大象传媒

Evacuated to Dorset
The headmistress of the Holy Trinity Central School was making arrangements to move all the girls to Dorset and once again my father persuaded her to include my sister and I, once again she agreed.
I was really frightened as the threat of the German invasion became very real and in some ways I was glad to be going to the relative safety of Dorset, but I was also worried about leaving my parents.
What would happen to them if the house was flattened and the Germans came?
There was no time for delay or sentiment as our small suitcases were packed again, and we joined the ever-dwindling school for the rickety bus journey to Dorset.
Looking back, I am sure that my father had insisted that his daughters were billeted with non-smoking, tea-total, church-going people.
The more than middle-aged, childless couple to whom my sister and I were assigned certainly had all these qualifications but they clearly resented having to take us into their home. They hardly spoke to us, or even to each other and I don't think that they had ever smiled in their lives.
My sister and I kept our room tidy, made our beds, helped with the washing-up and dusting and were always polite, and well mannered at the table, but all our efforts to please were consistently met with cold resentment.
On our first day back to school and the only bathroom being on the ground floor, it was inevitable that we would both have to go up and downstairs a few times, and when we left the house the woman was clearly seething.
When we returned 'home' at teatime, we saw that she had nailed pieces of lino to cover the carpet on each step of the stairs. We were severely reprimanded for "chasing up and down the stairs like a herd of wild animals and it had to stop." This stern, God-fearing couple never once uttered a pleasant, kind word to us the whole time we were there.
There were now three schools sharing a building meant as one, and I remember the first school evacuated there wore red uniforms, and came from London. They were really rough and hated the newer schoolgirls on sight. The original school, already bulging, simply could not find the room for yet another school, but somehow we had to squash in, lacking the equipment left behind, and every facility at breaking point, toilets, space to eat, class-rooms.
The little education I had here was even worse than that I had been having at home.
My parents came to visit us for part of just one day in the Easter holidays (1941) calling for us at the house. The stern couple were just as cold and distant with my mother and father as they always were with us. My parents could see how unhappy we were and a few days after their visit we were told to pack our suitcases as we were moving.
We walked about 3/4 mile along a lane out of the town to a quaint, old house where we were greeted with smiles and welcoming hugs by what turned out to be the kindest, sweetest, happiest couple I had ever met, or have ever met since.
The house had no electricity so we used oil lamps, and no bathroom, just an outside toilet. It was just as if the house and this lovely couple had been caught in an Edwardian time warp.
Somehow, because we were so happy I suppose the lack of 'mod-cons' didn't seem to matter.
By the end of this summer term, the invasion threat had faded and my father decided that we should return home.

Moved again -- Tunbridge Wells
My father made arrangements for my sister and me to become pupils at the fee-paying Public Day School Trust for Girls from Blackheath, south London, which had been evacuated to join up with its 'sister school' in Tunbridge Wells.
September, 1941, wearing our second-hand uniforms, (there were not enough clothing coupons for new school outfits), we set off to receive the first proper education we had received for over two years.
To get to school my sister and I had to leave the house at 7 a.m. which meant getting up very early. We walked through the lanes and the fields to reach the station to catch the 7.40 a.m. slow, stopping train to Tunbridge Wells, where we alighted at 8.20 a.m. and began the 25 minute walk from the station on the edge of the town, to the town-centre and up a steep hill, arriving at the school at 8.45 a.m. where we stood outside waiting for the doors to open at 9.30 a.m.
The headmistress refused my father's request to allow us into school early. (The late start was because of disturbed nights due to air-raids and the late sunrise).
My father, being an air-raid warden, slept many nights a week in the sandbagged wardens' post in the pub, the safest place in Hever.
Despite my lack of proper schooling for the previous two years, I went straight into the 5th form, where, for the first time ever, I was the eldest in the class instead of being more than a year younger than most of the other pupils.
I discovered that ten months from the start of the first term the 5th form would be sitting Matriculation exams set by Cambridge University and considered to be much more difficult that the general School Certificate which most grammar schools used. I also discovered that the course work took two years. Consequently, I had to borrow notebooks in every subject I was taking, and by myself, learn all the work covered in the 4th year as well as keeping abreast of the 5th year work and coping with the travelling and the disturbed nights.

