- Contributed by听
- Ian Hollins
- People in story:听
- Desmond John Taylor
- Location of story:听
- Plymouth and Devonport
- Background to story:听
- Civilian Force
- Article ID:听
- A5920760
- Contributed on:听
- 27 September 2005
This story has been added to the 大象传媒 People's War site by CSV Storygatherer Ian Hollins on behalf of Desmond Taylor. Th story has been added to the site with his permission. And Desmond Taylor fully understands the terms and conditions of the site.
Continued from Chapter 1 - Story A5920283
At the start of the "Blitz" on Plymouth in March 1941 Devonport High School for Boys was evacuated to Penzance, other schools went to other towns, but my parents decided to keep my sister and I at home so I transferred to the boy's "Emergency High School" in Plymouth. The raids continued for months and we spent several hours most nights in an "Anderson Shelter" in the garden with a candle beneath an upturned flower pot for heating. I never felt frightened, despite hearing many bombs explode near-by, because boys of the age I was find war exciting and the optimism of youth tells you that you won't be hit. After one raid I remember seeing a huge red glow in the sky and next day columns of thick black smoke from the oil tanks at Oreston which burned for about three days. Our house was eventually damaged by blast from an aerial mine which caused damage over a wide area of Mile house where I lived in Beaumont Street.
I remember going in a taxi, my first long car ride, with my mother and sister to stay on a friend's farm near Bere Alston about 6 miles north of Plymouth. My father who worked in the Dockyard stayed on in part of the house. From the farm I had to cycle 2 miles uphill to the station to catch a train to Plymouth and then walk half a mile to school, returning the same way in the evening. There were no school dinners in those days so I used to have lunch in a "British Restaurant", a Nissen hut on a cleared bomb site, mostly beans-on-toast which cost 9 pence (4p). Remarkably this very scenic line, which in those days formed the final approach to Plymouth by the main Southern Railway line from London, now long closed, still operates as a branch line for commuters. Last year I took a nostalgic train ride on it for the first time in over 60 years to find it little changed except that it is now single track.
We stayed on the farm for the summer of 1941, it had no utility services, only a well with a hand pump in the kitchen, and an earth closet in the middle of the garden, which buzzed with flies and stank to high heaven in the hot summer weather, I hated using it. The farmer used to slit the throats of chickens and hang them upside-down to bleed outside the closet, another repulsive feature!
I remember picking and eating! "Royal Sovereign" strawberries, the finest variety by far, in steep south-facing fields leading down to the river Tamar which were famous for strawberries at that time. After the cows had been milked I used to turn the handle of the centrifugal milk separator, there was no pasteurisation, to produce cream for butter making. Some of the cream was put on mashed strawberries for tea which included bread, butter and home-made jam; there was an extra sugar ration at the appropriate time each year for making this. The farmer also shot rabbits which were made into delicious pies. These extras were a very welcome addition to our restricted diet which was nonetheless a very healthy one and I never felt hungry. I remember feeding the skim milk to the calves in a bucket; you had to immerse your fingers in the milk to simulate teats in the calves' mouth, to encourage them to suck. I helped with the wheat harvest; the tractor went around and around the field until only a small area remained in the centre. The farmer had his shotgun ready for the foxes which he knew would have been forced to retreat there and when they finally bolted he shot one, what a bounder! He cut off the brush and gave it to me to smell the strong musty scent saying, "you will never forget that". I haven't, I can still smell a fox if he's passed close enough.
My grandparents, who had lived in the same house, were also evacuated and billeted on an old Sea Captain in his bungalow near St. Austell in Cornwall. I visited them there once and was fascinated to see the Captain chewing tobacco and spitting into an evil smelling brass spittoon on the floor near his chair. He had married twice and took me around his house pointing out furniture which was "his private" and "her private" according to whether it dated from his first marriage or had been brought by his second wife, now dead also. Furniture they had bought together was described as "Joint"!
Our house was given "emergency repairs" which meant making the roof watertight and re-glazing the windows with poor quality wartime glass, you had to live with the broken plaster on the ceilings and walls. We returned to it in autumn 1941 and had to repair the "Black-out" shutters and curtains which had been ripped by the blast. "Putting up the Blackout" was a daily ritual at dusk. Air raids were more spasmodic by then so I had time to appreciate them individually! Nearly all raids were at night and we learned to tell German bombers from our planes by a rhythmic throb, throb, throb of their twin engines which were de-synchronised to confuse our sound direction finders which directed the AA guns. Other vivid sound memories are of course of the wailing of the "Air-Raid-Warning" sirens, relief at the steady" All Clear" siren, signalling return to a cold bed, the whistling and explosions of sticks of bombs as they fell and the crack-crack of shrapnel from the anti-aircraft shells hitting the roofs and breaking the slates.
