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This story has been written onto the 麻豆官网首页入口 People's War site by CSV Storygatherer RadioDevon4 on behalf of Gerald Gould. The story has been added to the site with his/her permission. And Gerald Gould (storyteller's name) fully understands the terms and conditions of this site.

The year 1942 during the blitz of Plymouth, a young lad of just eight years living with grandmother because our home has been destroyed earlier in the war. A lovely clear night sky and as expected the wailing of the siren warning of another raid. Granmother, mother, my younger brother and I hurried to the nearby school playground with many other local residents, seeking refuge in a large red brick shelter built above the ground.

The air raids followed a set pattern, the first waves of enemy bombers dropped loads of incendiary bombs. Later when buildings were alight and burning fiercely further waves of planes dropped high explosives on well-illuminated targets.

The earlier part of the raid was in progress when breathless air raid wardens dashed into our shelter to warn us of a serious development. Apparently several incendiary bombs were burning high in the school roof and they were unable to extinguish them. Soon the fire would be out of control and become a likely target for the following bombers. It was decided to evacuate the area and find shelter further down the road. Very frightened our whole group of people ran in single file, crouching and keeping close to the buildings for cover.

The raid was reaching its peak with the sound of large explosions getting ever nearer, shrapnel falling close bye adding to our terror. We arrived and packed into another air raid shelter that was built against the wall of a building in a narrow back lane, hardly eighty yards from the first one. The din outside reached a crescendo when a loud sound of rushing air was heard. The unmistakable tone of a large bomb! Some people were on their knees praying to god, most sat holding their heads between their knees for some kind of protection. There was an enormous explosion; the ground shock beneath our feet and masonry falling onto the shelter outside. In the darkness someone exclaimed, "Phew that was a close shave".

In the light of dawn the scene outside was of total devastation with most buildings flattened and still smouldering, the school a burnt out shell but surprisingly with walls still standing. In the playground beside the first shelter a thirty-foot across and very deep bomb crater. No one would ever have survived if we had not moved when we did. Indeed a very close shave!

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