´óÏó´«Ã½

It was the afternoon of 31st August 1939 and at the age of 12 and a half I had just moved up to the secondary department of Stirling High School.

No sooner had the first science lesson of the term begun when the teacher announced that there would be no school the following day and only part-time schooling for the foreseeable future.

The evacuation of children from Glasgow would be taking place the next day owing to the worsening political situation between Britain and Germany — there could be a war.

I was too young to understand the implications of such a threat but I knew it must be serious as the grown-ups were always discussing it.

My mother, a WVS member went to Stirling station early on Friday 1st September, to help place children in homes in the Stirling area, considered safer from enemy air attacks than the larger industrial Clydeside and Glasgow conurbation.

My parents decided to take four boys and preparations were hastily made for their arrival. We cleared most of the furniture from our large dining-room and were provided with mattresses and bedding by the local authority.

I was quite shocked when the boys arrived, although they were 13 to 14 years old they were stunted in growth, their clothes were ragged and smelly and their heads were lousy.

All their clothes had to be burned but we were able to obtain some from our neighbours who had three boys. Then, the boys had to be bathed, examined for infections and their heads shampooed for several days with a soap called Derbak to rid them of lice. I myself was infected.

Looking after four extra children was no easy undertaking. Fortunately we still had a living-in maid who was a great help to my mother with washing, cooking and cleaning.

These boys had come from the Gorbals, one of the poorest Glasgow districts. They were Catholic and attended the local Catholic school, St Modan’s High.

On the whole, they were very well behaved and amenable to the rules of the house. We learned that their diet had mainly consisted of white bread, margarine, jam and strong sweet tea, but when given nourishing soup they remarked "It’s no sa guid as ma maws" — (not so good as my mother’s)

Although visited by their parents from time to time, they became homesick as time went by. Our way of life was alien to them, they were missing their friends, their single-ends (one room dwellings) and the mean streets of the city.

The bombing of Glasgow did not take place that autumn and by December our evacuees had gone home.

This story was submitted to the People's war site by Sarah Shires (the volunteer) of the ´óÏó´«Ã½ Radio Shropshire CSV Action Desk on behalf of Margaret B. King (the author) and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

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