大象传媒

The Day We Went to Blackpool

By Bernard Buckle

Having read numerous autobiographies, from 鈥淟ark Rise to Candleford鈥� to 鈥淭he Last Great Tram Race,鈥� I always wonder, do the authors have total recollection? Or are their memories like mine with blanks between salient events?

As an illustration of this, I can recall starting at Balfour Street School in 1939, after leaving Victoria Road Junior High School. I, and my other classmates who hadn鈥檛 passed the 鈥渟cholarship,鈥� would be mixing with the 鈥渂ig lads鈥� and we had been told horrific stories of the hard case teachers we would come up against. I鈥檓 sure, George Thomas, Wilf Riding, 鈥淒ickie鈥� Hartles, 鈥淭ich Jones,鈥� Eric Jones, and the other staff were no harder than they had to be to maintain discipline in the size of classes they had to contend with. Our section of the school on the ground floor had been requisitioned as a first aid post and casualty clearing station, and the new intakes from schools all over Runcorn, Western Point, Western and even as far as Moore, were crammed into two classrooms in the girls school on the first floor. We were given a test to sort the sheep from the goats, who were A and B streams, but it was purely academic anyway. The other classes were housed in the woodwork and domestic science building on the other side of the playground.

Now comes one of those tantalizing blanks in my memory, when I can鈥檛 recall how or when we were told we were going to be evacuated.

My next memory, I think it was on the Thursday before war was declared on the Sunday, was of walking down our front path clutching a small attach茅 case containing clean underwear, towel, soap, flannel, shirts and a couple of comics. There may have been other things that I don鈥檛 recall. I remember saying, 鈥淒on鈥檛 worry mum, I鈥檒l be alright.鈥� Of course, being a 鈥渂ig lad鈥� I had to say that, and strangely enough it was the only time I remember my mother. I can remember walking down Marina Grove and turning at the bottom to wave at my mother who was standing at the gate with my brother in her arms, and then there is another blank until I remember being on the Transporter Bridge, being carried over to Widnes. Whether we were bussed or walked to the bridge I don鈥檛 know. There were children from other schools as well and teachers were running round like demented sheep dogs trying to keep us all separate. We had all been given a large label which we had attached to us. I had mine in my jacket lapel. In Widnes we were bussed up to the Central Station where we waited for the train to arrive. Eventually, we were all on board, but no one had told us where we were going. It eventually filtered down to us that we were going to Blackpool.

Those that were a bit more worldly wise and had actually been to Blackpool regaled us with stories of candy floss, paddling in the sea and donkey rides. Some who had been close to tears perked up at the promise.

We must have arrived at the south end of Blackpool because I can remember walking up the road with the Pleasure Beach on the right. We were taken first of all to Westminster Road School where we were intrigued by the fact that the desks were in tiers. It was here that we were given brown paper carrier bags containing, amongst other things, a packet of biscuits, a bar of milk chocolate, a tin of corned beef, a tin of fruit, a can of evaporated milk, and other bits I can鈥檛 recall. We were threatened on pain of death that we weren鈥檛 to touch the biscuits or the chocolate as they were rations for whoever took us in.

On leaving Westminster School, we wearily trudged on up the promenade. On our way we met up with a group from Trinity School in Runcorn, and we stopped while the teachers compared notes. While we were standing there we were approached by this cloth-capped, blue serge suited man who grabbed one of the girls I knew from Trinity and asked her where she was from. Before she could reply he grabbed her label and read her address. 鈥淪o, thas from Runcorn 鈥榓rt鈥檃? Here, enjoy this鈥檚en,鈥� and with that he gave her a whole half crown. Joan told me in later years it was one of the few good things that happened to her in her stay at Blackpool.

Eventually, we arrived at No. 2 Lonsdale Road where Mrs. Welsby, the landlady, took in seventeen of us. As you can imagine, it was a large boarding house and there were still guests. We were given two bedrooms which were approached by area steps which went down to the kitchen and backyard. Two bedrooms? Seventeen of us? In our bedroom, in a single bed, was Reg. Green and his brother. His brother was younger than us, but he was allowed to stay. In a three quarter bed was a lad called Cousins, George Grice and another whom I can鈥檛 recall. I was in a double bed with a pal of mine Frankie Littlemore, Dennis Carter, and another. Similar arrangements were made in the other room.

Our carrier bags and their contents had been whisked away never to be seen again, but Mrs. Welsby did produce corned beef hash for a very welcome meal.

When we were settling down for the night, there was a knock on the bedroom door and who should it be but Mrs. Welsby鈥檚 daughter. Remembering her now, she was about sixteen, with brightened lipstick and a rather precocious air, and she put the icing on the cake for the older lads by giving them all a goodnight kiss.

'This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by 大象传媒 Radio Merseyside鈥檚 People鈥檚 War team on behalf of Bernard Buckle and has been added to the site with his / her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.'

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