When the Air Raids started 

When War was declared

When War was declared in 1939, I was just about to start my studies at the teacher training College on Townhill. The majority of the students were resident—the few day students allowed, lived mostly in close proximity to the College. There were only 100 students admitted each year.

            Resident students slept at the top of the building, reached by climbing endless stone stairs. There were two wings—the East and the West and I was resident and slept in the latter.

When the air raids started 

. . . we were all instructed to make our way to the ground floor common rooms—East and West, there being no air raid shelters. This was not too bad in daylight hours, but when, as frequently happened, an air raid attack took place at night, we had to get up, pick up our blankets and trek down all those stone stairs to the West Wing common room, where we stayed until the ‘All Clear’ sounded.

            At the old Glanmôr School, lower down the hill, were the Anti-aircraft guns. During raids, we would hear them pounding away at the German bombers.

Our worst experience: 

of the air raids came in 1941, when Swansea was targeted by the German bombers and set on fire and bombed mercilessly during the three nights’ Blitz. For three days and three sleepless nights, we lived in the same clothes. Water, gas and electricity were all affected by the bombing. Dozens and dozens of Molotov Cocktails (fire bombs) were dropped to light up the town. These had to be quickly dealt with by stirrup pumps and sand—but the stirrup pumps needed water, so sand alone was used. We were in such a prominent position, and so well lit up by the fire- bombs, that we fully expected to be hit. Streets around us suffered devastating destruction, with injuries and loss of life.

                After the third night, we were all instructed to evacuate the college and go home, but to return some time in the following week if there were no further raids. There were only three of us who needed to get to Mumbles—one to West Cross, one to Langland and myself to Newton. We each packed a case and set off down the path towards the gun emplacement at Glanmôr. We could not go down the main road so went along a side street until we came to a road with a barrier. Someone invited us to go through their garden and their house. We continued on our way, passing streets with ‘Unexploded Bomb’ notices and were really lost. Eventually, we found ourselves at the top of Mount Pleasant—I don’t know how!

            We were utterly shocked. The Grammar School was bombed and still burning. We continued down the hill and came upon Delabèche and Dynevor Schools, also both bombed and still burning. There were firemen, ARP wardens, Policemen, hoses and rubble everywhere.

We were not allowed to turn right, but were directed towards Alexandra Road. As we carefully made our way through the rubble, we came upon Trinity Church, practically razed to the ground and also still burning.

            Firemen prevented us from continuing further up Alexandra road. We asked them how best to get to Rutland Street for the Mumbles train and they told us that High street was practically destroyed, still burning and highly dangerous. They escorted us through the narrow lane between Lewis Lewis and the King’s Head and we came into High Street—it was beyond belief! We crossed the road and were taken down a narrow lane to the Strand. This, we were told was the best route to Rutland Street.

            The journey down the Strand was quite daunting, for high above us were all the bombed and burning shops of High Street.

            Eventually, we reached the bottom of the Strand and looked for landmarks—there were few. Rutland Street School had been wiped out, but we found the trains were not reaching Rutland Street as there was a bomb on the track.

            We continued wearily on our way until we reached Brynmill. We were surprised to see so many people there, as weary and dishevelled as we were. They were carrying bundles and cases and children. All were making their escape from the town, in anticipation of another night of bombing. We managed to get on the train and were very thankful for the respite.        

            When the train at last reached Oystermouth and we walked into the Station Square, it was amazing to see the crowds there—so many bewildered faces, not knowing what to do or where to go. There were many Mumbles people offering help and most of the Mumbles Ministers. The Rev. George Wilkinson, Vicar of All Saints’ Church (my Church) came to us and asked if we had anywhere to go. We were so dishevelled and fatigued that he did not recognise us.

            We continued on the last lap of our journey, which was uphill all the way and when I reached home and my mother opened the door, we both burst into tears. 

It was wonderful to be safe home with all my family.

My Wartime Wedding 

My Fiancé, Morgan Davies was serving in the RAF in 76 Squadron, Bomber Command. We had had to postpone our wedding, which had been expected to take place in the spring of 1944, because all leave from the Forces had been cancelled in preparation for the D-Day landings. We rearranged it for the Monday morning of 25 September 1944, as Morgan had been granted five days’ leave and I had managed to get five days leave from my teaching post.

Morgan was given a lift down to Fairwood Aerodrome from his base at Holme-on-Spalding Moor in Yorkshire on Sunday 24th September and at 11.00 a.m. on Monday 25th September, we were married at All Saints’ Church, Mumbles, by the Rev. D.G. Wilkinson. I carried a bouquet of cerise carnations, wore a wedding dress of gold brocade, with a short train, a matching gold-trimmed veil and orange blossom head-dress.  The wedding outfit was not new, as valuable clothing coupons could not be spared. It had been bought from a very sweet deaf girl and it fitted beautifully. Thus there were enough coupons to buy a new going-away outfit—14 coupons for a jumper suit and 18 for a full length coat.