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This story was submitted to the People’s War Site by Three Counties Action, on behalf of Anne Scott, and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.

In June 1940, I was a naïve and un-travelled 15-year-old away at a convent school on the north Yorkshire coast, living a fairly humdrum school life, well aware of current events but not of the extent of the changes and challenges in our lives that war was to bring. It was therefore with total astonishment and disbelief that we listened to the calm tones of the nun who came into our classroom one morning to tell us, as if she was announcing some minor expedition to a hockey match or a museum, that the following Tuesday the whole school would be evacuating to Canada. This would be for those under 16 whose parents agreed. We would be allowed to see our parents to say goodbye on Saturday, we could each take a suitcase (which could include an extra toy or game from home and a few home clothes) and ‘now get on with your work’ — and she was gone. And by mid-day Tuesday morning we were gone too. What agonising by our parents, frantic planning and packing by the nuns, negotiations with officialdom, must have taken place in those few days. To complicate matters, the school buildings had been commandeered by the Army, who were already encamped on the playing fields and were daily moving nearer to occupation. Those few days passed in a daze of mixed apprehension and excitement, though for me personally, I think the expectation of a Mammoth adventure was dominant.

Our party of 100 or so children, augmented by some pre-school age brothers and sisters, together with ten members of staff, were transported by coach to Liverpool where we slept on the floor of a university hall, visited the Cathedral and very soon embarked on the Duchess of Atholl, an ocean liner flat- bottomed for navigating the St. Lawrence river, and crammed full of children (I believe 800 of more) — some school parties like ours, and some independent families. We were allocated very cramped accommodation in the crew’s quarters (where the crew slept was not made clear) several decks below water level, and set sail in convoy with little delay. The Atlantic was a dangerous place at that time and it was known that U-boats were in the area, ready to attack the shipping bringing troops and essential supplies into the country. We were told to sleep in our clothes and had frequent practice life-boat drills at 3 or 4 in the morning. Yet I can’t remember being scared or even unduly apprehensive. We were used to doing what we were told, and not expecting answers to awkward questions, and having confidence in the Sister’s ability to cope with any difficulty. Everything would turn out all right — it always did.

The first thing that wasn’t all right was the weather, which brought the worst Atlantic storms that anyone could remember, not even the captain or any of the crew. This caused the ship to roll and pitch and crash about In the huge waves, slap bang on her flat bottom, which in turn caused all loose objects, and even fitted ones, to fly around in a most alarming way. It also caused miserably severe and long lasting sea sickness and incapacity to children and staff alike. Those few of us unaffected had a happy time free from any regime which the nuns had determinedly set in motion at the start of the voyage, and we roamed the ship unsupervised, being spoiled by stewards and welcomed into deserted first-class dining rooms and lounges, making occasional visits to the suffering ones way below, who groaned and told us to go away.

The second thing that wasn’t all right, and which can’t have been good news for those responsible for the financial affairs of the school and pupils, was that all transfers of funds from the UK to Canada were blocked for the foreseeable future. This meant that our school fees, which would have gone some way towards providing our education in Canada, would not now be forthcoming. It was only due to the immense generosity, energy and concerted efforts of many Canadians that we were provided with wonderful accommodation in the Canadian countryside, and were able to be kept together as a school and be taught by our own teachers.

However, we knew nothing of all this, and on board the storm abated at last and we came in sight of land and calmer waters. We were very excited to see whales and icebergs, and later to catch the scent of the pine trees off the Newfoundland coast. The sick realised they were going to live after all, and spirts rose as we entered the safer waters of the St. Lawrence river and saw our first signs of human habitation. We docked at Montreal and disembarked to a most unexpected and astonishing welcome from members of the Red Cross with refreshments, a great many of the press eager for our first impressions, and the general public who had somehow heard of our imminent arrival. The ‘smiling, rosy-cheeked schoolgirls’ were surprised and delighted — this seemed an auspicious start indeed. We travelled overnight to Toronto by train (‘so big, so smart, so noisy!’) and were whisked off on our arrival to a girls’ school (unoccupied as it was vacation time), where we were to stay until claimed by volunteer hosts with whom we were to stay until permanent accommodation had been found for the school. It was just beginning to dawn on us that our lives were going to be very different in very different surroundings from now on. This adventure seemed to be turning out well.

And so began for me an unforgettable and treasured three years in that wonderful country. But that is a lot of other stories.

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