- Contributed by听
- CovWarkCSVActionDesk
- People in story:听
- Margaret
- Location of story:听
- Plymouth
- Background to story:听
- Civilian
- Article ID:听
- A5059055
- Contributed on:听
- 13 August 2005
This story was submited to the People's War Site by Patricia Borg of the CSV 大象传媒 Coventry and Warwickshire Action Desk on behalf of Margaret and has been added to the site with her permisssion. The author fully understands the sites terms and conditions.
Evacuation was just a way of life. Evacuees had a hard time. My brother was seven and I was fourteen, but nobody wanted us. There was such a difference in our ages. My mother had to take my brother home. They resented us and did not care for us. We were left to our own devices. No one checked if we had clean hankies or pocket money. We moved on every six months. I settled in a cottage, with an outside toilet in Brookly Comb. It was in the middle of nowhere. I was sent there for safety. There were huge fields, where a structure of a city was biult, known as a decoy site. The idea was to give the impression that it was a city so the Germans would bomb it and save the cities. Strangely enough though, I enjoyed living in the country.
In 1944 i was called up to go to work in a factory. My mother's response was that "my daughter is not going to work in a factory". I went into the Marines as my Dad was in the Navy. I loved it and was pleased to get away from home. I had to buy my own uniform. When you are young, it doesn't seem to bother you so much. It is nothing to do with you. One is ignorant, I was not scared. You can't imagine death and destruction.
I was based in the Royal Marines Baricks in Plymouth. I was fortunate. I went there the day after they had the last bomb. There was just plies of rubble. As I was a short hand writer. My job involved anything to do with casualties and welfare. I had to write letters to families noteifying them of the death of their sons. I had to write a lot of letters. How do you write a letter of compassion when you are 19 and you don't know the family. You could not do it if you did.
While i was in Plymouth, I was taken to see Glen Miller by an American sailor shortly before Miller died.
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