大象传媒

Because Sheffield was becoming more and more dangerous, many children were being evacuated away from the bombing. There was a scheme, whereby, children could be sent overseas to relatives somewhere safer, and, as my Father had a brother in Australia, he decided to send my sister and me over there for the duration of the war. I got very excited over this, thinking it a great big adventure. Not many twelve year olds get the opportunity to go the other side of the world, and I wanted to see whether all Australians really did walk about upside down! Plans went ahead, and we had our injections and got passports. We were allowed to take one suitcase of clothes and toys, and, for some reason, each child had to take a tin basin! Presumably, this was to wash in, but to me, it was a waste of a space, which could have been used for another toy! We had everything together, and were ready to go, when there was a dreadful tragedy at sea. A whole ship full of children being evacuated was bombed and sunk, with no survivors. There was now no question of us going, as the sea had become just as dangerous as the land.

However, the school, a convent, came up with another plan. They would evacuate the whole school out into the Derbyshire countryside, to a village called Derwent, away from the city. There was a large, old, rambling stone building, called Derwent Hall, built in 1672, totally unsuitable to be a school, but it was available, and large enough to house all who wanted to go there. It must have been an absolute nightmare to organize, as everything had to be transported from Sheffield 鈥� chairs, tables, desks, crockery, blackboards, piano etc., but finally, in September 1940,one hundred and forty girls and eight teachers traveled to Derwent. There was no hot water until a boiler could be installed, and then four bath cubicles were made. Four baths for over 150 bodies!! Didn鈥檛 worry us though!

We were divided into age groups, and allocated a dormitory. There were sixteen of us in my group, and we had a room with eight bunk beds, I chose a top bunk in a corner, partly, because I would be able to see what was going on from up there, and partly because I did not want to bump my head every time I sat up! Later on, I discovered another good reason for being in a top bunk. If I stood on my bed and grasped the metal end frame, I could bounce up and down with my feet, kicking them up behind me higher and higher, until they actually hit the ceiling. This was a great game until, one day, my foot went right through the plaster, and I had a gaping hole above my bed! How to explain that away? Nobody would believe that I had actually kicked a hole in the ceiling, so it was put down to a weakness in the old building! Just another headache for the harassed staff. Each bed had a small locker beside it for clothes, and, at one end of the room, there was a table with tin bowls, (the same ones that should have gone to Australia!); and tin jugs of cold water. We had to wash in these, and then tip the dirty water into a bucket. Needless to say, quite a lot of water got spilled, and, on one occasion, went through the gaps between the floorboards, onto the beds below. Trouble again! In the corner of each dormitory, was a curtained off cubicle, in which a teacher slept, this must have been quite awful for the poor soul, for she had no real privacy and very little space. However, we did not think of that, we just thought that she was a nuisance! The Nuns were housed in a separate building just opposite our window, and we were forever trying to peer into their rooms to see what they looked like without their black 鈥榟abits鈥�. We never did find out!

So now, I had to get used to living with a whole lot of other people, instead of with just my own family. I acquired two new friends, Bernadette Gregory and Agnes McDermott, two lovely Irish Catholic girls, who were just as mad as I was, and we formed a committed 鈥楿nholy Trio鈥�. If one was in trouble, the other two were not far behind! One rule that we highly resented, was that we were sent to bed at 6.30 pm each evening! No self-respecting twelve-, year old is ready for bed at that time, particularly as we had to be silent, lights out and sleep! Naturally, many a torch and book was produced under the bedclothes, and many eyes were strained, as batteries got weaker. We used to have whispered story telling, with the girl nearest the door primed to cough loudly, should she hear footsteps. In the mornings, because it was still a Convent, all the Catholic girls had to get up and be ready for 6.00am prayers. I, being a non-catholic, had the luxury of staying in bed for another half an hour, before I had to get up for breakfast. As there was no heating whatsoever in the whole building, there were many moans as warm bodies hit cold air, and, even worse, cold water. I snuggled further down, listening to this with glee! Breakfast was eaten at long tables, on which bowls of cornflakes had been previously placed in each place. I have never liked sweet cereal, and every morning, sugar had been already sprinkled on these cornflakes. Time after time, I asked for a dish without sugar, but always got the same reply 鈥� 鈥榊ou will eat what is put in front of you. We cannot pander to individual likes and dislikes鈥�. Considering sugar was now rationed, I thought I would be doing them a favour, but no.

After breakfast, it was back to the dormitory for bed making and tidying up, then off to classes. Classroom equipment had been imported, but there was no PE hall, so all our exercise was taken out of doors. This was no hardship really, because there was plenty of space and fields to play rounders and races, and we could run around to our hearts content. This was the time I liked best, but it must have been hard for the teachers to keep an eye on us, with no walls or fences. The nuns never ran, of course, so it was very easy to escape their watchful eyes. On one occasion, we were having a games lesson outside, when Agnes did something to displease the nun in charge. Her reaction was to order us all indoors. I did not think this was at all fair and said 鈥淥ur parents are paying for these lessons鈥�. This was received with a thunderous order to go and report to Sister Marie鈥欌��. Sadly, this sentence was to be repeated several more times during my time at Derwent, and the route to her room became all too familiar for me. Another instance springs to mind. We were having a sewing class, and being somewhat bored, I was sitting looking out of the window, idly pulling my finger in and out of my thimble. I had discovered that this made a very satisfying 鈥榩lopping鈥� noise as I did this; but my daydream was rudely shattered again by this same command to report to the dreaded Sister Marie. This time, I was banished to the dormitory, and told to pack my things, as I was too disruptive to stay!!. I was busily obeying, when my sister was sent to tell me that I could stop packing, as I was to be given another chance. I think our revered head must have had second thoughts about giving her reason for expulsion --- 鈥榩opping a finger in and out of a thimble鈥� does not sound very convincing, does it? Several of the nuns were very kind to us, but they were really out of their depth in having control of children twenty-four hours a day. They were used to an ordered life, which ended when school was finished for the day, and they could then retire back to the peace and quiet of their nunnery. This was the reason, I imagine, for 6.30pm. bed rule 鈥� to get rid of us.

