大象传媒

Memories of my cousin, who died five years ago, and was 10 in 1940. She told these to my children to help them learn about war-time life.

1940. I was walking in town when an enemy plane flew low straight up the middle of the road. My mother pushed me hastily into a Public Toilet, enetered herself and slammed the door. Which jammed shut.

When the danger had passed, she climbed up and put her head out of a small window, which faced a barrage balloon site, and managed to attract the attention of the crew. They came and knocked the door in - the lock was hopelessly broken - and released us.

March 1940. On my tenth birthday, there were no luxuries available but mother had "fixed" half a special cake, and Gran had opened a hoarded tin of fruit, and I was to have some friends to tea. At that precise moment, the sirens sounded and planes were heard overhead so everyone ran for the shelter clutching plates and food, so my party was held sitting on benches as an air-raid was devastating Plymouth. One bomb landed on our shelter, but it was curved, and the bomb fell on the other side of it. We weren't hurt, only covered in dust.

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