大象传媒

We crouched under a large oak tree, peering up at the block formations of German bombers approaching in the clear blue sky. It was 18 August 1940 and our Sunday afternoon picnic trip to the Kent countryside had been interrupted by shouts of 'take cover'.

As the bombers reached us, the anti-aircraft guns on the North Downs opened up and our Spitfires and Hurricanes attacked them from above. Soon aircraft were falling in the fields around us; at one point the sky seemed full of parachutes and columns of smoke rising from the crashed planes.

One Hurricane, its engine screaming, hit the ground with a loud bang in trees at the end of our field. Within minutes the incredible noise had gone and in a state of frightened excitement we quickly had our picnic, jumped in the car and returned home.

The trip had meant to be a special treat for my brother and I before being evacuated the next day to South Africa... special it certainly was.

A family divided

My parents had put forward the names of two of their four children, my brother Gordon (12) and myself Roy (10), to the Children's Overseas Reception Board (CORB) set up by the government to evacuate children abroad. My parents' first choice was Canada but they were offered South Africa, so on 19 August 1940 we said goodbye to our parents at East Croydon station and, complete with gas masks and name labels, headed for Africa.

I recall being very excited that I was going on a train and a ship for the very first time, with little thought for our destination.

Holt School

We arrived in Liverpool and were housed in Holt School where the Hall became our dormitory with mattresses on the floor. A lot of children cried themselves to sleep, having left their parents for the first time; some were only five years old.

'Llanstephan Castle'

Four days later we embarked on the SS 'Llanstephan Castle', an 11,000-ton ship of the old Union Castle line. It was to be our home for the next four weeks, which became an adventure in itself.

We were divided into groups of about fourteen, each with an escort who became our 'Mum' for the voyage. Ours was a lovely lady, Vera Crocker, who none of us in 'Canaries' group will ever forget.

We sailed from Liverpool in a large North American convoy No. OB203 on 24 August 1940. Four days later we awoke to find that we were on our own; we had left the convoy during the night and were sailing south. None of us seemed to realise how dangerous this was and obviously no one was going to tell us.

It was a wonderful voyage - the sight of flying fish and porpoises swimming alongside as we reached warmer waters was a delight. We called in to Freetown to refuel, spending two days there but were not allowed ashore. The weather was very warm as we crossed the Equator and the crew rigged up a tarpaulin swimming pool on deck, which became very popular.

The rest of the voyage was fairly uneventful. We did think we saw a U-boat periscope one misty morning, but it turned out to be a paravane being towed by a ship far ahead, invisible in the mist.

Capetown

We docked in Capetown on 20 September 1940, and were greeted warmly by everyone. We were taken to the Governor General's residence for an official welcoming ceremony and photographs. A number of the 308 evacuees were then placed with their new families in the Cape area but we were taken with a group to stay in the Cape Jewish Orphanage until arrangements could be made for us to be distributed around South Africa.

We stayed two weeks and were treated like honoured guests: various Capetown ladies took us on trips to lovely places like Hout Bay, Muizenberg and Paarl.

To Durban via Johannesburg

We were eventually put on a train to Durban, which went via Johannesburg, a three-day trip. One stop was at Kimberley where people had gathered to see us. They gave us a basket of large bars of chocolate, which looked good but were actually full of weevils... they soon went out the carriage window.

Most of the children got off at Johannesburg, but about twenty of us continued on to Durban. There we were, lined up on the station platform with our labels prominently displayed, while our prospective hosts walked up and down making their selections. We were extremely fortunate to be chosen by a Mrs Stainbank, a wonderful lady who lived at Coedmore, a large estate outside Durban. This was to be our home for the next five years, a totally different way of life to our suburban upbringing but one that I am privileged to have experienced.

Coedmore

The main house was built in 1885 by Mrs Stainbank's late husband, the original pioneer who came from England as a young man. It was in the style of a large English country house but with some fortification, being started about the time of the Zulu war. Two sons and their families lived in bungalows on the estate, which was run mainly as a dairy farm. A large part of the estate was natural African bush, which contained a variety of wildlife, several species of antelope, vervet monkeys, bush babies, snakes, iguanas and birds of every size and colour. This area is now a nature reserve, run by the Parks Board so is preserved for later generations to enjoy.

Part of the family

We were brought up as part of the family and were always treated as such. Mrs Stainbank was a lady of almost Victorian values, which she instilled in her family. England was always referred to as 'home'. She had lost one son in France in World War One; another son returned safely. Sadly, she died in 1942.

A new 'Mum'

Her eldest son took over as head of the family and we transferred to one of the bungalows to live with Mrs Stainbank's spinster daughter, Edith, who became our 'Mum' in every way. We had a very good local education and as the years passed came to love Coedmore and life in South Africa.

Meanwhile, the war went on, though it seemed a long way away. We kept up with the war's progress by radio and newspapers, and the family were involved in fundraising for the 'War Effort'. Letters from home were fairly regular and we were allowed three radio broadcasts to our family back home. We also sent airgraphs, which were single sheet letters that were microfilmed and sent by air.

War ends

Then in 1945 the war ended and we realised that it would only be a matter of time before we would have to return to England. At fifteen years old the thought of leaving what had become my home was frightening. I had all but forgotten what my family looked like and did not want to leave South Africa.

Eventually the call came and in August 1945 we said our goodbyes and tearfully boarded the liner Mauretania in Durban harbour. However, when the ship's doctor saw my recent health records - I had been ill with an unknown tropical disease - he refused to take me in case the ship was quarantined at Southampton. It was full of returning troops so he could not risk it.

Back to Coedmore

To my delight we were offloaded and returned to Coedmore for another six months where I fully recovered and spent most of the time bush-walking and observing the wildlife.

It was January 1946 before we eventually returned to England, sailing on the 'Caernavon Castle', another ship packed with returning servicemen. We arrived at Southampton on a bitterly cold day to a scene of bombed-out buildings and dockyards, which only added to our feelings of homesickness for South Africa.

A difficult reunion

We went by train to Waterloo where our parents met us. I had difficulty recognising them, as the war had aged them beyond their years. I was struck by the grim faces and drab clothes of the people and the general greyness of the buildings, accentuated by the fact that we had left South Africa in midsummer, full of colour and sunshine. How we missed that sunshine!

A lucky evacuee

Looking back on my wartime African experiences I realise how lucky I had been with the family and home that, by chance, I had been evacuated to. So many similar overseas evacuees had a very tough time and do not want to remember. But we found kindness and warmth with everyone, especially in the schools we attended where we were called 'War Guests'.

The question of whether the CORB scheme should ever have been set up is open to argument. It began in June 1940 and was cancelled three months later after the City of Benares was torpedoed with the loss of 71 evacuees to Canada. A history and detailed account of the scheme has been very well documented in a book called 'The Absurd and the Brave' by Michael Fethney.

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