大象传媒

I was with my family at the 10.30a.m. Mass on Sunday 3rd September, 1939, when Chamberlain made his broadcast and told us we were at war with Germany. I remember walking home slowly, my Mother weeping silently and my Father looking very grim. I also remember vividly, when nearing our home, we saw our next door neighbour, old Ma Ward we called her, sitting in the window. She had been left a widow not very long before and lived with her unmarried daughter, Mildred. We were very friendly with them and my Father had a very soft spot for them and they for him. I well remember my much younger brother, Frank, muttering to me 鈥淲onder if she鈥檚 heard鈥�. Then, getting closer, we could see the tears running down her cheeks and Frank said 鈥淪he鈥檚 heard鈥�. I can hear that laconic inflexion in his voice to this day.
We were all given instructions to 鈥渃arry on鈥� as normally as possible but to try and arrange emergency precautions. Most people packed a few items of clothing into a suitcase and most housewives laid in a stock of tinned food. Food and clothing rationing came in very quickly and, at first, seemed quite reasonable, But how na茂ve we all were! I even remember my dear Father 鈥� who had spent many years in the Royal Navy 鈥� telling us that, once we had experienced one air raid, we wouldn鈥檛 be nearly so frightened; and, the more we had, the more we would get used to them.
I heard that not even one German Zeppelin came over the west country during the first World War though, of course, they did over London. So no-one had any idea what an air raid would be like. I remember the things people said about bombing - how a 鈥榩lane would need to be out to sea near the Eddystone lighthouse 鈥� about 15 miles from Plymouth Hoe 鈥� and launch its bomb(s) from there to be sure of getting the right trajectory to land somewhere in Plymouth! With the advantage of hindsight, and from the perspective of the world we live in today, what pathetic, immature, trusting creatures we were.

I was designated as being in a 鈥渞eserved occupation鈥� and was not required to register for National Service. So I decided to volunteer as a nursing auxiliary and my cousin Eileen joined me. We started attending lectures 鈥� once a week at first 鈥� and, after only a short while, we were due to spend some time in one of the hospitals. 鈥淕od help the patients鈥� was the general consensus of opinion of our respective families! However, fate intervened 鈥� in the shape of Dunkirk. I think we all felt at that time that our chances of survival were getting very slim indeed but, initially, all our thoughts, prayers and efforts were concentrated on the north coast of France and nearly half a million of our men and those of our allies trapped on the beaches. It was June, THE most wonderful month of weather on record 鈥� easier for the thousands of 鈥榣ittle ships鈥� doggedly sailing back and forth across the Channel but bloody marvellous for each night鈥檚 bombers.
I remember the day the call went out for help in what was then Millbay Docks 鈥� nestling under Plymouth Hoe - where thousands of these poor, unfortunate men were being brought ashore. Eileen and I walked to the Docks, about 4 miles from our homes in Peverell, and arrived there to quite indescribable chaos. At that time, trains started from Millbay Docks station 鈥� they used to take passengers from the Transatlantic liners which in peace time regularly sailed into Plymouth Sound and dropped passengers who then entrained for London. These great ships with their famous names made a magnificent sight with all their lights ablaze.
But on this June night there was no glamour or interviewing or lights 鈥� just very tired, very dirty, very wet men [and women?]. Some were wearing bandages, some wore very little at all and some had to be helped to walk but all were desperately anxious for some news and all ravenously hungry. Enormous mounds of corned beef had been piled on trestle tables and, as the troops staggered off their ships and made their way to the waiting trains or coaches (anything to keep clearing the docks for the next onslaught) the men were literally snatching great handfuls of meat and stuffing it into their mouths. Women volunteers with tea urns kept up an endless supply of tea 鈥� but I seem to remember that the troops hardly had time to drink much of it, much though they looked as if they were desperate to do so.
I was helping to distribute newspapers - the men were desperate for news, as they had no idea of what the overall situation was.
I remember with clarity one fellow with very blue eyes, just standing there looking quite lost. I asked him if I could do anything and he looked at me and asked if there was a telephone box anywhere. If there was, I had no idea and, in any case, he was going to have to move on pretty quickly. He said he wanted to call his wife. So I offered to do it for him if he鈥檇 give me the number. I shall always remember his putting his hand into his pocket in a fruitless search for some money. Needless to say I brushed this aside. With all the clamour around, I could not hear whether he gave the exchange as Calne or Colne and there was no pencil to hand. But his name was Rupert and I promised to do what I could. You must realise that, at the age of 18, I had had almost no experience of using a telephone and I was embarking on an exercise which had little chance of success. However, early the next morning, I went to the red telephone box about 100 yards from my home and, having enlisted the help of the operator (as one did in those days) I was eventually connected to a number and a lady answered. I asked her if she knew anyone in the Army called Rupert and she said that was her husband鈥檚 name. So I was able to tell her he had returned safely. It was an emotional moment in that old phone box; I think I grew up quite a lot that day.

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