The Plane

My mother was in the land army during the war.  On the farm where she was born in one of the farm cottages.  Sadly the cottage has long since been demolished.  One time she told us about was when she had been over to Stirling Avenue where my Gran and Grandpa Johnstone stayed, and was returning back up the Fardehill Road then across the fields to South Woodhill.
	Halfway up she was met by the farm manager who we were later to know as Uncle Quint, though he was no actual relation to us.  As they retraced their steps up the road towards the farm they heard the sound of a plane going overhead and quick as a flash he grabbed my mother and together they took shelter beside the thick hedge.
	"Jinty it's no' one of ours.  By the sound of the engine it's a fucking German," exclaimed Uncle Quint.  They both stayed there till it passed overhead, passing over both South and North Woodhill Farms before crashing between Kilmaurs and Stewarton.
	When they both returned to the farm and told Aunt Jeanny about what had happened she was horrified, but after a while she got over the shock.  She managed to get my mum off to her bed after she got her to get some whisky or some similar restorative before my old lady keeled over from the shock.
	Then on another occasion, another plane passed overhead just as they were finishing off that nights milking.  Only this one had just left Prestwick Airport and developed engine trouble en route.  As far as I know it came down and crashed somewhere beyond Woodhill Farm.

Grace Baird Halbert