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Part 2 of this story was submitted to the People's War site at Surrey History Centre on behalf of Mrs Joyce Mills (née Emmott). It has been added to the site with the author's permission, and she fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

As evacuees in Cornwall as children, the locals would call us the usual rude 'evacuee' nicknames. Because all the men folk had been sent away, the authorities used to close the local schools at harvest and potato time so that the children could help on the fields and pick up all vegetables. We also had to help at haymaking time because we lived on the farm but the whole school had to collect the vegetables - everyone had to muck in because the men were away.

Our host family, the Congdons, were super - we called them Aunty and Uncle and Grandma Congdon, and they had children too. I can remember the cats used to reproduce in the linen cupboard! My brother was 7 and I was 11 and we all slept in the same room. However, the 6 of us evacuees got split up and we (my brother, my sister and I) moved out to stay with the local blacksmith. We always kept in touch with the Congdons and we used to visit them after the war.

My sister has stayed in Cornwall ever since that time and married a Cornish man. They've had 6 children and she has made many friends and has kept in touch with Congdons down there.

The farm we stayed on in Cornwall as evacuees was called 'The Barton' (which meant 'the largest/biggest') and it certainly was the largest farm in the area - not many farms could take 6 children! Uncle Congdon did keep a few men to help on the farm and farming practices were quite cruel - they'd hit the pigs with sticks and then, once they'd slaughtered them, I can remember seeing lots of bruising on the carcasses. They also raised their own geese on the farm - at slaughtering time, the geese would have their throats cut and we children would have to carry them, with the dead bodies still twitching! The farm then employed women from the village to pluck them. We children also used to go round and pick up the eggs from the nests which were hidden all over the place, in bushes etc. Life on the farm was great - they had great big Shire Horses and also a tractor (which was fairly rare in wartime). The farm also had a pony which we used to ride.

On reflection, we really did have an interesting time.

While my father was in hospital recovering from his vessel sinking in 1942, my mother used to come down to Cornwall to see us. She'd live with the Crocker family and again we've been friends with them ever since. My father was at sea for most of his life, often for 10 months at a time. My mother had to look after 3 children and if we misbehaved, we knew we'd get the cane. It kept you in line and certainly didn't do me any harm!

My former husband, Denis Mills, was with the RAF 617 Squadron Bomber Command ('Dambusters'). He went in in 1943 and was demobbed in 1947.

After the war, Denis's Squadron dropped unexploded bombs over the North Atlantic to get rid of them.

My brother went to Malaya on National Service in 1950 so, all in all, my family certainly did pull their weight during the war!

Oil is also in my family's blood — post-war, I joined Burma Oil which was in the same building as BP and my father worked in Shell Mex House, Embankment, London.

The RAF went over to Germany to bring back the English Prisoners of War, and Denis's Squadron was issued with tropical kit ready to go out to the Far East but then the nuclear bombs put a stop to that.

Post-war, Berlin was cut off from the rest of the world by the Russians - the RAF used to drop off supplies to those left in Berlin.

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