Before going any further into our life in The Hall, I should write something of the village and the surrounding valley of Derwent. The whole valley, 120 acres, had been sold to the Derwent Valley Water board, in preparation for building the Ladybower Dam, as a water supply for Sheffield, Nottingham, Derby and Leicester. The excavations and building of the dam walls had started in 1935, but had naturally had to slow down when war broke out. Materials became scarce and expensive, and many of the men working on the project went into the services, but work continued slowly. This was visible, in the distance, from Derwent Hall, as it stood majestically at the top of a 1 in 6 gradient hill, and we could see these massive dam walls growing. The village itself was a typical Derbyshire gathering of stone houses, church, and winding river with a picturesque Pack鈥擧orse Bridge in the middle. The Hall dominated the whole village. The entire valley was to be flooded, and this bridge was carefully dismantled, stone by stone, and re-erected elsewhere. It was not until 1943 - after the school had returned to Sheffield -, that the last service was held in the Church, and the flooding began. This was a sad end for all the inhabitants of the village, but the valley itself had a very important part to play in the war. It was the valley to which Guy Gibson sent his Lancaster bombers to practice their runs for the famous bouncing bombs used in the Dam Buster raids on Germany. They flew at about fifty feet above the water, between the towers on the walls. Later still, in 1954, the valley was again used to make the film of the Dam Busters, so, despite the loss of so much beautiful countryside, it served a vital part in the training of our pilots.

A footnote to this paragraph about Derwent, is, that, forty-six years later, in 1989, I went back to the valley to see the Ladybower Dam, now, supposedly, in full working order; however, that year, there was a catastrophic drought throughout the country, and the level of this vast dam had sunk to such an extent, that some of the roofs of the long drowned buildings were showing again. I found it very eerie standing looking at the scene before me, remembering so much. This had been a thriving village, and I had last seen it with people and animals sleepily going about their daily business. We had been allowed sometimes, to walk down that steep hill to the Post Office, and, of course there were the Sunday church parades. And all that running about in fields, up and down hills, which were now studded with pine trees to attract the water, and so were no longer accessible. It had been a typical, idyllic little Derbyshire village, and was now just towering dam walls, tarmacked roads and water. Because, that year, it was possible, at one place to walk down to the water edge, I actually picked up a piece of roofing slate, which I still have. It was said, that the church bells could be heard tolling just below the water level that year 鈥� but I cannot vouch for that!

Now, back to our childhood Derwent days. Because of all the building work taking place, we were not allowed just to go wandering off, but every Saturday, we were divided into age groups to go for the 鈥楽aturday Walk鈥�. Agnes, Bernadette and I got very bored with this, as every week we were taken on the same route. So, one day, we decided that we would tack on to the rear of the 鈥榖ig girls鈥� walk instead. We kept well back; so that nobody saw us, but we got further and further behind, and soon realized that this was a very long walk indeed, up and down the rolling Derbyshire Dales. We kept our spirits up by counting dead sheep on the way!! We dare not get lost, so we had to keep going, but then came the awful moment when we saw the whole group standing at the top of a hill, waiting for us. We knew that we were in trouble, and the worst thing was, that we still had to walk back home! So, very tired and frightened, we crept up the hill awaiting the worst. Luckily, the teacher let us off lightly, as she realized that we had made our own punishment by having to retrace our steps back to the school. We did not do it again.

Running through the valley, the meandering river Derwent was quite fast flowing, but not very deep, dotted with rocks just asking to be made into dams and pools. We were strictly forbidden to go anywhere near it. As far as we were concerned, that was as good as in invitation to do just that.! The temptation was too great for many of us, and, as it was hidden from the Hall, we spent many happy hours splashing about, daring each other to jump from one stone to another. One problem that presented itself was what to do with wet Wellington boots. If you have a 鈥榳ellie鈥� full of water, it is no good taking it off to empty it, because you will not get it back on again. The only thing to do is, to lie flat on your tummy, raise your feet in the air, and let the water run out. Actually, they remained permanently wet, as there was nowhere to dry them out.

Finally, in August 1941, after one year, the depravations and stress on the teaching staff became too much, and the Board of Education declared that living conditions were intolerable, so the school returned to Sheffield. The Head wrote later, that the older girls found life very hard there 鈥渂ut the younger girls, fell in love with the life, were insensitive to drawbacks, and gained much from the long walks, freer open-air life, and the spice of adventure鈥�. How right she was.

Many years later, my youngest daughter took her family to Derbyshire, and found a fascinating book called 鈥楽ilent Valley at War鈥�. This was the story of Derwent in all its aspects, and one chapter was, obviously, concerning the evacuation of our school. Even more exciting to me, were a series of pictures of the Hall and some of our activities, including photos of each class individually, and I was able to point out pictures of both my sister and myself. I had had no idea that this was recorded for posterity, but, looking at those pictured of that magnificent building, I realise how privileged we were to have lived there, even for a short time,

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