大象传媒

I was 10 when war broke out, in fact I was with friends on Margate beach at the time. As I remember, it was 11 o'clock on Sunday morning, and straight away the air raid sirens sounded and wardens were quickly on the spot ushering us off the beach. We went to a friend鈥檚 boarding house near the harbour to get "under cover". What a start, and the war only minutes old. The all clear sounded shortly after. It turned out to a false alarm; it was only one of our reconnaissance planes approaching the coast. I think they got the hang of recognising enemy aircraft soon after that.

Nothing much happened for a while, apart from being issued with gas masks, and sticking tape on the windows to prevent flying glass ending your war prematurely. Gas mask practice was fun. We soon discovered that by trying to talk whilst wearing the perishing things made you sound like a cartoon character, or in other words, not to be taken too seriously. Thank goodness we were never called upon to really put them to the test.

By June 1940, I was now 11, my birthday being in January, it had been decided that children would be safer if we were removed to a presumably safer place in the country. I can鈥檛 remember the dates, but let us say the first half of June saw the first batch of evacuees leave for "safer climes". My parents had decided for some reason to keep us with them. "Us" being my older sisters, Phyl, older by 21/2 years, and my younger sister, Audrey, younger by 21/2 years. Phyl would tell you she is 2years 4 months older than me and Audrey 'ditto' is 2 years 3 months younger, but 21/2 years "roughly" has got me through so far, so why change. The second half of June saw the schools closing and the rest of us being got ready for despatching. The day came and we were duly assembled on Margate railway station. Gas masks in cardboard boxes with string attached hung round our necks, name tags pinned to our coats, in case we forgot who we were? Small cases with just the bare necessities in and presumably some sandwiches for the journey, although I can't remember them. I do remember though the crates of milk being loaded on to the train for us. The third of a pint bottles with a cardboard cap with a small round insert which was pressed in with a thumb or finger to make room for a straw. Lethal the were, for if one was a bit heavy handed, the milk would squirt out and cause havoc. I'm sure the teachers had training in mopping up as they seemed very good at it.

There were a few tears as was to be expected, but to the majority of us, I'm sure it seemed like the start of a great adventure. I'm not sure the parents would see it that way, as they were not allowed onto the platform. They could only wave good bye from behind railings. It must have been pretty awful for them.

At the end of a long journey we were taken to a church hall in Great Wyrley in Staffordshire. There we sat on wooden benches waiting to be taken to our various billets. Families were kept together as much as possible. The ladies attending to us were very king, and I can't remember being at all upset by the way were were being treated.

Eventually it was our turn, and we were taken to Landywood, which is the next village along from Great Wyrley. My sisters were to stay with the Willets' family in a miners cottage, and I was to stay with the Bickleys' next door which was also a miners cottage. As you may gather, Landywood was one of may mining villages dotted around the midlands in those days. It didn't bother me that I was separated form my sisters, after all the were only next door and I was going to be able to see them on a very regular basis. We were extremely lucky as both families were kindness itself. Unfortunately, not all the children were as lucky as us. Some found themselves being exploited, a case of what can the do for us rather thatn what can we do for them. Fortunately they were a minority, but it did happen.

My family was made up of Mr and Mrs Bickley and Jack their youngest son who was 17. The rest of the family was made up of Aaron their eldest son who was married and in the Airforce. Mary who was now Mrs Evans, married to another miner and Tom who was in the navy and married to Joan. This is important as all the family were to have a bearing on my life one way or another.

Only Mrs Bickley was at home when I was "delivered". She was a lovely lady and made such a fuss of me, but I could hardly understand a word she was saying, her boad midlands accent was more lika a foreign language to me. I soon got the hang of it however, just as well as she was asking me if I was hungry, and I was. Did I like egg and chips? yes please. And she served up, what I thought then, was the most enormous plate of egg and chips I had ever seen. I was a bit worried in case I was supposed to save some but I was assured that if I could eat it thein I should. So I did. Of all the meals I'd had before or since, that one just somehow, remains the most memorable.

My bedroom was in the back of the house overlooking the back garden and beyond that a field. I remember the floral curtains giving it a lovely cottagey feeling.

Very soon Jack had sorted out an old bike that was up in the shed and was doing it up for me. Hed had to fit blocks to the pedals so I could reach the saddle. My job was to rub down the wheels which I found pretty heavy going. This is where he had his bit of fun at my expense. He gave me some money to go accross the road to Hawksworths', the local sweet shop come genereal store to get some Elbow Grease , as that would soon get the rust off. Mrs Hawksworth let me down very gently, bless her, but she knew straight away who had sent me.

