大象传媒

I was thirteen years old when the first alarm bells rang in my head. Mr. Chamberlain had returned from Munich with Hitler鈥檚 promises and Beverley Nichols had written in the Sunday Express that;
鈥淲e would not, now have to put ugly gas masks on our childrens鈥� faces.鈥�
My family was living in Liverpool, near my maternal grandparents, in temporary exile from Yorkshire. Soon the Barrage Balloons were going up on practice sessions, shelters were dug in the parks, and the talk was of the evacuation of the children. Some, were to be sent as far away as Canada. Grandad said,
鈥淭hey will get here.鈥� (Meaning the German bombers).
So, I clung more tightly to mother鈥檚 arm when we were out and watched closely, the preparations for war.
The teachers and pupils of my school departed to Wales, but I was to go as 鈥榤other鈥� to a 鈥楯ust William鈥� type of brother aged nine and a younger sister, who was not quite six years old. I was obliged to join their school evacuation scheme.
On Sunday morning 3rd September 1939, we marched in 鈥榗rocodile鈥� to Central Station Liverpool, between rows of weeping mothers. The newspaper placards announced: 鈥榃AR DECLARED鈥�.
The train took hours to cover the few miles to our secret destination, which turned out to be a rural village near Southport. It was not until the next day, that our Liverpool families knew where we had been taken.
When we arrived, we stood in small groups in the church hall whilst the good people of the village looked us over. I wondered if we would we be the last chosen? Or perhaps, (horror of horrors), driven round the village to unwilling foster parents. Or even sent back home. The last thought was becoming more attractive by the minute, but no, a man who introduced himself as Mr. Brown, had spotted Pat as a suitable 鈥榣ittle sister鈥� for his son James, who was seven years old, and stepped forward to claim her. However, he had not considered my role as mother and fortified by the instructions given before I left home.
I said. 鈥淪orry no. Not without me.鈥�
To his credit, he quickly decided to take both of us and also transported my brother David and his friend to stay with his neighbour who was a widow. She must have asked for boys and she certainly got two characters.
Our upbringing had been, what today would be called laid back, but was then probably called relaxed and easy, based on love and kindness. It was a hard act to follow for anyone. Mrs. Brown was an ex-teacher and a strong disciplinarian. My letters home, (five and six pages long), were written in pencil and illustrated this.
鈥淧lease send the curlers to curl my hair under, or Mrs. Brown says she will have it cut off.鈥�
Mrs. Brown says:
鈥淲hen school starts I must be in bed for 8.30pm.鈥� (That鈥檚 the worst of being with a school teacher, isn鈥檛 it?)
鈥淧at is eating well, dinners and puddings. She is not allowed to eat many sweets.鈥� I had to stop washing our white socks in the bathroom basin, as this was a waste of soap. They must wait for the weekly wash. Now I wonder how many pairs of socks we had.
The letters also contain examples of how far money went in those days.
鈥淏ought a 2d tin of Zinc Ointment for David鈥檚 grazed knees.鈥�
鈥淕ave David 6d to get his hair cut.鈥�
Special problems arose because we were so close to Liverpool. It was tempting for parents and grandparents to visit at weekends. Mother wrote to me asking:
鈥淪hould Grandad come and see us at the weekend.鈥�
But in my fourteen year old wisdom, I reply saying:
鈥淣o, nice as all this is, if the young ones saw him, they would want to come home.鈥�
I was painting the clouds with sunshine for the benefit of my family, for in truth I wasn鈥檛 all that happy myself. My brother David and his pal seemed content enough, and spent time on a local farm. However, David did tell me that when he saw Lewis鈥檚 Liverpool van parked outside a house in the village, he was tempted to stowaway amongst the parcels. He was confident that he could find his way home once back at the big city store.
Everyone in the village tried to be kind to the evacuees. One of my letters reads:
A lady across the road beckoned to me last night to go into her house. She gave us a doll, a lovely tea-set for Pat to play with, comics, a few novelties and three nice books for me to read. This kind soul had one daughter and one girl evacuee, but was worried about us not having girls things to play with in a house with just one small boy.