We boys used to scour the streets in the morning to find shrapnel for souvenirs but my greatest find was an unexploded incendiary bomb which had made a soft landing in a hedge in Central Park. It was a thick aluminium tube about two inches in diameter and 18 inches long including 4 steel tail fins ending in a rounded cap. I took it home and with the devil-may-care courage of boys, unscrewed the nose and tipped out the thermite powder, the primary incendiary chemical which on impact was ignited by the fuse. This burned with a fierce white heat to set the aluminium casing on fire as well and it could not easily be extinguished. Many households had been issued with a "Stirrup Pump" which was placed in a bucket of water, held in position by a foot hence the name, and pumped with two hands while a second person used the hose. They could produce a small jet of about 15 feet to use on flames or a shorter spray to cool the bomb itself which could explode under a jet of water. I remember seeing these used on roof fires and on incendiary bombs on the ground in our street; the latter could also be tackled with a bucket of sand applied by a shovel with a six foot handle. I still have a full album of cigarette cards called "Air Raid Precautions", that I collected in 1939, which illustrated the above techniques along with many other suggestions which in the event proved to be rather fancifuland not much use.
Our house was damaged again and we moved to an empty house in the next street. During a raid, while our family was in the Anderson shelter there, a bomb fell on a house about 20 yards away. I remember it coming with a loud roaring noise quite different from the whistle of bombs further away and then the terrific explosion and blast and debris falling all around. The shelter saved us but a man who had stayed in the bombed house was killed. Our house was damaged and when I returned to my bedroom I found a large triangle of glass embedded in the mattress! We had to make-do in the house for a few days as the Billeting Officer, whose duty it was to re-house us, had no accommodation available. Then a friend of mine who lived in a different area told me of a bungalow near him which was empty and undamaged. My father gave the Billeting Officer the address and he immediately requisitioned it and we moved in.
There was a civilian Emergency Repair Organisation that recovered materials from buildings beyond repair and reused them to patch up damaged houses to make them habitable again. I don't think permanent repairs and rebuilding were started until the war had ended. A "Plan for Plymouth" by Patrick Abercrombie was published as a large hardback book in 1942 to hold out hope and the promise of a better future for the citizens. This turned the almost complete obliteration of the centre of the city to advantage by designing a totally new rectilinear layout with a grand wide boulevard giving an uninterrupted view through the centre up to the dominant Naval War Memorial on the historic Hoe. This plan was largely realised in the 1950's with the first large departmental store "Dingles" opening in 1951.
Claims for money to buy furniture and goods to replace those damaged by bombing were met by the government but only after tedious bureaucratic scrutiny and wrangling. There was an allocation of points which served to ration furniture. In order to maximise production and ensure fair shares after the war, clothes, furniture and domestic goods generally had to conform to "Utility" specifications, which continued well into the 1950's.
Getting about during the black-out was not much of a problem as we mainly walked everywhere; there were few buses and trams after dark. Batteries for torches were very scarce and had to be carefully husbanded. A bright moon, near full, was a great help but when combined with say 5/10 clouds it was known as a "Bomber's Moon". The clouds afforded some cover for the bombers while the moonlight enabled easy and precise identification of the target area.
There was not a lot of reason to go out as entertainment was limited to the Church Youth Club andthe cinema on Saturday afternoons. 大象传媒 radio was the great provider of home entertainment with variety shows like "Tommy Handley", Workers Playtime, Music while you Work, etc. Every week there was Saturday Night Theatre, a 1 hour play, usually classic or comedy, by the 大象传媒 Repertory Company. I do not recall the 大象传媒 ever being off the air for more than a few minutes at a time. At Christmas they made a special effort to cheer everyone up because there were no luxuries. An orange and an extra sweet ration were a real treat. I have an audio tape "Wartime Christmases" which the 大象传媒 transmitted about 30 years ago, compered by Elsie and Doris Walters who were popular entertainers during the war. This includes an extract from a famous New Year broadcast on upset tummies by the "Radio Doctor" Dr. Charles Hill who I always enjoyed listening to. He used to give sound advice on health matters couched in a humorous manner and later became chairman of the 大象传媒. There was no television.
Continued in Chapter 3 - Story A5920977
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