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This story has been written to the ´óÏó´«Ã½ People's War site by CSV Storygatherer Coralie, on behalf of Barbara Hogan. The story has been added to the site with her permission and Barbara fully understands the terms and conditions of the site.

An air-raid siren, it is day time, Mum takes us outside our front door where all the people living in our block of flats are gathering, our flat being on the ground floor. Everyone moves in unison to the main entrance, looking very bewildered. The first air-raid has sounded! I am eight years old. Our flats are named Rendle Street Flats, in the centre of Plymouth.

A male adult looks out of the front entrance to ask what move to make next. The reply comes 'Stay where you are till you hear the All Clear'. I ask Mum's friend 'What is a war?' 'It is fighting'. I imagined these men fighting outside on the Street — why?

The next time it was for real, and I understood the fear I had seen in their faces. I recall being at High Street School, Stonehouse when the whole school, children and adults, was led to an underground tunnel, which was a purpose-built air-raid shelter. To us this was a new adventure, not frightening, just unpleasant.

Another day I recall, I was walking to the sweet shop and feeling delighted to have 1/4d (a farthing) to buy four blackjacks. It was a beautiful day with blue sky and a few powder puffs of cloud. I had reached the third and last entrance to the shelters, built on top of the ground and constructed of wire and concrete. I became aware of an aeroplane, which I stopped to look at it. I heard a man's voice calling from the door of the shelter "Come here little girl" — he was a rounded, elderly gentleman. When I refused, he started to get concerned for my safety, and his, but a lady came to the entrance and said to him, "Leave her to me — she will come in for me". She called gently to me "Come in here little girl, I'll look after you". I went in for her and was surprised to see so many people in the shelter on such a lovely day. Just as well I was persuaded in, as the German pilot was out to shoot anyone on the street! We saw the bullet marks along the shelter, and later my friends and I were intrigued to see bullet marks along the walls of the houses in the next street. Only very recently, my younger brother told me that on a day such as the one described above, our mother speedily pulled him down behind a wall, just before a bullet whistled over them.

At that time, elderly ladies were in the habit of sitting outside their houses clad from neck to toes in their long black dresses with long white aprons on top, their hair in buns and some smoking clay pipes,. The houses were dark and dingy inside so every opportunity to breathe fresh air was taken. When the raid was over, I heard one of the old ladies had refused to leave her chair where she been sitting outside her house, so had been a victim of the Luftwaffe machine-gunning anyone that was in their sights.

Collecting shrapnel was a favourite pastime at this time, as well as playing flip cards, hockey fivers, hop scotch and marbles (called 'allees' in the local tongue) which varied in colour and size.

The time came when we were to spend night after night in the air-raid shelters I have mentioned. As most of the bombing was done at night, our parents would put mattresses and blankets in the shelter in the evening ready for the onslaught during the night. One night we were standing at the entrance of our flat preparing to move to the shelter, the German pilots overhead discharging load after load of high explosive bombs and incendiary bombs, the latter being fire-releasing devices. Because of this the adults were unsure if they should risk the move. I was holding one of our neighbour, Mrs Parker's children, piggy-back style, and decided to move to the shelter. I was almost there when an air-raid warden came to me and said "Better go back me luvver. Incendiary bombs are in the shelter doorway. I'll let you know when it's clear". I went back and told the families in the doorway. It was not too long to wait before we were told it was clear to move.

Another night I remember bombs raining down and an elderly man saying "It's alright me dears. They're dropping on the dockyard. Sing as loud as you can all of you and drown them out, that's it". We knew he was telling fibs, but if he were alive today I would tell him what a comfort he had been to us. There is no doubt the Germans were also after the railway that ran parallel to our homes near Millbay, as, at this time, it carried goods and passengers arriving from other countries, including troops and their equipment and stores and weapons to the ships, making it an important target. However, for all their bombing and killing, they did not manage to disrupt the railway's important work.

Next morning, we found most of the street lined along our shelters in nothing but ruins. I was indoors when the children upstairs came in and told my sister, brother and me to get bags as 'The Maypole' had been hit and we could get some food for our mum. We did this as fast as we could and in the ruins were bags of sugar and packs of tea. We were carrying these away just as someone called out to run as the police were coming, so people scattered in all directions! There was a jeweller next to 'The Maypole' and some people thought to go for that — someone got rich that day!

It was decided by M.P., Mrs Joan Vickers, that cookhouses should be set up, plus soup kitchens, also children were to be taken to a large house to be showered (I think it was Mrs Vickers' house). What excitement, what a treat for us children! Later, because the bombing was so intense and continuous, it was decided to evacuate as many children as possible.

Our first stop was a Junior School in Market Road, Plympton. The people concerned with looking after us had set up a room with clothing that had been donated, and parents rushed there wanting the best for their children. I am not sure if the clothing had to be paid for, but I know I was delighted with a blue pleated skirt Mum bought that just fitted me. Again doing the best they could, they had managed to get a pile of single mattresses, so once again we slept on the floor.

Next we were moved to a school up the hill, where we were once again delighted to experience the joy of a shower. As the girls were the first in the showers and I happened to be the last out, flanked by two helpers, one boy, Peter, could wait no longer so came in jumping with joy, fully naked of course. The sound of his excitement attracted our attention, much to Peter's embarrassment, because he lived upstairs in our block of flats. I found it hilarious and the ladies touched my back in unison and hurried me away. I don't remember seeing Peter again after this incident. (I saw his obituary in the paper in approximately 2002. I had adored his Mum and Dad, brother and sisters and all the family. My sister, Alice, and I went to the funeral to pay our respects. I am still in contact with the family through his sister, Shirley and we all exchange Christmas cards).

I am not sure how long we stayed at this school, but an Army lorry arrived to take children to the country. My mother was down in the village, having gone shopping, taking our young brother. I ran as fast as I could, running around a corner straight into my mother and felt her hand. Oops, I had stepped on her corn and could not get a word in till she had calmed down — she could really be heard for some distance! When I told her she said "Well, why didn't you tell me?" As it turned out, we got there in time. Mum was only too pleased to offer us up to be sent away from the danger we had just left, and which was by then reaching Plympton. Then the call came for ladies to volunteer to help with the children and quite a few hands were raised. A shout came from the Parker children to take their Mum. I was standing near a soldier and gently tugged his uniform saying " Please choose my Mum or she will be all on her own". So it was that both our mothers went with us, as did a bad-tempered lady. We travelled into the night and it was pitch dark as no lighting was allowed. I now know we had reached Totnes when the lorry banged into a lamp-post, startling us sleepy children and causing the ladies to scream. The soldiers had lost their way so went into a nearby hotel for directions.

So we arrived at Dartington Hall, near Totnes, where I enjoyed five happy years. Our neighbours, who had moved with us, moved on to stay in Cornwall with other members of their family, where they spent the rest of the war year. While they were still staying at Dartington, their son Peter, who was sleeping in a bunk near an open window, sleep-walked out of the window onto concrete. Amazingly, he only sustained a couple of small bruises and was unaware as to how he came to be outside in his pyjamas. Quite a shock for the staff!

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