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This story was submitted to the People's War site by Katherine Kissane from WM CSV Action Desk on behalf of Christine Stanley and has been added to the site with her permission. Christine Stanley fully understands the sites terms and conditions.

I suppose until 1939, we had what was a normal childhood for children who came from a not well off, or even a poor family where money was always in short supply. My father had served in the army from 1914 to 1924 and had few skills to obtain and keep regular employment during a time of recession and high unemployment.

There were five of us children — Margaret, Lawrence, myself (Leo), Francis and Patrick. We would become seven at the end of the war, with the birth of two sisters — Mary and Christine. We all attended St. Augustine’s School in Avenue Road, Handsworth, as had our mother before us.

On 1st September 1939 we were evacuated with very little prior warning to Tenbury Wells in Worcestershire. It is difficult to describe the excitement felt by a boy, not yet twelve, whose only other train rides had been on the cable railway trucks that took the coal from the Jubilee Pit at Watson’s Pool (or Wasson Pool as it was known locally), to the coal yards at Birmingham West Bromwich — a very dirty and dangerous pastime.

We arrived at Newnham Bridge, the station before Tenbury Wells and were shepherded into a large warehouse and were given a carrier bag filled with fruit, sweets, biscuits and chocolates donated by the local people, and to be selected by them for billeting. It seemed no one family could accommodate four boys. Patrick, the youngest, was taken by Mr. and Mrs. Letts of Berrington Road. Lawrence, Francis and I were taken by Mr. and Mrs. Gillot who lived on the corner of Berrington Road and Cross Street. Mr. Gillot was the local postman. Though Mrs. Gillot was very good to us, I think three boys were a bit too much for her. Although we did not stay with them for long, we remained good friends. Patrick was not very happy and went to stay with the Myttons, who were very good to him. I think being the youngest, he missed his brothers.

Our next billet was with Mr. and Mrs. Farmer on Teme Street. I don’t think they had any children of their own, but they certainly treated us as theirs. Our mother came in December to take Lawrence home. He was fourteen and had to start work. I think my mother only came to see us once more because of the cost.

From the Farmer’s, we moved just a few yards along to Teme Street to Mrs. Partridge. Mr. Farmer was soon to retire and had bought a place on the Cleobury Road, but he did not live very long to enjoy it. We used to visit Mrs. Farmer and were always made very welcome, and given drinks and cakes. Mrs. Partridge had a small shop between Ship Inn and the bank. She was a widow who had raised a family that had married and left home — with the exception of a daughter, Joan, who was still at home. She also took in other lodgers, mainly workers from the new factory that was being built near the railway station. Mrs. Partridge said that if Patrick would like to come and live with us he could. She was well used to handling boys and one more would be no trouble. Our room was an attic room with sides of home-cured bacon hanging from the purlins.

The Catholic Church was in converted stables at the rear of a large house owned by Captain and Mrs. Avery. After mass on a Sunday in the summer, we would play croquet on the lawn. Mrs. Avery would give us give us warm lemonade. I served on the alter, but I am sure that this was my teacher, Miss O’Conner’s way of ensuring that I went to mass every week.

There was no Catholic school in Tenbury, so our school was in the Parish Hall in Church Street. This consisted of one large room, a kitchen, a small store room, one outside toilet and a small play area. A few weeks after our arrival, our numbers had decreased to about thirty whose ages ranged from about six to thirteen. We were all taught by one teacher — Miss Esther O’Conner. She mothered and fussed over us, and tried to give us an education. It must have been a very daunting task for her. Over the next two and a half year, our numbers continued to decrease as older children returned home, until there were not enough pupils for it to be worth keeping the school open.

I now think that Miss O’Conner knew there would be no weekly postal orders from home for me and my brothers. She soon found part-time employment for me at Bowket’s, the butchers, and for Francis at the valeting and dry cleaners in Teme Street. Francis worked there until he came home. I had various jobs in the next two years. There were plenty of ways to earn money. Tuesday and Thursday were markets days. After school, it was a dash to the market to help load or unload lorries, or drive cattle or sheep by road to local farms. It could be very profitable. Some farmers paid well; others not so well. But you always got something to eat and drink. At first we had to compete with the local lads, but as more and more of the older lads were called up to go into the forces we became accepted. And there was always seasonal work — haymaking, fruit and hop picking.