Bombed on the Train
One late afternoon in early summer, 1942, when my sister and I were on the train returning to Hever we had another potentially dangerous experience.
Chugging along between stations in this rural area we heard the roar of a low-flying aircraft and the sound of machine-gun fire.
In a flash I realised that our train had to be the target of a German plane. I remembered that in films I had seen, if a gangster used a machine-gun, everyone threw themselves flat on the floor and I thought that was the best thing to do now. I yelled at my sister, "Get down on the floor!" Fortunately being the only passengers in our compartment we had the floor to ourselves. From experience, we knew that this plane could return again and again, which it did, spraying the length of the train with bullets.
As I lay on the floor I remember worrying about the poor driver, who would have to keep the train moving and had no protection at the sides of his cabin. I also remember being horrified at how filthy the compartment floor was and huge amount of litter under the seats. I then worried at how angry our mother would be if we got our clothes dirty.
How strange that when I could be killed at any moment, I was worrying about my dusty clothes.
Eventually the plane flew off and we got up off the floor to spend the rest of the journey brushing each other down. We told my mother that our train had been machine-gunned but she didn't seem that interested. No one had been killed or injured, that time.

Starting College and Work
I took seven subjects for the Matriculation exams and achieved very creditable results considering the disruption in my education, the difficult journey to and from school every day and the disturbed nights. For once my father seemed pleased with my exam results.
At 18 years of age, all young women had to work or train in an essential service vital to the war effort. The choice was limited to one of the following: - the women's branch of one of the armed services - the ATC. Army,WAAF, RAF or the WRNS, a branch of the medical profession, becoming a Land Army Girl, working as a farm labourer, in a factory, producing goods for the war effort, such as munitions, tanks, planes, etc., or becoming a teacher.
I wanted to train as a physiotherapist but my father found that the course fees were too expensive and my mother discouraged me saying, with a shudder, "Oh, you don't want to do that! You don't know what awful person you might have to touch!"
I agreed to do a two-year teaching course, which was all my father could afford.
He was adamant that I could not join the WAAF's. or take up any of the other options and certainly, I did not want to work in a factory or on the land.
Without consulting me, I was informed by my father that I would be going to the teacher training college in Bromley, Kent.
I never looked 'Bromley' up on a map or I would have seen that it was located closer to London than Croydon, which had nearly been obliterated by bombing because it had a huge railway junction where trains from the south-east cries-crossed each other on their way into London's mainline stations.
This college had re-located from Chichester because the RAF. had compulsorily taken over their buildings as a radar-tracking station with accommodation for the staff.
The original college in Bromley had been evacuated to a safer area and the empty building had been designated a Rest Centre for people whose homes had been bombed, whenever the need arose.
The college was allowed to use the building that is until it was required as a Rest Centre, when the students would have to staff it. However, no one had thought through the logistics of this as became apparent later.

