大象传媒

I remember vividly Friday 01 Sept 1939. This was the day, two days prior to the commencement of WWII, when I was evacuated away from a "dangerous area in the centre of Manchester - Miles Platting - to the "country" - Hazel Grove in Stockport !
My Mother, thinking I would be upset at the idea of leaving home for any length of time (and she was dead right) told me I was going on a school picnic for the day. I thought it a strange picnic as we departed with tickets on our coats bearing our names and addresses and carrying enormous carrier bags containing dried milk, dried eggs, dried everything.
I (age 6)was in the care of my big brother James (age 13), who had strict instructions "Don't let her out of your sight".
About the journey, I cannot remember much except seeing my Mum's tear-stained face as she waved us off in the special bus which pulled out from the school playground at some ungodly hour that Friday morning. "What's she crying for?" I wondered. Imagine the heartbreak of that dear lady, probably thinking she would never see her children again.
On arrival at our destination I clearly remember us all being assembled in some sort of enormous hall. We were then subjected to the ordeal of having our hair examuined. This was humiliating. Fancy looking for nits at a time like that ! My Mum would have gone mad. She'd scrubbed me the night before in a bath in front of the fire (we had no bathroom) and there I was in my Sunday best, with someone looking for nits !!
Despite Mum's words to James. my brother, about not letting me out of his sight, the Authorities managed to split us up without any trouble. James got fixed up with a young couple who had a motorbike and this absolutely delighted him. As for me - well, nobody seemed to want this pathetic little creature with missing front teeth, a decided squint in her right eye and horn-rimmed glasses. Let's face it, I was no Shirley Temple !
Thinking back, I cannot honestly remember being given anything to eat or drink all day. Perhaps I dipped into my dried supplies. "What a day out !" I can remember thinking as I sat there, still with my ticket on my coat.
I wonderwho broke the news to me that I would not be going home that night; would not be tucked up in my own little bed. Perhaps no one told me. I certainly cannot remember anyone telling me. But I suppose a little girl has implicit trust in grown-ups, and I probably thought they knew what they were doing, even if I did not know what they were doing - if you see what I mean.
I wandered the streets of Hazel Grove, clutching the hand of a friendly policeman who had been given the unenviable task of trying to "place" me. Perhaps the Powers -That-Be had decided to use a bit of psychology: if a little girl appeared on someone's doorstep,compassion might overcome whoever opened that door and the said little girl might be taken in.
NO SUCH LUCK IN MY CASE!!
We walked and walked,or so it seemed.I think my policeman carried me at times; no panda cars in those days.It was evening now and as time wore on,my little legs started to give way.I'd had a hell of a day! I was very tired and missing my Mum and Dad.
Suddenly, it was all too much for me - I broke down and cried. It must have been 9 pm by that time
I got a "place" a few minutes later. Guess where. Yes, my friendly policeman took me home with him !

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