大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site by Paul Trainer of Torbay Library Services on behalf of Betty Wyman (nee Scrivings) and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's Terms and Conditions.

Born and bred in Torquay, I was a schoolgirl at Homelands Central School for the duration of the war. Many of the pupils were evacuees from the blitz-torn east end of London, but nowhere in the country was entirely safe from raids, and for our protection there were air raid shelters in the playground. The sheer number of evacuees proved a challenge to the school and we lost both our library and our laboratories when those rooms were hastily pressed into service as classrooms. And the evacuees weren鈥檛 the only strangers around; latterly, there were American soldiers based near the football ground at Plainmoor.

Even as a schoolgirl, I witnessed great loss during the war. I recall the dreadful St. Marychurch bombing vividly because many of my classmates died in that attack and I attended their funeral. And we also lost our French teacher Miss Oldacre; she was staying in a hotel at Torquay harbour when the building suffered a direct hit. I have happier memories, however, of being part of the Red Ant dance troupe. A group of local children led by Mrs Heard, we used to travel around Torbay giving fundraising performances for Prison of War Relief.

What also remains strong in my memory is a coincidence that stems from one day in 1942. I was walking along the sea front past the Palm Court with my aunt and my twin brother Leslie. Although the beaches were cordoned off with barbed wire, there were still gaps that you could gain access through. I always remember being told, 鈥淟ook out to sea and, if you see a German plane, go and tell a policeman.鈥� On that day, we certainly saw Germans, but we didn鈥檛 have time to tell a policeman! Without warning, bomber craft sped in towards us over the sea and strafed the beach with machine gun fire. We ran into the Palm Court and took cover under tables whilst outside on Torre Abbey Sands, the schools inspector Mr Kestaven was caught on the beach with his 3 year old son. The bombers came so close that they were able to see the pilot鈥檚 face in the cockpit. In desperation Mr Kestevan threw his son to the sand and flattened himself on top of the toddler. There was a spray of bullets and Mr Kestevan was hit. He died saving his son.

Many years later, I was attending a party at a hotel in Bishopsteinton for my son鈥檚 21st birthday. There was a young man working as a portrait artist at the hotel who we got into conversation with and it soon transpired he was none other than Mr. Kestevan鈥檚 son! As proof, he even removed his shoe and sock and showed me the scar of a bullet hole in his foot 鈥� a permanent reminder of his narrow escape and his father鈥檚 selfless courage.

My husband Dennis also remembers a raid on Torquay when he was 13:

鈥淚 was in the park at Chelston when, suddenly, a German plane appeared out of nowhere tearing towards me across the sky with a British Hurricane fighter pilot on its tail. I was so close to the German plane at one point that I could see the pilot鈥檚 face. The British pursuer eventually shot the German plane down over the bay.鈥�

鈥淭he Americans had a strong presence in Torquay and many of them were stationed in huge army lorries that filled whole roads up and down Torquay. They were only allowed to leave the lorries twice a day and since the American canteen was up at St. Luke鈥檚 Park, my brother cleverly offered to run errands for the troops; he made a fortune in tips from bringing them fish and chips! They were all very welcome, however, and it was a bit of a shock when we woke up one day to find them all gone, lorries and all. They had joined literally thousands of young American lads who had marched all the way from Stover to the Torquay slipways in order to embark on D-Day operations.鈥�

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