BLITZ RAID

Wairarapa Times-Age, 20 September 1941, Page 7

BLITZ RAID

CONDITIONS IN PLYMOUTH DESCRIBED WOMAN’S MOVING STORY. VERITABLE HELL ON EARTH. A moving story of the conditions in Plymouth during German blitz air raids is given in a letter written by Miss R. Talbot, at the time a resident of Plymouth but now living in Cornwall, to a brother, Mr S. V. Rodney, of Pahiatua. The ages of the four sisters in the household ranged from 70 : to 8-1. The letter states: “During the week April 22 to April 29, 1941, we were afraid to go to bed until the terrible bombing had ceased, which was generally between four and five a.m. The noise of the guns was terrific. It was quite impossible to hear one’s self speak. We three old wemen crowded into the cupboard under the stairs and every night some poor bombed-out stranger begged shelter and joined us. Mr Farmer (Lieutenant) who had been billeted with us for a few months saved our lives on several occasions. He put out many incendiaries and spent the nights racing between the back and front doors watching for bombs and when he saw one coming near would shout out ‘down’ and we would duck our heads into our laps to save them being cut off. One night he shouted very loudly and he fell flat in the hall. A most terrific noise and blinding dust. In a few minutes he called out 1 All right in there?’ and we answered ‘Yes.’ but I said, ‘Oh, Mr Farmer, how terrible. Whatever was it?’ He said ‘Something has gone. I will go and see what it is.’ When he came back he said ‘No. 18 is flat across the road and No. 17 is only a shell.’ We learned later eleven were killed and it took over a week before some were dug out. . . . Later on that night Mr Farmer asked if I would be afraid to go to him at the front door. It was all pitch dark in the house, of course, but when I got to him he just said: ‘Look.’ “I shall never forget it as long as I live—the whole city was ablaze; a veritable hell on earth. Thousands of incendiaries, whistling bombs, men shouting for stirrup pumps, ambulances tearing by and people crying. Churches and all big buildings laid low. I was in a terrible state of nerves and told D. that I simply could not endure this another night and she said, ‘Where will you go?’ I said* To the House of Rest at Plympton,’ but D. still said, ‘No. We cannot leave our home.' “So the next night we started to carry on as usual but personally I felt that the end had come. The noise and racket began as usual about 10 p.m.

and went on all night. About 2 a.m. Mr Farmer shouted, ‘Look out there — down.’ It seemed as if the earth itself was collapsing. The ceiling of the cupboard we were in came down on our heads and a stranger who was with us cried out, ‘Oh Lord have mercy upon us.’ I certainly thought our last moment had come and remember saying in my heart, ‘Lord Jesus receive my spirit.’ But it was not the end. We asked Mr Farmer what had happened and he said, ‘Well, all the windows with their frames have been blown cut or in—all doors except the front are off their hinges and the ceilings are down. A ton bomb fell in the back garden making a crater 30 feet deep and wide. The stable at the end of the garden has entirely disappeared and the shelter is covered with debris.’ He also added: A car next door and, I am afraid, my motor cycle have gone.’ Mr Farmer and another (elderly) gentleman took us along the terrace to No. 7 which was intact. It was a boarding house and the landlady took us in and gave us tea and we rested in easy chairs until 8 a.m. when we had breakfast with the boarders there. Edie remained there while D. and myself went to view the damage at 13 and put a few necessary things together ready for our move on. The problem was where could we go. I still said Plymton. The sister-in-charge there has been a friend of mine for 60 years—her father was rector of our village in Huntingdonshire. ■ Both Edie and Dowie knew her through me. The House of Rest is the Bullar’s old home —Earle Hall. It is a rest house for ladies and is run by the Sisters of Charity (Church of England). We spent one blissful week there and then came mi here, 5 Moorland Road, St. Austell. Cornwall “I think it will be evident to any' who read this account that God’s amaz-l ing, wonderful and overwhelming love| and care for us was past all under-j standing and comprehension. It makes me dumb.”