大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site by Sarah Cooper at the AGC Museum on behalf of Peter Moody and has been added to the site with his permission. Peter Moody fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

Evacuation
Along with my older brother Len and my sister Beryl I was to be evacuated. Each day we gathered at my brother's school and the pupils and teachers kept together. Each child had a label tied to his lapel and each had his own gas mask and a bag or case containing their belongings.

We waited in the school hall for news that would tell us on which day we would be leaving. That news finally came to us on the morning of Friday September 1, 1939. The children were told to run home and inform their parents that we would be leaving that day, but I decided that I was going to stay put. I had been told before that I was going to live on a farm and nothing had come of it, so I had no intention of missing out this time.

The local rail station was about 1.5 miles from the school. There was to be no transport to get us there. We had to walk escorted by the teachers. On the other side of the road there was another column heading towards the rail station - some of the adults accompanying these children carried religious banners. This was the evacuation of the Catholic School. Their destination was different to ours.

Arriving at the village
Our journey wasn't too long and soon we found ourselves at a small railstation with the name of Headcorn. On alighting from the train we were ushered out in to the forecourt of the station and then into a paddock. On one side of the station was a huge white marquee where many ladies were waiting to greet us. Having been led into the marquee each child was given a a carrier bag containing a certain amount of food. This I was given to understand was to last me for the first 48 hours of my stay. The one thing that interested me was the largest block of Cadbury's chocolate that I had ever seen. It must have weighed at least 1/2 pound.

Various means of transport took us to the a wooden building behind the public house in the centre of the village. I think a cycle club used the building. Here we had tea, after which I was aware that couples had arrived and were starting to take the children away with them. My sister, brother and I sat on. We were under orders from out parents that we had to stay together. It was now very dark outside and only a few children remained. At last someone came to take us to the promised farm.

Life on the farm
It was a very dark journey and we city children were unused to unlit roads - neither had I ever seen so many stars. The country appeared to have many more stars than a city had. We pulled into a driveway that led into a farmyard and stopped alongside a rather large house. On alighting from the car we were taken into a large kitchen where a young lady took our carrier bags from us and we were told that she would be caring for us. It turned out that she was the maid.

After she made us comfortable, she took us through to another room and introduced us to an elderley couple who turned out to be the farmer and his wife. It was, as far as I recall, the only time we were to meet. In fact they were the only people that I lived with during my time as an evacuee that I cannot recall their names. I do however, remember the farm, it was called Little Motten Den.

That night the three of us slept in a four-poster bed. I was woken next morning by the voice of another child coming through the wall of our bedroom. He seemed to be giving his mother a hard time and I have always believed him to be the grandson of the elderly couple we had met the night before. We were never to meet this other boy. After breakfast in the lovely large warm farmhouse kitchen (this and the bedroom were the only rooms we were allowed to use during our stay) we were taken out into the farmyard. The first things I saw were the cows and I remember the beautiful smell that came from them. All the cows had names and although this was the first time I had encountered cows I found that there was nothing to fear from them. Next we were put onto a low trailor behind a tractor along with a pile of sacks and taken from the farmyard and across the fields. We were not the only Londoners on the farm - it was hop-picking time and as the farm grew hops, the Londoners would use their annual holidays to go hop-picking. With us on the trailor the tractor went up and down the line of pickers throwing out the sacks. As we went along the lines, the pickers seemed aware of who we were. I still remember that those sacks were called pokes. These, when full, were taken to a barn which I recall seemed very hot and sweaty inside I believe that presses were involved. I shall never forget the smell of hops and to this day the smell of them brings back pleasent memories. Picking hops was very much a family affair.

School meant a very long walk to the village. My sister and I attended the village school. My brother's school was held in the village hall. It was now winter and there had been a heavy fall of snow, returning from school I fell into a snowdrift. To this day I have never liked snow unless it was on a christmas card.

Living by the Chapel
Soon the authorities decided we were too far from the village and they would have to find us new home. This they did, but they split us up. My sister Beryl going to one home and Len and myself being sent to Mr. & Mrs. Joseph Hooker at the Manse, the house alongside the Baptist church in the village. Mrs. Hooker was the caretaker. I found life here very happy even if Sunday was a very strict day for us boys. Sunday meant going across the churchyard to chapel 3 times a day. We were not allowed to run, nor expected to play between chapel times, and to laugh out loud was frowned upon. I feel that Len found this very hard to take, but I took it in my stride. Len got the job of pumping the chapel organ, I believe he volunteered to do this only because he was hidden behind the screen and therfore didn't have to take part in the service. My Sunday was really made if I had been allowed to pick one of the hymns - my favourite being "There is a Light to Guide the Humble" I am sure the congregation were always aware who had picked this one.

The chapel and its grounds became more than just the place where I went to worship, it became my play-ground, workplace and my second home, Saturday mornings would find me sitting on an old sack with a small knife in my hand cutting out moss between the brick pathways leading from the house to the chapel. Another job I had was filling the Beatrice oil heaters which stood in the chapel, the chopping of sticks for the fire on the Sunday School room of the chapel - this was wherethe ladies from the village met during the week. I recall them having a First Aid session and using me to practise on.

The cemetary also recieved my attention; many of my "neglected friends" received flowers courtesy of relatives tending other graves. One burial I remember was that of a young RAF man. I can still see his mother, young wife and baby daughter standing there at his graveside - the discarded flowers belonging to them, adorned many of the neglected graves. My brother would tell me that the tombs had shelves in them on which laid the coffins, but as I looked through the grilles in the sides of the tombs I could never see any coffins.

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