大象传媒

This is about my mother's experience of being evacuated during the London Blitz. Sadly my mom is no longer with us.

Mom was eight years old when WWII began. She was the youngest of twelve children, with eight surviving childhood, and lived in the East End of London, within sound of the Bow Bells. Her father, was a stevedore on the East India Docks. With the ferocity of the London Blitz, my grandmother and her children were evacuated to the West Midlands, notably in the heart of the Black Country in a place named Cradley Heath. I recall my mom telling me of her first experiences, of having to bunk down in a big old house called Haden Hall in the middle of a park. The place has always been a bit spooky, and she didn't like it there at all.

The family were then found accommodation in a large house in King Street, Cradley Heath. She found it all very strange, and was an odd one out at school with her strong cockney accent. However, she went on to make friends, and her best friend was named Lillian.

My grandfather had stayed in the East End, as he was a worker on the docks. Sadly he died during the war, but I do not know if this was as a result of the bombing of the docks. His body was brought to the West Midlands and buried in a local cemetary.

At the end of the war my grandmother's older children decided to go back to London, but my grandmother stayed here, and as my mom was now fourteen years old, she stayed here too.

As mom and her best friend grew older they started to notice the boys! The girls went to a church youth club and started to be noticed by two particular local boys. They became their steady boyfriends, and after time eventually became their husbands.

If it had not been for the London Blitz my mom would have stayed in the East End, would never have met my dad who was a Black Country boy from Cradley Heath, and me and my sister would never have existed. So, for me at least, some good did come out of the horrific experiences of the Blitz!

As an afterthought, there was even more reason I'm glad to be here. Before they were married, my dad did his national service in Malaysia when there were troubles there and was involved in ammunitions. If he hadn't survived that conflict then I definitely would not be here today!

MY UNCLE THE BEVAN BOY

My dad's family, too, suffered a great loss during WWII. My dad's father had always worked as a coal miner and so continued to do a most important job during the war. My dad had an older brother, George, who was eligible to be called up for military duty. However, he became instead a 'Bevan Boy', a name given to all young men in tribute to Ny Bevan the cabinet minister who was responsible for the running of essential jobs here in England. George became a coal miner alongside his father, my grandad, doing his war duties for the good of the nation. Sadly, there was a mining accident and my Uncle George was fatally injured down the mine. He died in my grandfather's arms on the way to the hospital. He was just eighteen years old, and died doing his duty for the war effort, just as brave as the young men called up for active service.

As I grew up, my granddad (dad's father) told me endless stories about the experiences he had down the coal mines, and especially the proud but very sad story of my Uncle George, who I never had the chance to meet. My granddad is no longer with us, but I was so proud to see a party of Bevan Boys marching at the Remembrance Sunday parade on 9th November 2003, and I'm sure my grandparents would have been too.

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