Memories Of Nora Mary (Thorne) Evans of Plymouth, Devon
WW2 Declaration of War.
3rd of September 1939War declared, a lovely sunny Sunday. I remember bringing back from mass 2 Irish girls, friends of Nanny and Mum. Everyone seemed upset and we listened to a statement on the radiogram which resulted in the Irish girls crying and saying they must get back to their home in Ireland. It was all beyond my understanding. I was seven and half years old. Nan and Mum agreed to accompany the Irish girls (I can’t remember their names – they were ‘in service’ somewhere in Lipson and we usually saw them at Sunday mass at Holy Cross Church) to the train station. I couldn’t understand why they didn’t stop crying.
They departed for the station – leaving Joy and I at home. We were warned to stay in our own garden. Nanny locked her house and we went next door to our own place. Mum was concerned at leaving us on our own – and said they wouldn’t be long and warned us again to stay in our own garden and house. The 4 women went off in a taxi. There was a kind of hush ever where, it was a beautiful afternoon. There didn’t appear to be ay adults out in their gardens as was usual on a Sunday. Soon our friends who lived in the street came to call (obviously turned out’ so as their parents could listen to radio broadcasts and perhaps discuss their plans and face up to this unbelievable situation of England being at war with Germany. little did we know what we were going to experience.
Seeing as how Joy and I had to stay in, we wouldn’t dare disobey mum’s instructions, the other children came into our garden and house to play. We decided to play mothers and fathers, I was mother, and Peter Rogers was father and it was decided to put the children to bed. So, the rest of the children squeezed into Mums big bed. I can’t remember how many – but there were so many, some were falling out the bed. Things were getting out of hand and some children were climbing in and out of the windows which someone had open. Mary White who was a heavy big built girl, with ginger hair was actually stuck in the front bedroom window when? arrived with nan and mum. My mother just about blew her top at the sight of all these children and shouted at them to go home. I was in disgrace and told how naughty I was to let all these children into the house.
The day war was declared always conjures up the sight of Mary White struggling to get through the window and a blue cloudless sky and it seemed as all the adults had disappeared from the face of the earth and I wonder why now why our neighbour Mrs Cooke didn’t come out to see what we noisy children were up to running in and out of our house into the garden around to the front and through the open windows. I can’t remember what happened after mum and nan returned. Probably sent to bed in disgrace!
The next memory is of the much-discussed delay by Grandad, Nanny and mum the war would make to the return of my father’s ship from South Africa where he had been for the last 3 and half years. It was another 1 and half years before we finally saw him – making it 5 years on his return. Then there was the worry of this safety and including in our prayers the petition that Jesus would watch over him and bring him home safely.
Shortly after war had been declared we were issued with an air raid shelter. Two council work men came and dug a huge square hole in the back garden. It was agreed Nany and Grandad who lived next door would share ours. The shelter was bolted together and placed in the hole just about a third of it above ground. This was covered with earth that was supported by bricks and grass soon covered it. The built a very thick wall a few feet in front of the entrance – this was for bomb blast protection. Grandad made a heavy wooden door of wooden planks and fixed it and put an old strong backless chair inside to help us climb down into the shelter. There was a single bunk type bed at the end of the shelter for Joy and me to sleep on and a couple of old kitchen chairs for the adults to sit on. Joy and I thought it looked great fun. Little did we know of the fear and terror that would come when were huddled sheltered there in, my grandmother kneeling with her rosary crying out to God for mercy – she was very frightened by it all, as were we all. My mother seemed calmer. I suspect it was a front to try and calm us all.
Shortly after the realisation that air raids and bombing was promised by the Nazis – my mum decided I would be safer at the nearer non-Catholic local school Laira Green Primary. I was currently attending Holy Cross Primary in Beaumont Street, walking up Lipson Hill and sometimes catching a No 23 bus at Queens Gate down to Holy Cross. Which meant I was some distance from home in case of trouble. So, I was transferred to Laira Green where most of the neighbouring children (my friends) attended. We all could go and return together and would walk across what we called the green – which was wasteland at the end of the crescent reaching down the old big railway tunnel, through this pas the railway cleaning shed where young lads with black sooty faces would lean out the windows and jeer at us! We would all run away, pretending to be scared. Then we would walk under the main London railway line up the steps near the now disused halt – up Bramley Hill, across Old Laira Road – up the hill and past Vaughan’s Newsagents and sweet shop, into school. I was still in the juniors and made a few new friends.
