MY MIND has been taken back to long-forgotten memories by the request from Dave Beavers for memories of RAF Camp Clifton (Letters, February 26).

On June 8, 1945, I had just turned six and I was in Burton Lane (as we used to know it) visiting Grandma Thompson with my mother, Florrie Stanhope.

Grandma used to live at number 9 Burrill Avenue, a few hundred yards from the Imperial Pub at the top of Kingsway North.

On that afternoon, I went to the shops near the roundabout to buy a bottle of Limeade. As I came out of the shop carrying my bottle of bright green pop, I heard a very loud noise. An enormous airplane flew low in the sky and then crashed right in front of me, beyond the Imperial pub.

I remember seeing debris scatter across Kingsway North, in the upper end of that wide road north of the roundabout, falling into other semi-detached houses on the Burdyke Avenue side.

The sound and the sights shocked me so much that I dropped my glass bottle of limeade, which shattered and splattered all over the pavement.

I understand that the plane crashed into the first house on Kingsway North beyond the Imperial Gardens.

Peter Stanhope, Cyprus Grove, Haxby.