大象传媒

At the start of the war,
I was seven, no more.
Eldest of three, I can just remember,
Plymouth, so badly bombed,
It was reduced to ember.

George Street, Bedford Street, Spooner's and such,
St Andrews and the Guildhall almost destroyed,
When in March 1941, the skies were strafed and
Hitler's bombs were deployed.
Many brave people fought the flames,
Small groups of firemen, A.R.P. and those without names.

Team Spirit and comradeship was called for,
And it was certainly there,
When everyone gave something,
Sometimes more than they could spare,
Even babies were born at this harrowing time,
It seemed the future, was such a mountain to climb.

People took to the moors, in a desperate plight,
To see Plymouth in flames, was a terrifying sight.
Most of the families tell of terrible tales
Of the aeroplane drone, and siren's wail,
With the heart of Plymouth, devastated and flattened,
Barrage balloons rose over Mount Batten.

When I walk on the Hoe, I look back and see,
Our wonderful city laid out before me,
How proud those who gave their lives would be,
To see Royal Parade, with many a tree.
Armada Way, and St Andrew's rebuilt,
The new City Centre, and green spaces galore,
And in stark contrast, proud and free,
The bombed Charles Church, memorial to the war.

To the young, I would say, don't complain
Take care of your city, and be proud
That you came from a strength of
People who would not give way
To Hitler's bombs, and to say
Resurgam, I will rise again.

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