大象传媒

This story has been written onto the 大象传媒 People's War site by CSV Storygatherer Janet on behalf of June Warne. The story has been added to the site with her permission and June fully understands the terms and conditions of the site.

I dedicate this account to my mother, ELSIE RICHARDS, and the thousands of mothers like her whose task in World War Two was to keep a home together to raise their families, whilst their husbands were far away, fighting for their country.

At the commencement of hostilities, I was ten and three quarter years old, the middle child of a family of three. My elder brother, Terry, was thirteen and a half and my sister Heather, five. Our father, Charles, served in the Royal Navy as an engine room Artificer. We had always been used to him being away from home for long periods of time.

In September 1939 I had been due to start at a girl's high school as I had recently passed the scholarship. Many buildings had been commandeered by various government departments, amongst them my new school Stoke Damarel. It was to be used by the Navy. Our summer holiday was prolonged until arrangements could be made for the whole school to share with another local high school. This entailed taking turns mornings, 9am-1pm, or afternoons, 1.15-5.15. Double British summer Time was in existence, it seemed to work very well. I can recall having to carry large amounts of books and equipment around.

At home, we were having to get used to the black out, rationing and shortages, long queues, barrage balloons and air raids starting. Everyone was always desperate for news and huddled around the wireless to listen to the latest bulletins.

We lived in the upstairs flat of a large house, the lower flat was occupied by an older couple with a daughter of my age. We had been friends since joining infant school together. We have remained friends to this day, despite her family leaving Plymouth in 1941 after the blitz was over. No doubt the fact that we shared some traumatic moments together created a bond which will always remain important to us.

In the passage of the house were two cupboards adjoining each other. It was decided to knock away the partition dividing them to create a larger one thus making a shelter for all of us. As the air raids became heavier and more frequent my sister, Barbara and I were often put to bed in the cupboard on a mattress on the floor. Our mothers sat at the other end. My brother spent most of his time at the nearby air raid wardens post. This must have added to mother's anxiety, which already must have been considerable. There was the uncertainty of not knowing the whereabouts of my father and coping with the dangers from the skies above us. Sometimes the noise was horrendous, with the acrid smell of burning in our nostrils. What would be awaiting us when we finally emerged from our shelter? There was always plenty of shrapnel to be found lying on the ground for us children to pick up and collect.

The blitz in Plymouth was severe, completely devastating the centre of the city. Many well loved landmarks and building were completely destroyed causing heavy civilian casualties. For its size, Plymouth was the worst hit city in the entire country. The headmistress of a private girl's school arranged for a hastily made wooden plaque to be placed over the doorway of the mother church which had been burnt to the gound. Inscribed was just one word - RESURGAM (I will rise again). This inspired the weary citizens to begin the long task of clearing up the debris and attempting to resume some sort of routine. When the church was finally restored the plaque was placed in a prominent position as part of the history of the city.

Fortunately my family survived those difficult days. The experience of living through them has definitely been a major influence on my whole outlook on life. Shared adversity brings out the best in people. We all looked out for each other and shared a community spirit.

My father returned home from time to time, often unexpectedly and late at night. He would make three special rings on the bell to let my mother know his identity. Sometimes his nerves were in an agitated state. The children had to be extra quiet, being careful shutting doors or turning on taps. This usually followed periods patrolling the channel with the Russian convoys.

Some years later I read that his destroyer, HMS SHIKARI, was the last naval vessel to leave Dunkirk after the 1940 evacuations. I also discovered that he wrote a story for one of his grandsons describing his experiences.

As the years have gone by, I have realised more and more how difficult life was for my mother and how well she coped. I am privileged to be part of a loving caring family thanks to her.

I married a policeman who had served as a navigator in RAF transport in the war. We know that we have managed to pass on our sense of values to our two sons.

These then are some of my memories, which I hope will be of interest and give an insight into a period of World War Two.

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