The sun shone day after day in a clear blue sky, which was just as well. Children were told at school, not to take their visitors to the foster homes, but to arrange to meet them somewhere outside. Now I can appreciate that the villagers could not be expected to open their houses to strange adults, having plenty of extra work with their 鈥榮trange children鈥�.
In the end it was sister Pat and young James Brown together, catching a childhood illness that precipitated our return to Liverpool. I made the decision to go home. Mr. Brown managed somehow to find petrol for his car for the evening journey. He took us to our door where we arrived to a joyous reception - shortly before the telegram announcing our return - which I had sent earlier in the day.
Life, (and death), then went on in spite of the war. Sadly, Grandad died in May 1940, and as it was still during the time of the 鈥榩honey war鈥� he died before we had to endure the nightly air raids which he had forecast. My school was still in Wales of course, so I wrote to the Education Office for permission to leave school and start work. The younger children were taught in the living room of our house by teachers not involved in Evacuation Schemes.
I started work in the office of a high-class baker and confectioner, situated near the lovely Anglian Cathedral. It was here that I first learnt to use the telephone. Today this may seem surprising, but I hadn鈥檛 grown up with a house telephone, (unlike my four year old niece, who was taking messages at her father鈥檚 driving school before she could write).
Orders came through on the telephone from the branch shops for wedding and birthday cakes, and I was taught that messages must be correctly taken and written down, then read back to the shop manageress. It wouldn鈥檛 have done at all, if the icing on the cake had been the wrong colour or held the wrong number of candles or the caption read: 鈥淗appy 6th Birthday.鈥� instead of 60th.
In the bakehouse, wearing a tall white hat and making chocolate eclairs was Frederick Ferrari, later to become famous on the 鈥榳ireless鈥� as a singer with Charlie Chester. We had the pleasure of his singing voice as he worked, and indeed sometimes he would sing our favourite songs on request.
April 1940 saw my confirmation at Christ Church, Liverpool, by the Bishop of Warrington.
I bought a bicycle through a mail order catalogue, for 2/- per week and spent many happy hours in the lovely Princes and Sefton Parks. On one or two memorable occasions, we spent Sundays in Wales, having first taken the ferry across the Mersey. I paid 拢5 altogether, for the bike, and this was the price I received when I decided to sell it after the war. And this, after my young brother and sister had both learnt to ride it. The condition must have been decidedly second-hand.
After Grandad died, my uncles wanted all of us to move house and live near them in the comparative safety of Yorkshire, but Grandma dug her heels in and said:
鈥淚 can鈥檛 possibly leave my little home.鈥�
One could see her point, as she had come to it as a bride and brought up her three children. They all married Yorkshire people and up and left for Keighley and Bradford. In the end, as you will see, only our lives counted when the 鈥榗runch鈥� came. We were soon spending our nights, either in Grandma鈥檚 air raid shelter or she came and shared ours.
Later, when we grew weary of sitting upright for half the night, every night. We took beds into the cellar, and rested on those. Grandma always sat upright and knitted, only dropping stitches if a bomb fell close by. We were in this cellar when a stick of oil bombs, intended no doubt for the nearby docks, left a trail of blazing houses: One immediately in front of us and one behind. When the 鈥楢ll clear鈥� sounded, we crawled into our upstairs beds amongst the broken glass of the windows, and then Grandma said:
鈥淚f I am alive in the morning, I will go to Bradford to my son and take the two youngest children with me.鈥�
This is exactly what she did.
Within a few weeks, relatives found a house in Keighley large enough to hold us all, plus the furniture from two homes. Later, it was large enough to take a great aunt, aged eighty years, who came out of the London Blitz to our haven, bringing yet more furniture! With great difficulty, mother and I were able to book a removal van, empty two houses, and follow the others to safety. I remember we were allowed to travel through from Liverpool to Keighley in the cab with the driver, (this surely must have been a wartime concession).
Now, we were all together, and I was back in the town of my birth. A new job would have to be found, probably war work, as the end of the war was still a long way off; but in the meantime, I was full of the joy of things to come, and it was bliss to have a full night鈥檚 sleep again.

Nesta Hoyle.
Longlee. Yorkshire.

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