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This story was submitted to the People’s War Site by Sabrina Parkar, for Three Counties Action, on behalf of Sheila Birch, and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.
I was 5 and half years old when WW2 started and lived with my parents in Central London. I was the only child. We were on holiday when was declared, so we had to return to London. Shortly after our return I was evacuated to Camborne, Cornwall, staying with a Mr and Mrs Rogers whom I called Auntie and Uncle. I only have a few memories of that particular time, for example: I remember being knocked down by a bus in the High Street and going to school with arms and legs bandaged, also going down the air raid shelter at the bottom of the garden, during an air raid and also being put to bed without any supper on a few occasions.
After the ‘Blitz’ I returned home to London. At the age of 8 years I was again evacuated — this time to Histon in Cambridge. This was not a happy time. This family were mentally unkind — I remember them calling me ‘names’ and of being scared of going home from school one day because I had stepped in a puddle and ruined my white plimsolls, for this I was punished; I suppose the 1940’s bully! So nothing is new. Eventually my parents visited me and thankfully took me home.
I stayed in London until 1944 — when the ‘flying bombs’ started and was then taken to stay with my grandmother in South Wales, where I stayed until the end of the war. The sad thing is being brought up by strangers and being apart from my parents. My education was also upset — whilst in Wales I was too young at 11 to take the 11 plus, as the age then was 12 years. By the time I returned to London I was too old.
Fortunately we suffered no casualties from the war — just a few mental scars from being apart.
My parents were in the Civil Defence — my father was Chief Fireguard for St. Pancras and my mother was a fireguard. So they did their ‘bit.’

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