大象传媒

This story has been written onto the 大象传媒 People鈥檚 War site by CSV Storygatherer Janet on behalf of Philip J Rendle. The story has been added to the site with his permission. And Philip Rendle fully understands the terms and conditions of the site. (A6407624)

When war started my parents remembered the food shortages in the 1914-18 war. We visited farmer friends in Cornwall and came back with 2 bags of potatoes.

At the start of the war everyone was issued with a gasmask in a cardboard box with a string to carry it everywhere over your shoulder. At Christmas my present from my dad was a pigskin shoulder bag designed to fit the gasmask.

During the blitzes I was too young to get an Air Raid Warden's steel helmet so I put a dustbin lid on my head when I helped the wardens. The incendiary bombs only set fire to one house in our road - this was soon put out. When I heard a bomb whistling down I was taught to throw myself flat on the road, on one occasion, I was laying alongside an unexploded incendiary bomb - I was not allowed to keep it as a souvenir.

The family had been issued with an Anderson shelter. This we erected in the basement rather than dig a hole in the small garden and half bury it. The wardens told us to remove it as they would not be able to dig us out if the house was bombed. We gave it back and reinforced the ceiling - with bunk beds it was quite comfortable. We were in there when a high explosive bomb demolished a bungalow in the next road killing the occupants and blowing out all our windows.

Cycling to school in Albert Road after one blitz past Milehouse tram and bus depot, there was a double decker bus on the roof. It had been blown up there by a landmine which also killed one of my school mates.

Our family owned a small holiday cottage on the edge of Dartmoor overlooking Plymouth. We evacuated ourselves and lived there through the later blitzes with a grandstand view of the fires and explosions. I travelled to school by car with my Dad who worked in the dockyard. After one blitz, dad dropped me at school and drove towards the dockyard. He was stopped by a policeman and asked where he was going "To the Fore Street entrance to the dockyard" said dad. The policeman replied "There ain't no b....y Fore Street and there ain't no b....y dockyard so park over there and walk".

Eventually, after the blitzes, Devonport High School for Boys was evacuated to Penzance. The 4 "houses" took over hotels. However, Grenville house was put into the Poor Law workhouse at Madron. The elderly residents were not pleased to be invaded by lots of teenage boys. We slept on mattresses on the floor of large dormitories. The workhouse had one huge bath - we bathed, 2 at a time, in this bath. A few of the boys developed homesickness and returned home.

Initially our school shared the Girls Grammar School at Heamoor part time. We boys soon all had pen friends with notes being left in the girls' desks. Later big houses in the town were converted into classrooms by just putting desks into the large rooms. In the winter, I volunteered to keep a good fire in the hearth at the front of the class and managed to get a nice warm front desk.

Our "house" was eventualy moved into the modern Hotel Royale on the main road out past the station (now converted into apartments). After the workhouse, it was real luxury with central heating and Slumberland divans! Two teachers and their wives had apartments in the hotel and ran the place like a boarding school. We had 2 hours supervised prep every weekday evening. Sunday mornings everyone either had to go to church, go for a walk or do homework. I stayed in and wrote my English essay - much better than walking!

A few of us joined the Youth Club at Newlyn. Saturday was the big night with a dance for the Plymouth boys and the local girls. The Royale had a ballroom with maple floor. Near Christmas we had a dance to which the local girls were invited.

Early in 1943, my father was transferred from Devonport to Chatham. At the end of the 5th school year, after the School Certificate exam, I rejoind the family. We lived in Buzz Bomb Alley, in Kent, but that is another story.

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