´óÏó´«Ã½

This story has been written onto the ´óÏó´«Ã½ People’s War site by CSV Storygatherer Louise on behalf of Gwendolyn Donney. The story has been added to the site with her permission and Gwendolyn Donney fully understands the terms and conditions of the site.

I was 6 years old at the outbreak of war and I have very clear memories of wartime Torquay.

We had no concentrated bombing on my hometown, but there were ‘hit and run’ raids, which frightened me so much. I was a very sensitive child, and loud gunfire and low flying aircraft were particularly frightening. Before we had a Morrison shelter, my family and I spent many nights in an under stairs cupboard when the siren went. Invariably, there were no raids, but the sleepless nights caused me extreme tiredness. I can remember falling asleep on my school desk and waking up to see my stern, male teacher glaring at me. He was not sympathetic, but teachers of my day were very strict, no nonsense bods!

Some days we had gas mask practice at school. We all had to don our masks at a given command. They made very strange noises when you breathed, and they smelt awful! We also had the gunfire drill. We all stood up at the ready then our teacher rapped sharply on the desk with his large ruler. This was the command for us all to dive to the floor and lay prone beside our desks. We were told that in the event of an air raid outdoors we should lie in the gutter as enemy pilots often machine gunned people. This did occur one warm Sunday afternoon on Ian Abbey sands (around 1943).

There were several places bombed in Torquay and several people got killed by machine gun fire on the beach and sea front. This was the terrible afternoon when St Mary Church was badly bombed. Quite a few Sunday school teachers and children were victims of that awful raid. I shall never forget that day, as my sister and I were in Sunday School in the Church of St Michael’s (in main town area). Union Street — only a short distance away — was bombed quite badly. The nurse was terrifying! After it was all over, many distraught parents rushed to the Church to comfort their children. My parents were there too, so relieved to find we were safe. I was distressed I recall. Children of my day were not counselled or cuddled, but I’m sure the trauma of those very uncertain times affected more sensitive children. (I was one of those, and I am still scared of very loud noises and low flying aircraft).

My wartime childhood did have its lighter moments fortunately, but 1939 — 1945 were very remarkable and eventful years for a child.

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.