大象传媒

It seems as yesterday , a grey cheerless March morning, when our school party was taken by coach to the station and off we set on the long train journey to Yorkshire - some Sussex evacuees.

Train ride far from home

The train journey seemed never ending - we talked, laughed, shouted and fidgeted and were pleased when the monotony was broken by the arrival of midday lunch in cans. The first course has long since passed from memory, but not the dessert - which was rice pudding. It seems we all hated it and flicked it about the carriage until one bright spark suggested we get rid of it by tipping it out of the carriage window.

Ever northwards we continued, until our overnight stop at Otley. We got out of the train so willingly, and then were transported to the local hospital, where they had room for us. It was an eerie feeling to wake up during the night in that large ward, so far from home.

The next day we arrived in Settle, and were herded into the village hall, where we waited to be 'chosen' by the ladies offering accommodation. Eventually, I and my friend Rosemary, and a few others who remained, were driven round the village to the still vacant billets. Rosemary and I were left with a young hostess - aged about 28 - her husband was away in the army, so there were just the three of us.

A child's view of a strange hostess

Each day, we walked through the country lanes to school in Giggleswick - just a small building, so different from our school in Hove. Our hostess was not the best of housekeepers. One evening we were to have tinned pilchards for our meal. Mrs M put the tin of pilchards, unopened and unpierced, into the oven at the top of the kitchen range. Some time went by, with the range fire burning well. Sally the spaniel was quietly slumbering on the mat and enjoying the warmth when - bang! - the door of the oven crashed back on its hinges, and out came fragments of very hot pilchard, splattering over the poor dog, who yelped with shock. No supper that night.

On some memorable evenings, as we passed by a neighbour's gate, she would wave, smile and beckon us in. She was such a nice woman, and we were glad to go in and then to our delight we would be given a dish of hot baked beans - I can taste them now - which we gobbled ravenously and gratefully, before going into our own billet.

On the upstairs landing of Mrs M's house, was a large cupboard in which we stored our cases. A shelf in the cupboard was high above our heads, and we often wondered was there anything on it. One day, when Mrs M was in the garden, we thought we would have a look. Rosemary stood firm while I gave a quick jump with Rosemary pushing me upwards. My brief glimpse showed me a line of packets of butter, laid out along the shelf - no wonder we always had margarine. Who was the butter for - turning green as it was?

During the Easter holidays, the school arranged outings for us, and on one of these a party of us were to climb Penyghent - the highest peak in the dales. It wasn't warm when we set off, so we wore raincoats and berets, and we each carried a heavy haversack containing our sandwiches - packed for us by Mrs M.

It seemed a long way up Penyghent, and as the sun shone out we got hotter and hotter and the haversacks got heavier and heavier. Eventually, to everyone's relief, we stopped. Out came all the lunch packs. Rosemary and I opened up our haversacks - each one full of empty medicine bottles, carefully wrapped around with thick newspaper, so the bottles did not rattle as we walked. But never mind - everyone rallied round and by the time each girl had given us a sandwich or two, a cake, an apple, a biscuit, we two probably had more to eat than the others. What a joke on us - Mrs M couldn't stop laughing when we arrived back at the house. She said she just had to go to her friend's house to tell her.

Happier times, and home again

Soon after, when arrangements could be finalised, we were moved to another billet in the local minister's house, where he and his wife made us welcome. They had a daughter the same age as ourselves, so we had much more to amuse us, and enjoyed a real family life at last.

There are other memories too, of our time in that northern county. A bitterly cold day - and we were taken out on to the moors by a local farmer to gather watercress from a stream of running water - the water so clear and icy that it hurt when I plunged in my hands to pick the cress. A new experience to remember.

By contrast, a lovely summer day, with our school party setting off early by coach, on a trip through the Yorkshire Dales. We stopped frequently at the many villages, where country dancing was performed on the village green - such a pretty sight, with the music from a flute and a concertina making everyone want to dance. Such a happy day and then the drive home through that beautiful countryside on a lovely summer evening. No wonder I have that memory still.

Finally, the day came when we were to return home - a day we thought would never arrive. How strange once familiar places now seemed, and how different the surroundings - a seaside town in wartime - from those Yorkshire Dales. My time as a wartime evacuee was an experience that I shall always remember.

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