大象传媒

Evacuation and all that PAGE 1 DATE 18/01/2004
When war was declared I was 2 months short of my 9th birthday.
I was a pupil at Honeywell Road School in Battersea, where we were told to come to school with a clean change of underwear and a packed lunch the next day (?) as we were to be evacuated to a place of safety.
I can remember the parents and kids assembling in the school yard, I suppose someone did take our names but I was too excited to pay much attention, especially when someone said we were to go on a TRAIN. I think I had been on a train before, possibly to Southend, but never without my parents.
It seemed to take for ever before the voice of authority, gave the order to move off.
I can see it now, this disorganised rabble wending there way to Clapham Junction Railway station, me trying to join my friends, and Mum dragging me back, and telling me to stay with my brother and sister, parroting " Stay together - stay together"
I was aware of parents falling out of the column with their children and returning back the way we had just come, obviously they couldn鈥檛 face the prospect of being seperated, and children pleading with their parents to be taken back home, tears and tantrums, watched by bystanders with their children who had not even turned up at school. I was very conscious of how serious everyone seemed to be.
Lots of tears, and displays of affection, behaviour more usual at birthdays and moments of personal crisis, and more likely to come from Aunts and Uncles, rather than Mum, who always seemed so busy.
As we approached the station, columns from other schools joined the cavalcade, to form a large crowd in the area before you go onto the platforms. The task of separating children from parents was begun, but Mum was still by our side as we climbed into the carriage, as were many other parents.
Mum became more urgent in her pleas for us to "stay together, don't let them seperate you, stay together, take care of your sister, be good, stay together -----" I'd never seen Mum cry before.
I bagged myself a corner seat, no-one wanted a seat away from the platform, whilst on the platform side of the carriage, the window was packed with children receiving last minute instructions, forgotten parcels, and Mums voice above the others " Don, promise me you will look after Pam and your brother, and don鈥檛 let them separate you, promise". My brother who was mature for his 11 years must have promised, because Mums voice became less strident.
My brother called me to the window where Mum gave me a crushing hug, the effect of which was rather spoilt by me trying to keep an eye on my sandwiches which I had left on the seat, and instructions to be good, and take care of Pam, our 5 year old sister. "Where's your clean underwear?" panic prevailed briefly until they were found beneath my seat, more tears. more instructions, " you must take care of your things - Don! Don! Where are you, keep an eye on Dick, don't let him lose his stuff - stay together - - - -".
I'd returned to my corner seat and had already managed to loosen a corner of my paper package to expose what appeared to be the corner of a cheese sandwich.
Whistles began to blow and the farewells, and instructions became more urgent, then over the public address system a womans voice started to sing " Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye - - "
After 65 years it still brings tears to my eyes when I think of that moment. Whether time has distorted my memory, whether Gracie Fields or Vera Lynn had even recorded it at that time, but firmly fixed in my psyche is the memory, that as we steamed out of the station, This woman sang "Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye"
Before the station had disappeared from view I had consumed the last mouthful of my sandwiches.

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