大象传媒

This story has been written onto the 大象传媒 People's War site by a CSV volunteer, on behalf of Mrs P J Hitchcock. It has been added with her permission and Mrs Hitchcock fully understands the terms and conditions of the site.

It was a fine Sunday morning and I had been to church with my niece. We walked home only to find two of my older sisters there. They were crying because their husbands were at sea with the Navy. It was then that they told me we were at war. At first I could not take it in. I was courting a childhood friend and he was a submariner, how could we live through it? Plymouth being a port saw servicemen of all forces; Marines, Army and Air Force. We were very vulnerable.

As I was in a reserved occupation and didn鈥檛 have to join up, I volunteered as a nurse鈥檚 aid at Scott hospital. The first bomb fell in Swilly Road not far from us. It was a Saturday morning, the men were due to pour out of the Dockyard gates. My mum had a cake in the oven, she didn鈥檛 know what to do! We went down to the Anderson shelter which my brothers had put up. They had erected bunks either side, and shelves at one end, with a large biscuit tin for a primus for making tea etc. We also took Mum鈥檚 precious clock and a tin with our birth certificates, her marriage lines and insurance books. So many times it would shelter us through hard times but we survived.

Christmas 1941 saw me engaged and by this time I was down at St. Levans Road as a telephonist with the A.F.S. I was issued with a jacket, trousers, a tin hat and a special gas mask with a fitting for phones. Every night I laid them out in readiness. One night Moaning Minnie went off and I hadn鈥檛 been asleep very long. I quickly got dressed while the rest of the family made a dash for the shelter. I ran up North Down Road with my tin hat bobbing up and down so I put my hand on it only to find that I could feel my heart beating 鈥攆ast! That night I took a message from our local warden reporting that a bomb had dropped on a house a few doors away. Needless to say I was worried. My station officer said that I could go home when it quietened down. I walked up past the static water tank in West Down Road, none of the houses had glass and some had roof damage. As I approached our house it was to see the curtain flapping and a hole in the roof where a kerbstone had gone through. Nobody was in and the place was a shambles. Upstairs the blast had blown our clothes through a seam at the back of the wardrobes, and then the seam had closed over leaving our clothes trapped and useless. The family were safe. At the back of our front door we had to put up a list of all occupants so that should we have a direct hit the wardens would know how many to look for.

The list was also taking to the water lorries where we were issued with water according to how many were living in the house - it was chlorinated and tasted horrible. Water, gas and electricity were often lost for long spells. My mum cooked in biscuit tins, which the Ministry of Works thought up. After a very bad and long raid , my mum and I were out the front picking up glass and a policeman came along and advised us to cover our windows again. For this we used linoleum off the floors, cut to fit each window and tacked on to the frame so we were in perpetual darkness until such times as we would have proper repairs - this behind tarred paper which didn鈥檛 help, but it was waterproof.

In May 1942 I had a phone call at work. This was a thing unheard of. It was from my fianc茅, Fred, who asked me if I would go to Portsmouth to see him. He was going to the Mediterranean. With my mum鈥檚 permission (I was 22) I went, for the first time in my life, on a train and met Fred the next morning under the clock at the station. He had ten days left so I phoned my mum, via a local butcher, and asked if it was okay to marry by a special licence. A visit to the R.N. padre and to the local Catholic church in Gosport and we were married on June 6th 1942. After the service we caught a train back home. We had just 24 hours together and then he went back. I wasn鈥檛 to see him until October 1944.

In the meantime, I had been sacked because I had taken leave without permission: anyway they didn鈥檛 employ married women. For a few weeks I stayed home to look after my mum, who had been very ill and was so weak I cooked, and did the laundry, something that I had not done before, but we all coped. Eventually I was informed that I had to do war work. I had to go to a tribunal who decided that because of conditions at home I only had to do part-time work. I applied at the dole office and they informed me that there were some vacancies at the dockyard, in the Expense Accounts Office, but I would need to take an exam. I did and passed, and there I was in the Dockyard. I worked Wednesday Thursday and Friday, having my lunch at the government canteen, 1/6d was the limit they charged. I continued my work at the fire station, which was in a garage opposite the gasometer. One night we were ordered to lie on the floor, so we all did, except our messenger boy Leo Dacalon, a lad of sixteen, who stayed in the doorway. The workhouse was on fire, as was part of the school and there were incendiaries everywhere. Unfortunately Leo was killed by a piece of glass that severed an artery in his neck. That same night we lost a fireman at Coxside. It was an horrendous time. Food was short and if anyone heard of potatoes in a shop we would get in the queue, sometimes in vain. Our front and back gardens were dug up to produce vegetables. We were all thin but healthy.

One day we had a big surprise, a barrage balloon that had broken away from its moorings in Exeter, was drifting down nearby, closely followed by RAF lads in a jeep! After a lot of conversation they decided to cut off all the wires and leave the nylon balloon part to us. We shared the material with our neighbours and made clothes that were almost new.

Time passed, I worked, came home and went to the fire station most nights. Life became a routine. Our family and neighbours all rallied together to help each other. The Hutten family had a son-in-law captured by the Japanese and the only news the family had about him came from the Red Cross. All we could do was to listen and comfort the family.

One night in October 1944, my sister answered the doorbell and because of the blackout she couldn鈥檛 see who was there. After a moment she said 鈥渢here is a navy bloke with a peeked cap asking for you鈥�, it was Fred, home at last. The first thing I offered him was a glass of milk. We often laughed about this. Anyway, he was on leave so we went to Wales where my teacher lived in a village. Whilst there, Fred was fed too well and ended up in a hospital. Having endured the food on the submarines for so long it was the wrong thing to do. When he went to rejoin his boat it was to go to Newhaven where they were to exercise with the RAF. I joined him later and it was there that we celebrated V.E Day. Before coming ashore the captain ordered 鈥楽lice the main brace鈥� for all the crew. All the local pubs opened their doors to servicemen and there were free drinks all round. Soon after that we went to the Isle of Bute. I hated it and spent Christmas and New Year in a bedsit on my own. Fred was on the way to Barrow-in-Furness to stand by a submarine being fitted at Vickers Armstrong, so once again I was on the move.

I eventually moved back to Plymouth, which had been badly bombed, and there was much to do. Eventually repairs were done to homes and shops. Hitler had got rid of our bad housing and soon there were new gardens and parks for the children too. It was a new beginning for everyone.

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