Freda Thompson was 10 years old when she lived through the Plymouth blitz:
Living next door to the Plymouth Corporation bus depot at Milehouse, we often seemed to be at the centre of the Luffwaffe’s attention, with ceilings down and windows blown in; often no gas or electricity. After the ‘all clear’, mother would make a stew on the little primus stove, over the open fire, or pack us off to the W.V.S. canteen set up in the nearby car park to provide hot meals.
The night of the blitz was the worst I can remember with the sky lit up by the fires burning the city centre.
It was a stick of bombs – we heard the first one land a little distance away, then the second one dropped nearer, then we heard the third one coming like the roar of an express train and we knew that one was for us. It landed about ten yards away, just behind the large brick wall which divided our garden from the bus depot, burying our shelter in debris. My elder brother and one of the men detailed to assist the casualties in the depot shelter dug us out; someone commandeered a bus and we jumped on with the survivors of the depot bomb, and ended up in a shelter some half a mile away, until it was safe to walk home.
In our shocked state we were so thankful to find our house still there, damaged but intact, and so glad to tumble into bed.
We had a big surprise in the morning, to look out of the bedroom window and see a bus opposite us – it had been blown up onto the depot roof.
At the Milehouse Depot a whole double-decker bus was blown bodily on to the roof of a bus garage and remained there for several days; most of the fleet of buses suffered damage to their windows and were driven around on their routes with patched up, non-transparent windows for some time.