We went to Landywood junior school, which was only a short, walk away up Holly Lane. At first, us "Vacs" as we were known were kept together with our own teachers, but very soon we were integrated with the local children and were soon making new friends. The language problem didn't last for long, for children being adaptable as they are; we were soon talking like the natives. All part of the transition from living in a seaside tow to living in a midlands mining village.

We were regularly subject to air raids as there was a huge amount of industry in the midlands. Consequently we spent a lot of time in the shelters. In our back garden the men had built a brick shelter, partly sunk into the ground and circular in shape. Three families used it, the Bickleys' the Willets' and the Reaneys' who lived next door to the Willets'. I don't seem to recall the men being there with us perhaps they were of fire watching or something. It was during the hours spent there that I first learnt to knit. I can imagine the women getting together and saying, "How are we going to keep the kids amused". My efforts wouldn鈥檛 have won any medals as I was constantly passing mine over to one of the ladies to pick up the stitches that I seem to have dropped on the way. My friend Billy Reaney who was a year older than me, was rather more successful though, he completed a beautiful multi-coloured scarf. I know memories play tricks sometimes, but I swear that scarf was long enough to wrap round his neck two or three times and still have enough left to tuck into his waistband.

We could hear the muted sounds of anti-aircraft fire and probably bombs dropping, but it was more excitement that was felt rather than fear, and when a particularly loud "crump" was heard, we couldn't wait till mourning to go and search for shrapnel. That particular "crump" proved to be only two or three hundred yards form our school. Fortunately all it did was make a sizeable crater in a field and provide the opportunity to add to our collection of shrapnel.

Food didn't seem to be much of a problem. There must have been shortages but our table always seemed to be well supplied. Could it have been that we had a friendly poultry farmer who incidentally, I worked for on Saturday mornings for a while, and a friendly pig farmer in the village. There certainly was a great community spirit about the place.

I shall never forget the squeals coming from the pig farmers yard when it was slaughter time, but I still like pork. When it was harvesting time, particularly for potatoes and swedes, we would be given time off school to help gather them in. One of the treats for our labours was sitting round a boiler in a barn, which was boiling up scraps for pig food. Some of the small potatoes were fished out for us to eat; there were a lot of Oohs! Arghs! and Hars! for they were hot, but that didn't matter they tasted delicious.

I would like to record some of the things I remember about the members of the Bickley family. Aaron the eldest had a motorbike which he would take me for a pillion ride; I remember his leather coat which I would wrap my arms around and hang on like grim death. I couldn't get enough of that. Mary had a fur coat made of the rabbit skins that Mrs Bickley bred. He had some beautiful rabbits, another source of our food supply. Then there was Tom. He was what I would describe as a dapper man, always looked smart, especially in his sailor鈥檚 uniform, a bit like James Cagney in his movements. His wife Joan loved to set my hair. I had dark wavy hair in those days; nowadays I go in more for a polish than a set. She would set it in the marcelle wave style that the female film stars used to favour before the war, you could have cut your fingers on it, or so it seemed to me. I don's think I minded that much, although if I was going out to play afterwards I would ruffle it up while on the way out. I wasn't going to be seen like that.

Her mum, who we would cycle up to see now and again, always had a stone jar of ginger beer and a home made cake for us. Then there was Jack of course, he worked in a steel works in Willenhall and then joined the Airforce. He used to take me swimming regularly to Bloxwich Baths.

I shouldn't think there were any pithead showers in that day, for Mrs Bickley used to get the old tin bath ready in the kitchen for when Mr Bickley came home. We didn't have a bathroom; it was the kitchen sink or nothing. To cut his nail, Mr Bickley would hone his penknife to razor sharpness, and then cut them as though peeling an apple. I still shudder when I think of it. Mrs Bickley, bless her, suffered from in growing eyelashes, but it didn't stop her from being the hub of the family. Her stews, to my mind, were out of this world. There always seemed to be on simmering on the black leaded heart. So many fond memories.

After a while our parents came up from Margate to live near us, we didn't join them straight away as they stayed in rented rooms at first. Although Phyl must have done, because by then she had left school and was going out to work. All three of them worked at Josiah Parkes, the lock and key factory in Willenhall, but was now making munitions for the war. It is still there; presumably back to making locks and keys. Eventually our parents rented a house in Portobello and we joined them there. I left school at 14 and worked in a local garage until we returned home to Margate, late 43.

I suppose our education must have suffered to a certain degree, but that period, for me certainly, was an education in itself.

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