June 1940, and the Allied Armies were withdrawing from France. As we drove along the packed narrow road with our artillery guns behind our vehicles we suddenly came to a halt as traffic piled up following the breakdown of a huge French lorry, completely blocking the road.

As we stood there an old lady approached us. Fortunately, I knew a little French language and I was able to understand that a dog had gone wild and attacked people. Some men had managed to chase it into a cellar. Now they were terrified that it would break out and attack them. They wondered if we could go along to destroy it.

Taking my rifle, I cautiously approached the dog's 'prison'. The door was constructed of flimsy bits of wood with an opening covered with a kind of wire mesh. As I looked into the dark interior I saw a huge Alsatian-type, wild-looking, wolf-like animal. I gazed at the creature as it stared back at me with a most terrifying expression and with a mouth displaying a most alarming set of vicious teeth. It sat there snarling at me and appearing as if about to spring.

Slowly I made a hole in the wire mesh, just large enough for me to slide in the barrel of my rifle. A couple of my colleagues stood cautiously nearby, all of us aware that should I miss, the dog would surely break down the door with ease and there would be dire consequences.

I placed the rifle to my shoulder, took aim and gently began to squeeze the trigger. I tried to recall the instructions I had been given during small-arms training in my Territorial Army days. "Keep calm. Do not pull the trigger. Squeeze it gently." For what seemed an eternity my finger gently pressed the trigger. Then with a loud report, the bullet sped from the gun. I saw a tiny hole appear in the dog's forehead right between the eyes.

For a couple of seconds there was no movement except for a trickle of blood from the wound. Then the animal gently swayed and dropped on its side. There was a sudden shudder - and all was over.

What a relief! Grateful thanks from the dozen or so French people who had gathered and then, the road having been cleared, we were once more on our journey - to the beaches of Dunkirk.

- Arthur Cope