- Contributed by
- b-jjones
- People in story:
- Bob Jones; Florence (Doll) Jones
- Location of story:
- Plymouth, Devon
- Background to story:
- Civilian
- Article ID:
- A3212803
- Contributed on:
- 02 November 2004
Plymouth 1944, my mother and I lived in Sturdee Road, Stoke (my father was away in the Royal Navy). I was 12, during the night the siren sounded and we headed for our next door neighbour's Anderson Shelter. At the height of the raid there was a very loud close whistle and somebody said "that's going to be close" and it was. It fell less than 100 yards away in the back lane, tremendous explosion and lots of dust. I was near the door and when I opened it I could see the avenue behind ours, because both back walls had blown down.
After the "All Clear" we emerged. Our house was a complete wreck, no windows and rubble everywhere. My mother was very upset and decided to visit friends nearby. A stack of bombs had also fallen nearby.
We returned to our house just before dawn and were surprised to find a large crowd in our wrecked garden digging a large hole. My mother asked what was going on and was informed that they were searching for a woman and a boy who lived in the house. My mother had broken the rules and failed to inform the ARP after the raid that we were safe and had left the area. Needless to say she received a "rocket", but we survived.
It later turned out that the bomb was an ariel torpedo destined for a gasometer nearby.
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