My father was (and still is, even at 88) a vast brute of a man. In the summer of 1940, he was an 18-year-old farmhand working on land at Bedhampton, near Portsmouth - land that is now forlornly buried under the M27. He proudly tells of rounding up shot-down German pilots using nothing but a. his imposing bulk b, a pitchfork and c. his only line of German: "Nicht in diesen Hosen!"
I was at Bedhampton today funnily enough. Clearing a garage full of lovely old tools that an old boy had left after passing away, his family did not want them, just old rubbish in their eyes.
However, the reason I am adding my bit here, just where the A3M joins the M27 at Bedhampton, from the southbound roadside you can still see in the hill side north face the two craters left when a "tip-and-run" Luftwaffe bomber came over and was scared away and just dumped his cargo in the fields. After all this time they are still a poignant reminder of what a large hole they would have made in a street in Pompey.