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I was only four years old (1939) when war was declared, but I have many memories as the years went on. I lived in Higher Polsham Road in the Christchurch area of Paignton. Our beach at Paignton had great rolls of barbed wire all the way along to make it difficult for anyone invading. Our next door neighbour, Mrs Wilkins at number 60 Polsham Road had a large air-raid shelter dug under the ‘top’ road and most of our neighbours gathered in this shelter when the air-raid sirens went.
We had evacuees staying with us for a time. Then we had two American officers billeted with us when the troops were camping on the sea-front and in Victoria Park (I think this area is now a supermarket). There were often eight large Americans ‘meeting’ in the tiniest bedroom in our house. Both ‘our’ officers survived the war and kept in touch for many years after. As children, my sister, Lyn, and I thoroughly enjoyed the dried bananas, chocolate drink and gum handed out by our friends.
An incendiary bomb was dropped on Polsham School at the bottom of out road; one summer evening a small plane dropped an incendiary bomb at the back of Gildway Mansions (1943) — my sister’s bedroom window was blown in on her; I was outdoors running for home at the time — we had been taught to throw ourselves down against a wall if in danger. This I did and I could actually see the face of the pilot of the plane, he was so low!!
We were issued with Anderson shelters half way through the war. These were made of iron and made wonderful ‘stages’ for children — so we put on variety shows for our poor neighbours!
My sister and I has clothes made from parachute silk and our Mother, who was very clever with a needle, made anoraks from jumble sale raincoats.
In 1946 when I started Torquay Girls Grammar School I made friends with a Jewish girl whose family had escaped Germany in the nick of time. She had been in the group of children at Polsham School when my mother had come home with a lady and her daughter. (It could so easily have been Sonja Alpern! We remain great friends although she now lives in Israel.)
My Mother, Jessie White, worked in the forces canteen in Torbay Road and was a fire fighter.
My Father, Fred White, to hid chagrin was too old or was retained as a bank manager to be called up so he threw himself into Dad’s Army and loved it.
I have clear memories of our road VE Party in Christchurch church hall and VJ celebrations at Manaton Village Hall on Dartmoor where we were holidaying at the time.

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