大象传媒

As a seven year old, war was something completely unknown. It was a mystery where adults were expected to have answers and I, for one such child of the time, had complete confidence in my parents, yet wholly unaware of the terrible decisions they were having to take. Of their feelings, watching us go, one can only guess.

Children form my school went by coach to the station and we traveled for hours and hours in a corridor train until we reched our destination somewhere in Yorkshire. As a trained teacher, I can now appreciate the responsibility they faced. I remember very clearly being fidgety, hot and uncomfortable. I loved singing, even then, and a small group of us, no doubt led by our teacher, sang our hearts out standing where the breeze from the window was on our faces. We sang "Horsey, horsey don't you stop, just let your feet go clippety clop", and "Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run."
We were very, very tired when on arrival eventually at a small village hall, we settled down to await our fate.

By this time, I had lost all my exuberance, the holiday expectation gone, and it was slowly dawning on my mind that my mum was not there and I had no notion of what was going to happen.

This story was submitted to the People's War website by Helena Noifeld and has been added to the website on behalf of Gwendoline Ardley with her permission. She fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

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