Training to be a Fire Watcher
In the first few weeks all the new students had a training session about our duties, should the college suddenly have to become a Rest Centre.
We received training as firewatchers, training to deal with incendiary bombs.
In small groups we had to go up onto the vast expanse of flat roof where the elderly caretaker taught us how to use a stirrup pump in order to extinguish an incendiary bomb.
Working in teams of three, the first person's job was to keep up the supply of full buckets of water; the second, worked the pump, while the third had the most dangerous job of actually tackling the blaze using the hose from the pump.
One had to lie in a prone position with legs apart, holding the hose in one hand with the arm fully extended vertically so that the water was directed downwards.
We all had to take turns at each job. At the time of this training session it didn't occur to any of us that if we did have to tackle an incendiary bomb it would be during an air-raid on an exposed roof of a three storey building where there could be a number of bombs scattered across its huge expanse.
Only too soon, my turn came around to be on fire watch duty.
At dusk we had to report to a sand-bagged ground floor room wearing Wellington boots, a mackintosh, warm clothing,and carrying a torch.
A member of the college staff issued us with heavy metal helmets and our instructions for the coming night through to 7.30 a.m. the next morning only if there was an "All Clear" operating.
In pairs, on the hour, every hour, we had to walk around the entire building checking every window to ensure that no cracks of light were visible. If we spotted one we had to work out which room it was, go into the building to find the room, adjust the blackout and then go outside again to check no light was visible. It was tedious and time consuming but we knew that it had to be done.
Providing there were no early air raids, we did not go to the sandbagged room until ten pm. where we slept on camp beds.
The second the air-raid warning went we rolled off the camp beds, put on our macs, boots and tin hats and remained awake, on duty until everyone was back in the building after the "All Clear" sounded.
Our first responsibility was to guide the students from the dark hallway across the path into the air-raid shelters. It seemed that when falling asleep there was part of everyone's brain that was listening for the siren and as soon as it sounded one was instantly awake.
Every student, was responsible for ensuring that the students in the rooms either side of them were awake and getting up, and only then did they pull on a jumper over their pyjamas trousers and put on a dressing gown. Sleepy and tousled, they grabbed a pillow and an eiderdown, came downstairs, and went out to the very dimly lit, dank, freezing cold shelter, to try to get some rest on the metal bunk beds.
Meanwhile, the firewatchers had to go through the whole building to ensure that everyone was out. We would hear bombers going over and returning, bombs exploding, and the deafening sound of nearby anti-aircraft guns. If there were a lull, we would go up to check the roof for incendiaries and do a check of the building from the grounds.
These checks had to be made at intervals even if there was no lull, which could be quite nerve-wracking.
In some ways, whether on duty as a fire-fighter or not, the worst nights were when there were several short air-raids so everyone was having to drag themselves in and out of bed, up and down to the shelters, doing all the checks over and over again with no time to snatch any sleep.
Whatever sort of night we had all staff and students alike carried on as normal with the next day's timetable.
We still expected breakfast, meagre though it was, even though the domestic staff had little sleep as well. However hard it was we had to think positively: the building had not been bombed and we were all still alive so we had to be grateful for that.

Nearly crushed during an air-raid
My best friend at college was Dora. One Saturday during the winter of 1944 Dora's elder brother, Eddie, who was in the RAF, arranged to meet her in London on his way through to Hitchin on weekend leave. I was invited to join them, and we sat chatting in a cafe and then decided to go to a cinema in Leicester Square.
Halfway through the programme the film stopped, there was a groan from the audience and the house lights went on. A notice appeared on the screen telling us that an air raid was in progress and anyone wishing to leave should do so now.
Along with most of the audience we decided to see the rest of the film.
At the end we emerged from the fantasy world of the cinema into the reality of the air raid.
The wide beams of the searchlights lighted the sky as they waved to and fro, lighting up the enemy bombers as they flew lower to drop their bombs. Anti-aircraft guns were firing at them with brilliant flashes of light and ear-splitting noise, as bombs were exploding.
We ran as fast as we could to Leicester Square underground station, grateful to be going down into the 'bowels of the earth'.
We were going to Charing Cross station where we had to change to the overland train for Bromley. Although Eddie had to get to Kings Cross he came with Dora and me to see us onto our train back to college. We alighted at Charing Cross underground station but we were surprised to hear the staff calling "All change" turning everyone off the train, telling them that the train stopped there as no trains went under the Thames during an air raid, something that we didn't know. The train was very full so it was an unusually large crowd of people who swarmed up the escalator and headed, as we were doing, for the passageway that led onto the forecourt of the main-line station. It was here in the narrow passage that a life-threatening situation arose.

Dora, Eddie and I got into the passage but the people at the entrance would not leave because of the ferocity of the air raid.
More people pressed into the passage, some just wanting to get out to catch their trains or to walk over the river, others just being pushed from behind by the passengers being disgorged from the trains that went no further.
Eddie was able to push Dora and me against the passage wall and facing us with his feet apart he put his hands on the wall either side of us.
As the crowd packed tighter and tighter into the restricted space, