- Contributed byÌý
- cornwallcsv
- People in story:Ìý
- Sisters:- Lilian Veale (now Rowe), Gwendoline and Lorna Veale. Aunt:- Lila Merchant. Uncle:- William Merchant
- Location of story:Ìý
- Shaldon, Devon
- Background to story:Ìý
- Civilian
- Article ID:Ìý
- A6708431
- Contributed on:Ìý
- 05 November 2005
This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Callington U3A csv story collectors Peter and Judy Foweraker, on behalf of Eileen Rush, nee Veale, and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.
My name is Eileen Rush, nee Veale. This story happened in the summer of 1942. My sister Lillian, aged six years at the time, and myself aged eight, had been evacuated to Shaldon in Devon. Shaldon was a sleepy, peaceful and lovely village on the opposite side of the river from Teignmouth, a small seaside town.
My two elder sisters, aged fourteen and fifteen, were visiting us, having a few days holiday away from Plymouth. We had all been living in Plymouth during the Blitz of 1941 and had a few very dangerous experiences, including our house being damaged in a raid whilst we were in the Anderson shelter in the garden. We spent at least one night in the Sherwell Church Hall in Ebrington Street where everyone had to sleep on the floor, and volunteers made huge saucepans of soup to feed all the ‘bombed out’ families. In 1942 our aunt and uncle offered to take my sister and I as evacuees, so that we would be safe from the bombing.
So, this was now a lovely summer’s day and it was decided that the four of us would take a picnic up into the fields above Shaldon. I was always a greedy child and was happily munching away on a sandwich and having a great time when, suddenly, whoops! I was thrown, with my little sister, straight into the haystack we had been sitting beside. Our little bare arms were all scratched and stinging from nettles and dry stalks in the rick. We were both crying bitterly and didn’t know why we were being treated so badly by our sisters. We were soon to find out. Luckily, one of my sisters had spotted a German fighter plane flying in low across the fields!
Teignmouth had become a target at this time for the Germans, as the main railway line to London from the Southwest passed, and still does, straight through the town. This particular fighter plane was having a bit of fun — machine-gunning cows and anything that moved. Luckily for us, our sisters’ sharp eyes saved us from being injured, maybe even killed, that lovely summer’s day!
My sister, Lilian, and I still talk about what happened. It now seems amusing — but at the time it was very frightening.
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