´óÏó´«Ã½

Thanks goodness we have had many years of peace for my sons, their families and our grandchildren.

I was 18 when war broke out. Neville Chamberlain went to Germany to speak of peace and came back waving a white paper. ‘Peace in our time’ he promised.

I can still see him as he came off the plane, whilst watching Pathe News. He waved a piece of paper but it was fools paradise.

Germany marched into Poland and England could not allow this. The poor people of Poland were terrified so on 3rd September 1939, war was declared.

It wasn’t long after that, that German planes flew over England. I remember the first bomb that dropped on Plymouth was opposite North Prospect School. I always thought the Germans suspected the school was a factory.

From then on we never undressed. The siren went off at 10pm, the all clear at 4am. This happened every night. I always remember those days, thanks goodness I never had a house or children at that time.

My poor mum, she was remarkable, she always had a basket of food or a flask to take to the shelter.

At one time we had no gas or electricity and she cooked a roast dinner on an open fire, wonderful how she did it, of course in those days everyone had open fires.

As the weeks went on it was really awful, peoples homes were bombed and Plymouth city centre was almost flat.

Lorries came to pick up families to go on the moors. My family were lucky we had a cousin who lived in Horrabridge.

I would never forget that night we had our worse raid. The front of our house was hit. We never knew where the tree went but our iron front garden gate lodged on the roof next door.

I was with Kitty Jeffries in our next door neighbours’ air raid shelter. It was a terrible night, not only bombs but baskets of fire bombs.

I had to sleep downstairs as in our bedroom all the plaster and broken glass was all over the bed. In the front room the bed settee was also covered in glass.

When day light came I got my bike out of the shed and cycled down the street. The lorry arrived bringing mum and all the other people home from the moors.

Plymouth was a red glow and when I arrived at work it had been bombed the pervious night. So I went to the lorry and travelled to the hall at Horrabridge which was open to the public. There wasn’t any room at my cousins as she had people from London staying.

I was in the hall by myself. I was given a dark blanket, I can still smell it, it was horrible. There were so many people in the hall it was really awful.

The next morning I got up before everyone and the dear ladies of Horrabridge had this huge vat of porridge and another of tea. I thanked them and cycled across the moors. It was a bitterly cold morning and as I cycled I saw old ladies huddled on the wayside with their belongings. I have to say I cried it was so cold, what ever did they feel like. I suspect they started walking and just couldn’t go any further.

I then went to the Swilly Isolation Hospital night shift. One night I went on duty as an auxiliary nurse and I had an awful toothache. The duty sister said it is going to be a quiet night so I lay on the bunk and went fast asleep. The next thing I knew, I got flung out of bed, a terrible bang, a land mine had dropped on Milehouse Bus Station. I went out to the outer room, it was full of bus conductors, and I have never seen so much blood.

On the table was a bus driver, his stomach in a terrible state. He would not let anyone touch him. The duty sister tried to help him but he insisted in seeing a doctor. During the war people just went to first aid. I was given the task of taking tea to everyone, the sights were awful.

This was one of many terrible nights. Dad was a warden at Trevell Street Plaza Cinema; he had a very bad time. But our family survived.

By this time my brother, Norman, was old enough to join the army. He went on to serve his time in North Africa with the 5th Army where they invaded North Africa to aid the 8th Army and then onto Sicily and Italy.

He had a bad time out there. My older brother, Ronald, went to India to do training in the jungle — for the lads had to fight in Burma. My sisters joined the Wrens.

I was fed up of sleeping night after night in the air raid shelters. So I decided to join the Auxiliary Territorial Service, or ATS. I didn’t have a clue what was going to happen. I went to the Hoe and had a medical in the Yacht Club, which I passed A1.

I was given 5 shillings and within ten days was sent to Honiton for a months training to assess our capabilities. I ended up a command post telephonist and after our marching out parade was sent to Wolverhampton. It was awful, we didn’t have showers and the Nissan Huts had horrible bunk beds. The toilets were a bucket with a hessian cloth as a door, so anyone could just walk in.

After Wolverhampton, our battery 546, was sent to Crewe for a month and then onto North Wales and to the Isle of Anglesey. We then ended up at Tregantle where I used to swim in the sea at Whitsand Bay and run to Millbrook. It was good on the way down, but all up hill on the way back to camp. We must have been a source of amusement to the village in our shorts and tops — I was very fit in those days.

It was about this time the Americans came over to help us. They were stationed in the Tregantle Fort and my friend Ms Jones and I went to see the fort. It was really interesting, so old. We saw where they used to keep the prisoners hundreds of years ago, in deep dungeons.

The Americans were very good, they used to set up tables on the beach and then laden them with food, food which the local children had never seen before. Delicious cakes, ice Cream and bananas, they had lovely picnics.

Our camp was just up the lane from the fort, so we used to get invited to dances. We had a great time.

When I see Whitsand Bay it reminds me of how they used to drive down the cliff paths in their jeeps.

It was after that we went to the Crownhill Fort. I was the command post telephonist plotting the planes as they flew over the Sound.

One night we were walking back to Crownhill Camp when we met an American Officer who said he was so proud of us supporting the men on the 4.5guns.

In December 1943 I married Freddie Stephens, who was serving in the Royal Navy, shortly after I became pregnant with our first child, Barry.

Whilst waiting to be discharged — I was on standby duty because I was pregnant — we had a night of terrible raids. The weather was bitterly cold and I was asked to help in the ammunition dump with a trolley loading 4.5 shells which were very heavy.

Being pregnant I had dressed in an overcoat and trousers, leggings and a balaclava. I passed out with a shell in my arms; all I remember as I came round was all these faces and voices saying I shouldn’t have helped out.

It wasn’t long after that I was released from the army. I gave birth to Barry and that was in some respects the end of my war.

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.