大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site by Helen Avey of the 大象传媒 London Team on behalf of Hazel White and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

It was late summer 1943 and London was being hit by a new wave of bombs called V1s. The battered city and its inhabitants kept on going as well as they could. Even on the worst days there was a feeling of unconquerable spirit. The men who were not in the army went about daily jobs with grim determination. Women now filled the gaps left by men called to arms. The children of England had to make the best of things each day that dawned. By the end of 1943 and at the beginning of 1944, the Germans had a newer and more powerful rocket, the V2. So for London and the south of the country it became steadily worse. It was then that many parents who, until then had struggled to keep their families together, decided to part with their children by way of evacuation. A group of kids from the area around Royal Mint Street, near the Tower of London, were got together and plans made for departure. For those going, it seemed, at the time, like a great adventure. At school rumours flew thick and fast, places were mentioned - America, Scotland and Canada. Then the day came to go.

There were four of us in my family and my father, who was over the age for War service, together with my mother, got us prepared for what was to come. Clothes, gas masks, ration books - all that was needed for our time away from home.

Off we went to Paddington Station, still not knowing our final destination. The station was a seething mass of children all being led towards a very long train, standing waiting for the journey. Labels were attached to our coat buttons stating our names etc. At this point all the noise and confusion had taken away some of the fact that we were leaving our homes, mums, dads and all things familiar to us. Onto the train, into various compartments accompanied by bustling and harassed officials who were to supervise the journey. Then came a great closing of the train doors and that is when the realisation came that we were being separated from all that was dear to us. A moment of silence, followed by a great deal of crying, especially from the younger kids, affected everyone on the train. Along the platform too the mums were in floods of tears which, in time, got the dads going and eventually the porters, policemen and any onlookers. There was not a dry eye anywhere to be seen. Then as the train started to pull away sobbing and crying kids and parents waved goodbye and we were off. Fifteen minutes of solid crying followed with the older girls amongst us trying to comfort he younger children.

Then, as if by magic, it was an adventure beginning. Out came the eatables we had brought, especially sweets being shared with no thought of any hunger later. Being on our way our thoughts now turned to looking out of the windows which held our attention for the next few minutes. Somehow our destination filtered through the compartments - perhaps someone had asked? It was South Wales. To many of us kids, never having been away from home before, this could have been the other side of the world.

All at once some of the people in charge came and marshalled us into the corridors for refreshments which were to be served in the guard's van. When we arrived in the guard's van we were handed paper cups and then we joined a queue where these were filled with milk. Each child was also given what looked like a dog biscuit - square, full of holes and very hard. Curiosity got the better of us and some of us took a bite. UGGGH, and ARRGH, were the only sounds after that. So, when the officials backs were turned, we all took turns in going to the open window and threw out the 'dog biscuits'. There must have been a line of biscuits for miles.

Eventually the time passed and we finally reached our destination. The train began to slow down; a station loomed alongside as we were told to assemble our belongings. Then it was onto the platform which produced a fair amount of confusion. Transport had been arranged and we were driven to a village hall where local people had managed to arrange some sort of a meal for us. Rows of kids were seated at tables on which were plates of sandwiches, which turned out to be jam. There was also some homemade cake and we washed it down with a mug of weak tea. This was the best that could be mustered in these hard days of war. We made an effort to eat, but tiredness and homesickness were settling in. Along with that, there were those amongst us with a heady sense of freedom, being away from parental control. The local helpers were more than astonished when rebellion broke out with jam sandwiches and cake being used as weapons. Across the tables battle raged and for a while chaos reigned.

Eventually order was restored and then batches of children were taken to various forms of transport. Our group was destined to go to a place called Cwmfelinfach, a small village some miles from Newport Town. In the grounds of the local school we congregated, there being a lot of people waiting. They had turned out to take some of the Cockney kids into their homes. One by one people chose the children they wanted. My youngest sister and I were picked out by a youngish couple. However, when the official came to remove us I stood my ground announcing that my mother had said we were all to stay together.

'My dear' he said, 'Nobody can take all four of you'. Once again I stated that we should all stay together and it was some time before I would accept the fact that we would have to be split up. My sister in age next to me went with a pleasant-looking couple, so the only one of us who remained in the van which had ferried us around was one small boy, who just happened to be my brother, cap askew, decidedly grubby and totally fed up with it all. Then loomed a fat lady who said 'I'll take him', whereupon a small voice from the interior of the van said 'I'm not going with her'. The lady looked very cross with her offer of a home being rejected. The officer started to remonstrate with my brother, taking hold of his arm and propelling him forward towards the lady. I was just about to say again 'mother said', when another lady stepped forward saying 'Let him come with me as he will be company for my son'. That seemed to go down better all round with my brother looking more interested. With the problem settled everyone set off for their new temporary homes.

School was the next step once we were settled. Unfortunately the local children did not take kindly to an invasion of Cockney kids sharing their school and made it plain that we were not welcome. It, therefore, turned out to be us against them, not that there was any real violence, just tit for tat. I must admit that some of the London kids were naughty at times and even downright unruly when the opportunity arose.

So time went on and it seemed that we had been away for ages. A few parents had managed to pay a visit to see how we were, relaying any information of sorts to those who couldn't come down. As for myself, it fell to me, being the eldest, to write home, letting mum and dad know how things were going, also telling them I had received the pocket money which they sent when they could. We all had our ups and downs, even in the comparative calm of a Welsh village. For instance, the man of the house where I was billeted worked in the mines, which was a crucial job in wartime. He did like a pint or two and would then come home a bit the worse for wear, falling up the stairs and scaring the life out of two small girls.

A letter came one day to say my mother was arriving for a visit. The family Jones with whom we were staying decided to go away for the day, asking us if we wanted to go with them. NO FEAR. What with our mother arriving that day. So when we got up the next day they had already gone, leaving our breakfast on the table. Under a sheet of newspaper was a plate on which were some rock cakes. My sister and I left them where they were and set off to wait for our mother to arrive. At last she came and after the tears, hugs and kisses she took stock of her offspring. Where were Mr and Mrs Jones she asked? Gone to the seaside, we said, Barry Island, we thought. Questioned about food we mentioned the rock cakes, whereupon she hit the roof. Off she went to see the people in charge. The outcome was that I was billeted elsewhere, on my own, with a lovely older couple who became like grandparents to me. The daughter remaining at home spoiled me like a big sister. My younger sister went to the people who had my brother. Mum then went back to London.

For us life went on - like ganging up on the local kids or off to the cinema and filling in the days as best we could. Weeks rolled by and then it was late summer again, 1944. In London the bombing was at its heaviest. My parents had stuck it out without us for as long as they could and a decision was made - we were to come home whatever the future might hold. So down mum came with money for the return journey. By this time, I had come to regard the people I was with as my own, having treated me just like a grandchild of their. Torn between them and going home I started to cry. Well mum said, I could stay until Christmas 1944, just a few months to go. Suitcases were packed for the younger children, toys we had were made ready also. The local station wasn't far and I was going to see them off. Tickets were the next thing and turning to me at the ticket office my mum said 'Are you sure you want to stay?'. In a flash I knew I had to go with them. Five tickets were bought, the train came in and we all climbed aboard. All I had with me was what I was wearing but it didn't matter. We were going home as a family back to battered old London and whatever lay ahead, good or bad.

Even as the train sped on its way putting miles between us and the Welsh countryside, the experience of the last few months started to fade away. LONDON HERE WE COME! Like the old saying goes - THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME.

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