大象传媒

I was 10 in October 1939 when my 3 brothers, 2 sisters and myself were evacuated from Dagenham, in the east of London. I just remember lots of children with gas masks and labels going down to the jetty to board a paddle steamer: I only learnt afterwards that it was the Ford Motor Company jetty and the steamer was the Crested Eagle, later sunk at Dunkirk.

Hundreds of us were taken to Lowestoft and, somehow, I was separated from all but my younger brother aged 7. We were taken from the boat to a school hall and had to sleep on the straw which covered the floor. Later, we were taken to a playground and people came to choose which child they would look after. They had to choose at least one and most were reluctant to take siblings. We were picked by an old lady together with 4 other boys and taken to a garage in the grounds of a stately home (later identified as Melton Hall, near Woodbridge).

There was only a wooden table, 2 wooden forms and a paraffin heater on which meals were cooked. We spent the days there and were not allowed into our sleeping quarters, an attic in the big house, until 6 at night. I remember a big spiral staircase and many rooms where we boys had to sleep on 6 straw mattresses with 1 blanket each. We had to be up and out by 8am and go to the garage for breakfast.

We never went to school but played at being Robin Hood in the grounds. We never saw the owner of the house, a Colonel Wayce, and had to keep out of his way. His son, a lad of 16, took great delight in shooting us with his air rifle from the attic: I got shot in the arm.I was there over a year and had to dig slit trenches, in preparation for the German invasion.

I then remember a big building with a huge wall: a convalescent home where we were evacuated when Melton was deemed unsafe. I found out afterwards it was on the Sandhills estate in Headington, Oxfordshire. My brother and I were last to leave it: other children were relocated in local families one at a time but nobody wanted the two of us.We only went to school in the morning, 60 to a class. The local children went in the afternoon.

One day, a German plane bombed farmland in Headington and was chased by a Spitfire. (We all knew how to identify planes just from the noise of their engines.) We all cheered! The bomb killed chickens: there were feathers everywhere! We took a chicken to Mrs Oulton who looked after us. She was like a Mum to us and I remember how she dressed us to go to Sunday school. The first time she tried to put a tie round my neck, I thought she wanted to strangle me! I鈥檇 never worn trousers and a tie...

In 1943, we were allowed back to Dagenham where we were reunited with our family.
In 1947, at 18, I joined up and had a chance to go back to Headington after breaking an ankle in a parachute jump. Mrs Oulton was so pleased to see me! And I saw her sons, Eric and Keith, again. My education had been so sketchy during the war that I had to teach myself to read and write later.
There are not many of us left now...

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.