Up until then the war had not affected us much. We were issued with gas masks which we carried in waterproof square cases over our shoulders. It was compulsory, and we had to take them everywhere with us. Part of the school basement was re-enforced to use as an air raid shelter. We had to mock air raids. When we were filed in orderly sing lines and installed in these shelters, sitting on long benches – sometimes we had gas mask drills (Which I really hated.) We had to put our faces inside the mask and pull the strap over the back of our heads. Sometimes our teacher Miss Quick, would fiddle and tighten the straps. I would get all panicky and pull off and she would say I must wear it, so I would know what to do if we were gassed. I was 8 years old and just couldn’t comprehend what it was all about. I just felt it was suffocating and hated the old gas mask.
Until 1941, the war didn’t really worry us children. Sweets and food was rationed and only very little allowed. Nanny had trouble feeding Grandad and getting his ‘railway lid hinged metal box’ stocked. He was a big man and loved his food. He worked very hard and extra-long hours and sometimes she was at her wits end to know what to give him. Her neighbours who rented the bungalow to them had a huge family and often sold Nanny their spare coupons and rations. But they soon moved away to the safety of Cornwall and Nanny had to look elsewhere for black market extras supplies.
Grandad sometimes came home with a very welcome present of a rabbit from a farmer. He was a keen gardener and grew a good supply of very and potatoes were planted in part of mum’s garden. Posters were put of the bill boards urging everyone to’ Dig for Victory’. Lawns and flower beds were changed to vegetables gardens and all the neighbours became keen gardeners.
Many of the men in the street had gone off to war. Those that were exempt because of health or important work i.e. Dockyard, joined the Fire Service or ARP. Mr Cooke our neighbour was an ARP and was the bane of my mother’s life – always banging on the windows saying there was a chip of light showing on the windows. It was compulsory to use blackout curtains and to stick tape criss-crossed on the window panes to prevent flying glass when the bomb shattered the windows. I’m not sure whether black curtains were issued or bought. It was a black heavy sheeting to use as a barrier to keep all the windows dark. There were no street lights and people fumbled along in this blackout with dim torches. Kerbs and steps were etched in narrow strips of white paint to avoid tripping over them as it was black outside. Any chunks of light from ill-fitting curtains were quickly jumped upon by the ARP’s. The penalty of disobeying the blackout was a court fine and worse – your name in the Evening Herald – and the rumours, sometimes that you were a spy!!!!
Mum used to say to us Mr Cooke was standing outside the window listening to our conversation “He’s a nosy old woman” she’d say. I don’t think he was. He was always kind to us – taking several of the children with his own and Mrs Cooke on long walks, usually on a Sunday to Plymbridge, pushing the pram with the youngest ‘Cookie’ in it. The rest of us straggling along carrying our bags of picnics, sometimes walking along the old china clay tracks or sometimes what is now Forder Valley Road. The Sun was always shining it seemed! We used to walk miles, once we walked to Wembury and took an evacuee family staying in Chudleigh Rd. The mother complained all the time in her strong cockney accent! They never came with us again!!
March 1941 saw the return of my father’s ship. Unfortunately, it docked at Chatham and worst still my father was on ‘second leave’. A letter arrived causing quite an upset. He had booked us into a boarding house at Chatham for 2 weeks, so we could all be together. After 5 years he could wait no longer to see his wife and two daughters. My mother was very excited and rushed around to tell Nanny the great news. Nanny literally threw her hands up in horror asking if she got bombed who would help her, she cried and fussed so much – my mother decided she couldn't leave her. So, a telegram was despatched to Daddy to say we couldn’t come. What a disappointment it must have been. In later years Auntie Chriss (Nanny’s sister) has often said my Grandmother was a very selfish woman, I think she must have been.
The following weekend on a late Saturday afternoon Mum, Joy and I were standing in the back garden talking to Nanny on one side and Mrs Cooke on the other, when this Naval man crunched up the path in his navy overcoat and hat. For a few seconds we all stood looking at each other and then my mum threw her arms around him and there was great excitement. Joy had hidden away behind the coal house shy and nervous, she had not seen him before. I was a little unsure – until he called me over to see what he had in his pocket and extracted a small tortoise shell kitten – she was for us, he said her name was Biddy. Nanny was over the wall now and our newly returned Dad hugged her and asked how her ‘Old Duch’ was! All the sons called her this because of the airs and graces she put on – acting like a Duchess! (Well Joy and I always had the Princess Elizabeth and Margaret Rose set before us as examples of dress and behaviour). Mrs Cooke was introduced and was obviously charmed by him as she became all coy and silly. It was a very brief weekend and he returned to Chatham on the Sunday Morning. He would be back in two weeks’ time for a whole 3 weeks leave.
