大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Dianne Burtrand of Chelmsford Library on behalf of Joan Benbrook and has been added to the site with her permission.
The author fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

During the war years in the East End of London, night after night we spent in the air raid shelter. By day, during school time, the siren sounded and we were herded into a large shelter in the school playground, where lessons continued somewhat erratically.
Eventually our house was hit by a V2 rocket and we joined the ever growing number of evacuees, albeit later than most. We had remained in London until our house was bombed, when we were forced to evacuate.
Initially we were evacuated to Windsor (Mother came too). The house was just a short distance from Windsor Castle. The lady of the house obviously did not want us; we were an intrusion in her life. My mother would meet us from school and take us for a long walk through Windsor Great Park, where we often saw the Queen and the then two princesses driving in their pony and trap through the park. No one stopped to stare, we were all too busy trying to stay alive. The two ladies who were our next-door neighbours were so very different from Mrs Hurley (the lady of the house)! Their names were Fellowes and they worked at the castle. They made me the most wonderful golliwog, which unfortunately I do not now have.
As the situation became more difficult we finally evacuated to the North East, a village called Grainthorpe.
My brother and I walked slowly up the path by the side of an old cottage (approx. 300 years old). There was drizzle in the air and because of the total peace and quiet we were able to hear the breeze running through the telephone wires, which is a very haunting sound, a sound my brother and I will never forget. (So very different from the constant sound of bombing, sirens and mayhem of London).
The lady who greeted us was called Miss Alice Wilson; she could not have been more different from Miss Hurley. The next 14 months were to be very happy; our lives could not have changed so dramatically.
Apart from the wonderful peace and quiet of village life, there was no running water, (outside the cottage there was a well which served our needs); there was no electricity (a lamp containing a wick was lit each evening casting shadows on the walls of the living room); there was no gas or cooker, but there was a most unusual system - difficult to describe - which heated water and cooked our food.
Schooling was so different from London - a 2 mile walk each day and the school itself consisted of two classrooms serving children from the age of 5 -11 years. The Headmaster, Mr Gibson, taught the older children whilst his wife taught the younger ones.
The people of Grainthorpe Village had never been subjected to an air raid and because of the farms in and around the village, they were unaware of the meagre rationing system of food we experienced in London. My brother and I began to look less like scarecrows!
When VE Day was declared it made little difference to the Village; a few flags appeared, but little else. It seemed that the horrors of war had missed this village.
However, we did return to London for the VE Day street party, where we met up with our old school chums. We feasted on spam sannies and jelly!!! We then returned to Lincolnshire until our house was re-built.
My brother and I returned to the village school in Lincolnshire recently. The greeting was just as warm, especially when we mentioned we had been pupils at the school during the war. The School Secretary turned up our records (in less than a few minutes)!!! and copied the entries made during our attendance.
The school now has more than two classes, but little seemed changed.
As we left the school memories came flooding back, but none so vivid as those on the day we first walked up the path of the cottage with the breeze whistling through the telegraph wires.

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