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15 October 2014
WW2 - People's War

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Growing up in West Reading in wartime

by Elizabeth Lister

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Archive List > Childhood and Evacuation

Contributed by听
Elizabeth Lister
People in story:听
Valerie Kearey
Location of story:听
West Reading
Background to story:听
Civilian
Article ID:听
A7746915
Contributed on:听
13 December 2005

This story was submitted to the People's War site by a volunteer on behalf of Valerie Kearey and has been added to the site with her permission. Valerie fully understands the site's terms and conditions.
I was four and a half when the war began and started school shortly after. I started at Wilson Infant School. When the siren sounded children who lived near the school or had relatives nearby had to run to them because the school shelter wasn鈥檛 big enough for everyone. When I was about seven and should have moved to the junior school the building was requisitioned for the American troops. We had to move out and continue our education in local church halls. One half day a week we had a classroom in Battle School; that was a real treat. When we were ten we moved by into the main building.
Two Americans Captain Cappell and Jerry Hanse were billeted with my grandmother. At home we had two evacuees living with us. They were thirteen and played with me They fitted into the family well and one of them taught me to knit.
My father was serving in India in the RAF. I remember being very frightened that something might happen to my mother and we would be on our own. With my brother I made a list of all the things we had to do to help her so that she would not die.
One day a man in uniform came to the house with a letter. My mother was worried that it was bad news about my father but he had written because he had heard of the bombing in Reading and was worried about us.
We had an Anderson shelter in the garden that my father had dug out. When the bombs fell in Reading my mother told us to go to the shelter. My brother started asking questions. Her reply was 鈥淲hy, what and where will be the death of you!鈥
I remember my father coming home at the end of the war with his kitbag. He brought me a small carved table, but, unfortunately, the legs were broken.
It was difficult for me to accept him back after five years and he found it difficult to fit back into the family.

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