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This story is written by George Seward and submitted to the site on his behalf by a member of Market Harborough Branch, Royal British Legion, Mr Seward fully understands the site terms and conditions.

Deerhurst Re-visited or My sister and the Donkey

First Visit - 1939

A much-loved North Country comedian, Rob Wilton, used to prefix his comic monologues with the words, 鈥淭he day war broke out ...鈥�. I suppose members of each generation can look back on an earth-shattering event in their lives and remember exactly where they were or what they were doing when it happened. The assassination of President Kennedy is probably the best-known example of this phenomenon. However, I dare say most members of my generation can recall their circumstances on 鈥渢he day war broke out鈥�.

My mother, sister Audrey and I were not at home in Enfield, Middlesex, on Sunday, September 3rd, 1939. We had departed, somewhat abruptly, a couple of days earlier. Dad, poor devil, was at work as a London Transport bus conductor when we left and he came home to an empty house, an explanatory note and the tender mercies of the two Aunts who lived next door.
On Friday, September 1st, the news was very bleak and war began to look inevitable. My mother's cousin, Jimmy, was very apprehensive about the danger he was convinced would follow the outbreak of war. He lived at Bush Hill Park, on the south side of Enfield and was married to Ena. They had two daughters, Joan aged four years and Margaret aged about one year. Jimmy wanted to get his family as far away from London as he could - and he was taking us, too.
My Aunty Alice had a friend, Emily Woodrolfe, who lived in a cottage in the Forest of Dean. She was postmistress and shopkeeper, both in the smallest way imaginable, in the tiny hamlet of Cliffords Mesne. It was to this remote part of Gloucestershire that Jimmy was to drive us in his Morris 12 saloon car. I can still recapture that night when we arrived after several hours on the road. After the continual sound of the car鈥檚 engine, it seemed exceptionally peaceful when it was switched off. It was dark and all I could hear in the unaccustomed silence was the chirruping of crickets. When I got out of the car, I can remember thinking to myself that it would have been rather difficult to drive a trolleybus in the narrow lane which ran through the hamlet.
How we were all accommodated in Emily鈥檚 cottage I have no idea but we knew it was to be but a temporary measure. On the fateful Sunday morning, September 3, Mum and I walked across fields to a farm to buy milk. On the way back we met a man who asked if we had heard the news. He was referring to the broadcast by Neville Chamberlain in which he informed the nation that, as there had been no reply to an ultimatum issued to them, we were at war with Germany.

I don鈥檛 know how Mum felt as we made our way back to the cottage. Although she had had what was referred to as 鈥榓 good war鈥� with well-paid work in a munitions factory and a great social life in the newly-emancipated style for young ladies, she must have recalled the first world war and all the horrors that it brought. She must have been aware, following the Spanish Civil War, that aerial bombing, for example, would be a much greater hazard than the last time. There was an early 鈥楢lert鈥� in London that day which caused great fear and trepidation, although it was something of a false alarm. Such a fearsome event would have been hard to imagine in the peaceful depths of the Forest of Dean.

Our stay in Cliffords Mesne was to be very short and, within a week, like gypsies we moved on. Emily had bought a cottage in the village of Deerhurst and was planning to move in a couple of months or so. The cottage was vacant and it was decided that we evacuees should move in. Deerhurst is situated close to the River Severn some four miles south of Tewkesbury and we travelled in the furniture van arriving at Crooked Cottage (its real name) in the late afternoon.
We should pause here to consider the feelings of Mum and Ena. They both lived in modern houses in the suburbs of London and were accustomed to what was referred to in estate agent jargon as 鈥榓ll mod cons鈥�, or all modern conveniences. Jimmy had a good position with the Northmet Power Company and consequently Ena鈥檚 house on the borders of Bush Hill Park and Winchmore Hill, London N21, was particularly well provided with the latest electrical amenities. Mum had lived in her new home, with many up-to-date facilities, for some three years. They arrived in Crooked Cottage without knowing a soul in the village and faced with comparatively primitive living conditions. Bear in mind, too, they had four children to care for, one being a babe in arms. Water had to be pumped up from a well, the lavatory was in a hut down the garden, there was no gas or electricity and paraffin oil provided light and heat. Mum and Ena had to master the art of cooking by paraffin stove.

Living about half a mile outside the village on the lane to Apperley was Miss Robertson, a friend of Emily. I cannot recall her first name, if indeed I ever knew it. She had a smallholding consisting of a cottage, several outhouses and a garden and orchard totalling, at a guess, about two acres. I can recall us trailing along the lane to Miss Robertson鈥檚 house in the dusk of that evening of our arrival. We met the formidable lady, had some tea and set off on the walk back in the dark with the help of a torch loaned by Miss Robertson. I don鈥檛 know about the others but I found it a decidedly scary experience and I was the man of the party!

My sister, Audrey, and I went to the village school where children up to the age of 14 were taught in three classes. The headmaster was one Mr Fluck and. much to my extreme annoyance, I can remember nothing of my time at Deerhurst school and very little about any other aspect of our six-week stay at Crooked Cottage.
The 鈥榩honey war鈥� soon set in with nothing much happening, particularly on the Home Front, and it was decided that we should return to the mod. cons. of home. For me it would mean leaving the three-class village school to return to Lavender Road Boys and preparation for the dreaded scholarship examination in the summer of 1940.

A Second Visit in 1944

During the summer holidays of 1944, it was arranged for Audrey and I to return to the scene of our evacuation upon the outbreak of the war. We went by train from Paddington (I took my bicycle) and stayed with Emily Woodroffe in Deerhurst for seven weeks of wonderful summer weather.

