforgiving ground. There had been no parachute, and Mary could only pray that the brave man flying that Spitfire had quickly lost consciousness before the end.
Amid the rattle of gunfire and the boom of the Bofors guns there was a distant explosion that had come from somewhere to the east, and another two that were nearer Hillney. She huddled into the hedge, aware of the glow in the sky to the east and west as the dogfights continued, the distant searchlights swept back and forth, and the enemy bombers continued laboriously on their way to the Channel. Had Jackâs train been one of their targets? Was he still safe? The railway lines were horribly exposed on that branch, with only a couple of tunnels to hide in and wait out any raid. She closed her eyes and prayed fervently that those terrible images going round in her head would not become reality.
As the drone of the enemy bombers faded and the Spitfires chased their counterparts across the Channel, Mary retrieved her bike from the roadside ditch. She was shaking from cold and a terrible fear for Jack. Her first instinct was to return to the station and see if there was any news of his train â but then she realised it was much too soon for any reports to filter through. She would go home, she decided reluctantly, and telephone the stationmaster first thing in the morning.
Her legs were trembling as she slowly continued her journey. The silence of the night was distantly disturbed by the âall-clearâ siren and the clanging of fire-engine and ambulance bells, but all she could think of was Jack, trapped on that train as the bombers flew overhead.
It was some minutes before she realised the sound of a clanging bell was getting louder. She stopped pedalling to look over her shoulder, and saw the hooded lights of one of the Hillney fire engines coming towards her at speed. Moving to one side, she watched it pass, and then quickly cycled after it.
The fire engine was soon lost from sight, but it was swiftly followed by an ambulance, and Maryâs fear for Jack was overshadowed by the very real possibility that something could have happened in her village or nearby. If that was the case, then she would be needed to help her father bring solace and cups of tea to those in distress.
She was praying fervently that the fire was beyond the village, harmlessly burning in a field and not jeopardising any lives. Yet as she drew nearer to Harebridge Green she could now see the red glow in the sky, and the thick dark smoke that billowed across the pale moon.
Mary pedalled faster, and as she entered the village she heard shouts from those who were on the pavement, and saw a human tide of hurrying men armed with stirrup pumps, sacking and spades. She was deaf to their shouts, blind to everything but the terrible red glow at the other end of the village.
As she took the final bend, she realised she was hurtling towards randomly
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