大象传媒

It seemed strange to be sitting in Kings Walden Church again after an interval of nearly fifty years. Nothing appeared to have changed. The choir stalls where I had sung enthusiastically, if not musically; the organ, which I had pumped so assiduously, looked just the same as fifty years ago and the pews were I am sure just as they were then.

The only difference I could see were the coffee cups waiting expectantly for the end of the service 鈥� I wonder what the Revd. Shackleford would have thought of that innovation. But there we sat, my brother and I, at 11am 3rd September 1989, thinking about the time fifty years earlier when we had sat there as newly arrived evacuees from London, listening to Neville Chamberlain declaring war on Germany, surely one of the most momentous days in the history of our century. Mind you, it all seemed a bit of a lark at the time.

I was 11, my brother George 8, and brothers John and Edward seven and five days short of 4 years old respectively. We had arrived in Kings Walden on September 1st complete with gas masks, hand luggage and labels round our necks after a bewildering journey from Finsbury Park Station in North London.

So began for me 2陆 years of country living which I still remember with gratitude and great pleasure. It was all very strange at the time, though. I remember standing in the village hall with all the other kids while we were allocated billets. Then my brothers, walking up the Pergola walk through the Bury grounds and coming face to face with the old Bury, the like of which I had certainly never seen before.

I remember I was quite overawed and hoping desperately we were not going to the cottage which stood on the Rockery. It was not till later I discovered it was the Bury鈥檚 fire station.

Eventually, we finished up ten strong at the Bury under the benign smile but iron hand of the redoubtable Mrs Mellors. She was a lovely lady really, but at the time she scared the pants off us. Still, with ten lads from the streets of London to contend with, of whom I was the eldest, there could only be one boss and she made sure she was. I remember our 18 months at the Bury with very great affection.

Colonel and Mrs Harrison and their family were kindness itself to us lads. In retrospect we must have been a disruptive presence and I suspect, an experience rather outside their ken. But what a life for ten healthy boys 鈥� we had the free run of the grounds and park and made full use of this privilege. All in all we took to the country live like ducks to water and we took part in outdoor activities such as beating on shooting days, although I suspect this was more a case of making use of natural ability to make lots of noise. One activity we didn't take to very kindly was collecting acorns for pig feed, or as Mrs Mellors put it in one of her letters to my mother, which I still have 鈥渢he boys are out collecting acorns to feed the pigs鈥�.

One thing I remember very vividly, even after all these years, was our first winter at Kings Walden, when the snow lay deep and crisp and even, it was bitterly cold and the Bury lake froze solid. Coming from London where snow was usually a slushy black horror, that winter at Kings Walden was sheer delight, and we had the time of our lives.

I remember the other side as well, of course. The long cold walk to school at Ley Green, the chapped knees and the chilblains. But who cares at that age? I could go on, but I must bring these ramblings to a close.

After about 18 months at the Bury the Army requisitioned most of the house and we were split up and sent to other houses in the village. My youngest brother and I went to Mrs. Hiner and spent another happy year with her son Peter. Then in 1942 鈥� I think it was about the time of my 14th birthday 鈥� the four of us returned to London. So ended a memorable period of my life and a time I have never forgotten.

In particular I remember the people of Kings Walden, how they took us into their homes and treated us as their own. Many London children were not so lucky during those difficult years.

Back now to 1989 and the church service ended. We enjoyed a cup of coffee and chatted to some of the parishioners and I even found one who been in the church on that fateful morning in 1939 鈥� David Stedman. In fact he persuaded me to write this piece. We also talked to Sir Thomas and Lady Pilkington who very kindly allowed us to walk round Bury grounds. They had changed hardly at all in 50 years and we spent a happy half hour or so dredging up old memories. Finally, at the end of a nostalgic morning I was delighted to find a fit and very young-looking Mrs Hiner, still going strong. We had a long chat and then I took her off to visit Peter at Offley.
So ended a memorable day.

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