I could not face the prospect of just doing nothing for all that time and set about finding a job. I went to see a farmer in the village who took me on as a very inexperienced novice. My task was to cut down with a sickle all the thistles in a rather large field. Needless to say, confirmation that I was not cut out for the life of a farm labourer was not long in coming. The sun was hot and in middle of the field there was an inviting tree that offered shade. I did not finish my day鈥檚 task and the farmer very diplomatically suggested, though not in as many words, that I was probably not suited to the life of a rustic.

So ended my career in agriculture and the next day I set off on the bicycle to Tewkesbury, the nearest large town, to probe the labour market. I was offered a job by Mr Allen, owner of a large, old fashioned grocery shop, at the princely wage of ten shillings (50p) a week which, at the end of the first week, he increased by fifty per cent to fifteen shillings (75p) because I had worked well.

I spent a lot of time travelling in the little delivery van around the delightful villages on the borders of Gloucestershire and Worcestershire, including those on Bredon Hill.
This was my first experience of commuting to work and subsequent journeys in later life never came up to the pleasure of cycling the four miles between Deerhurst and Tewkesbury. The route was along a footpath beside the River Severn and the only part I did not enjoy was the need to watch for bulls grazing in the riverside meadows. Sometimes I would ride home along the A38, which ran through Tewkesbury, to the turning for the villages of Apperley and Deerhurst. Convoys of American soldiers on their way to France, following the invasion earlier in the summer, frequently overtook me. They would often throw packets of chewing gum and I was on and off the bike recovering the treasure. Sometimes there was an American Clubmobile parked on the outskirts of Tewkesbury serving as a snack bar for the troops. These attractive vehicles were London Transport Green Line coaches converted for the duration of the war and loaned to the Americans. If I was cheeky enough, I might beg for a delicious, hot, sugary doughnut ring. If I was lucky enough I would be given one.

I also had a 鈥楽unday job鈥� for the period of my stay. I was the organ pumper in Deerhurst Church, one of the finest remaining Saxon Churches in the country. The organist was a lady and my job was to create sufficient air pressure for her to produce the music. I seem to remember a weighted length of string hanging down from somewhere above. There was a pencilled line which indicated where the weight should be and if it dropped below the line, I had to pump like crazy to raise it. The pumping action caused a squeak, which was a bit disconcerting. During the sermon, I had to struggle to stay awake and listen for a tapping by the organist to prompt me to start working to rebuild the air pressure, which had leaked out during the hour of inactivity. I think I was awarded two bob for my attempts to frighten the life out of the poor lady organist who lived in constant fear that her efforts would not be heard by the congregation because I had not raised enough wind!

I met Dennis Halpin and his mother who had also returned to stay in the village having been evacuated to Deerhurst with Emily Woodroffe during the 1940 blitz. Mrs Halpin had made friends in the village and, as we were with Emily, they stayed elsewhere. They were from Dagenham where Mr Halpin worked for May and Baker, a large pharmaceutical company. Dennis also had his bicycle and one Sunday we went for a ride to Upton-upon-Severn where disaster struck. Dennis got a puncture and we had no repair kit 鈥� or indeed money to buy one. I spotted a river cruiser that was about to set off for Tewkesbury, so I made a plea to the captain and he allowed us to take the bikes on board for a free ride. Our story got around the village and I gained a reputation as 鈥榯hat bright lad from Lunnon鈥�.

Perhaps it was because of my 鈥榬eputation鈥� that I was put in charge of a stall at the village fete in Appeley, Deerhurst鈥檚 larger neighbour. As far as I can recall, there was a bicycle wheel on a board which had to be spun by contestants and, dependent upon where it stopped, small prizes could be won. I chatted up the punters and was praised for raising a large sum of money. The fete was graced by the presence of the local Member of Parliament, a Mr Morrison.

During our stay, Mum and Dad came down from London on the train to visit us and, for this occasion, Emily鈥檚 friend, Miss Robertson, gave me a special treat. She had, it will be recalled, a smallholding just outside the village and, as well as rabbits, chickens and goats, she kept a pony and trap. Audrey and I were allowed to take the trap on our own to meet Mum and Dad at the bus stop on the main road. I don鈥檛 suppose we met any vehicles, so there was little likelihood of the pony giving trouble, but it was a big thrill, nevertheless. Mum and Dad were pleased to have a ride rather than walk a mile or more to the village.
On the last week of our stay, I spent most of the money I had earned by travelling on the local buses and visited Stroud, Gloucester, Malvern and Birmingham. I still have a Midland Red bus timetable bought in Birmingham and, of course, I wish I had more souvenirs of those times. I also wish I had clearer memories because I have a rail ticket for a bicycle from Cheltenham to Paddington and I cannot recall anything about the journey. Unfortunately, Audrey鈥檚 memory was even worse than mine, so she was not much help!

Post Script

I was seeking information on the Internet when I arrived at a local newspaper site in Tewkesbury, Gloucestershire. There was an archive section with various news items selected at random from recent years. It reported in 2003 that a lady wished to contact people who knew the village of Deerhurst during the 1940s and 1950s and gave her telephone number.

I made contact with the lady, Ann, and I sent her my memories. She sent me some old photographs that her father, the village schoolmaster, had taken and I had such a strange feeling when I saw one of them. It showed my sister Audrey in 1944 aged 12, along with several other children - evacuees and villagers. Ann didn't know it was Audrey in the picture and, to add to the coincidence, the little girl at the front of the donkey is Ann!

Later this year (2006) Ann is holding a reunion for people she made contact with and I hope to meet her and discover what happened to the donkey!

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