Grandad had taken him to Fenners a couple of times in the spring, he saw Compton get over 200 then. That was good!
'Why can't I be like Compton'? he asked his friend.
His friend didn't answer, just pointed to the sky. 'What kind of plane is that?'
'The one that isn't a Spitfire, silly, the one with two engines'.
They both looked a little harder and the red star could now be seen.
'It's a Russian one, it's not as fast as ours, bet they shot him down' said John
The PE-2 reconnaissance plane continued towards Milton.
'Is going to Waterbeach'?
It didn't get there, flames started to come out of the port engine, a spin, smoke then a dull thud could be heard from over a mile away.
John got back home a few minutes later, his mum was waiting.
'How would you like to come with to see Grandma this evening'? His mother asked
In her arms was his little sister, only 6 months old now. He didn't reply to that question. Instead blouted out.
'But mum, WHY is Uncle Joe fighting us now and not the Germans'?
Gwen Smith, didn't say anything, she wasn't sure her self. A few months ago life was better, not as good as before the war. Was that really 7 years ago?, seemed more like a lifetime. It was a life time as far as her son was concerned. He was only 6 months old then, the same age of Jill, her daughter.
'Jack' she called, 'can you help with the suit cases? I'm getting the bus now'.
Jack came along the short corridor, which lead to the kitchen from the shoe shop they owned. He tried not the show the worry on his face to the children.
He picked up two of the cases, giving the third, much smaller one to John.
'Here you take this one, it has your things in it. Mum can't take it so you have to'.
They made their way the few yards to the bus stop. Only a couple of minutes past before the bus came into view. Helping his wife and daughter on, he took John aside.
'You have to look after your mother and sister now. You are a big boy so have to help them and your grandma when you get to Wilbraham'.
He waved them off, then turning away so they could see the tears in his eyes. It was back to Marshalls again, the reserved occupation that kept out of the last war would keep him out of this
one. I hope. He thought to himself.
The next day he got himself on his bike two cycle the few miles to the airport, back to the old job.
Back to fix the aircraft, that helped train the aircrew. He walked into one of the hangers, side by side was a Meteor and a ME 262.
He'd never seen a jet up close, let alone worked on one.