I honestly think I enjoyed every moment of time I spent at Tenbury. While Miss O’Conner was trying to hammer some knowledge and education into us, I was really living life to the full. I learnt to swim in the river. I learnt to fish. I learnt to set snares for rabbits, catch moles, and collect Plovers eggs which were sold. I learnt to ride a horse. Two local lads and I would ‘borrow’ horses and with the aid of a rope, halter ride them bare backed round the fields they were grazing in. This took place at dusk or after. One night, all three of us — Ted Thatcher (Tackers), Winky Davis and I were riding a horse in an orchard when it stumbled — throwing us in a heap on the ground. We stalked the startled horse for hours trying to recover our rope halter so that the owner would not find out what had been going on.

Harold Small and I would ‘borrow’ dogs to go rabbiting. The licensee of the Ship Inn had two red setters which we thought would be ideal. What a mistake! All they wanted to do was chase rabbits, not catch them. Morgan Johns, a butcher had a black Labrador that he used as a gun dog. We thought he would be perfect; he was useless. He would fetch sticks but he did not want to know about the rabbits. Then we found the perfect dog — a wired haired terrier that lived on the Bromyard Road. He would chase and catch rabbits all day long. I often wonder what his owners thought if ever they saw us as we enticed him away to come rabbiting, but we were never challenged.

As I have said, Mrs. Partridge was used to boys. She always asked where we had been, but I don’t think she really cared as long as trouble didn’t come home with us. She always accepted the rabbits and pigeons we brought home with us. At the top of the garden, she kept pigs — the feeding and cleaning of which was one of my jobs. The neighbour objected to them being there but could do nothing about them. Anything we could do that would upset the neighbour was okay with Mrs. Partridge.

The evening papers that were sold in the shop had to be collected from the station. This was another of our jobs. Tenbury, like everywhere was subject to a strict blackout. Two of us, and sometimes the three of us would fetch the papers. We had to deliver one to the tap room at the Rose and Crown. I can see it now — hot and smoky, logs burning in the black grate, the smell of beer and cider, men with gruff voices. Then in the winter, as we crossed the bridge in the darkness, we could hear the ice crashing against the buttresses.

I had a few minor brushes with the Sergeant Hollis of the local police forces — all for minor and trivial things. He had a son, aged about sixteen. He called me Slummy Brummie to which I objected. It resulted in a fight in the middle of Teme Street on a Sunday afternoon. Bert Partridge used to call us Brummagem Tykes but I never felt that it was offensive. He told me where to get the best sweet chestnuts from and where to go to dig pig nuts (a kind of wild carrot, which streams from watercress). He told me not to collect it if there were sheep or had been sheep recently in the meadow, in case of liver fluke. He brought me a plant — the juice of which cured the warts that covered the back of my left hand.

Bowkets, the butchers, is still there today opposite the round market. Next door on the right was the blacksmith’s shop. There were always horses being shod, and welding and repairing of farm machinery. Between the two, was a driveway to the rear of Bowket’s where the cattle, pigs and sheep were driven to be slaughtered. On Mondays, the shop did not open, but all the cooking and sausage making took place. After school, I would help with the sausage making and scrubbing out. I would go into the loft over the driveway to cut paper for use in the shop for the rest of the week, taking a hot pork pie with me as a bonus. I also had to deliver sheep’s heads to the kennels up at Kyre Bank. If the tongues and brains were still in, I would split the heads and take them to Mrs. Partridge.

About August, Mrs. Partridge told me she had got me a months work for the school holidays. It was booking for Mr. Knott in the hop fields. Mr. Knott’s men measured the hops in bushels from the picker’s cribs into huge sacks. I would enter the amount into the bosses’ book and onto the picker’s cards. It was hot, dusty work and took place about four times a day. I earned £26 for the months work, which was a huge sum of money to me. Mrs. Partridge made me buy some new cord breeches and boots. It also enabled me to come home for a weekend before school started again, but I had no job now.

I went to Morgan John’s where Winky Davis worked, but it wasn’t as an errand boy. He had a lot of pigs. It was my job to boil the swill, feed them, and clean and muck them out. Mr. Johns was not a generous man, and he expected too much work for the wages he paid.

Eric Dipper, who I think had recently been invalided out of the forces, had opened a greengrocers. Miss O’Conner told me that he needed an errand boy, and I got the job. Despite wrecking the front wheel of the bike in my first week, I stayed there until it was time for me to leave school, go home and start work.

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