大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Elizabeth Perez of Stockport Libraries on behalf of Elizabeth Chapman and has been added to the site with her permission. She fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

One day there was a rat-tat-tat at the door. We were not particularly expecting anyone that afternoon, so it was with surprise that we saw a tin-hatted official at the door. He introduced himself as the Billeting Officer for the area. Would we, could we possibly take a lady and a little girl, both victims of the London Blitz? Their home had been totally demolished and they had nowhere to go. They had arrived with a large group of "Evacuees" from the much-bombed capital. He begged us to try and find room, as the situation was quite desperate. Well, . . . we did have a fairly large box-room! He seized on this eagerly. If it would take a bed, that would do. The little four-year old could temporarily sleep with her mother until something better could be found. What could we say in the face of such a plea?

The following day the Billeting Officer reappeared with a Mrs. Gates and her little daughter, Jeannette, from Bermondsey. My mother had arranged a spare bed in the box-room and there was a small dressing table chair, so the sleeping arrangements were reasonably good. Mrs. Gates turned out to be a very easy-going cockney, definitely born with in the sound of Bow Bells, who, despite the bombing, seemed exceptionally cheerful. Her little daughter, Jeannette, was a very slight, dark-skinned child with enormous eyes. She was very shy and clung closely to her mother. It appeared that Mrs. Gates also had a teenage daughter who was "billeted" a few houses away, so she regularly disappeared to see how the older daughter was faring! We all pooled rations; the meals were arranged to mutual satisfaction and life moved along reasonably smoothly.

It is strange how little incidents stick in one鈥檚 memory sometimes much more than big ones. For instance, the house in which we were living at the time was on the edge of wild meadowland. It was July and here and there in the fields grew great clumps of purple loosestrife, sometimes known as rose bay willow herb. In the north, this plant is always regarded (rather sadly) as a most obnoxious weed and efforts made to speedily remove it. But Mrs Gates coming right from the middle of London had never seen this plant before. So one afternoon, she went out and returned to the house bearing armfuls of this loosestrife and proceeded to fill every vase and container she could find to contain her display of 鈥渓ovely flowers鈥�! It is interesting to note that subsequently, on many of the London bombsites, this plant took root and began to flourish. The Londoners called it 鈥渇ireweed鈥� in memory of the bombing!

Along with evacuees from London came a number of people from the Channel Islands. These islands had been occupied by the Germans and tragically many of the islanders had vanished without trace under the Nazi regime. There were two young Guernsey evacuees whom I came to know quite well. One was a little girl some four or five years younger than myself, who was billeted with the family, who lived across the road from our house. It appeared, very tragically, that everyone in Guernsey belonging to this child had 鈥渄isappeared鈥�. She was only eight years old. She was eventually adopted by a very wealthy lady who lived in the Cheshire countryside, so there was a happy ending to that sad story! Another Guernsey evacuee was a really beautiful young girl who was also 220;billeted鈥� nearby. The lady of the house came to treat her as a daughter, and the son of the house fell in love with her! She had a grand birthday party arranged for her during her stay, and despite the rationing, no effort was spared. The party was really something!

Our Mrs. Gates received letters regularly from her husband, who was doing the best he could to get some kind of a home together against the day when the family managed to get together again. Poor man, he had lost everything. His house had gone. His place of work had been bombed. How he survived things we just didn't know! He travelled up to Stockport from London one bitterly cold winter's day to see his wife and family. We managed to find more room for him and he stayed a few days. Dad gave him an overcoat and a couple of sweaters to travel home in. Everything, including all his clothes, had gone up in the "blitz"!

In all, the evacuees must have stayed in our area for approximately six months to a year, certainly not longer. They were all anxious about remaining relatives in the south and one by one they went back to attempt to rebuild their homes and lives.
We never forgot them! In fact it was a memorable time for us all in those days.

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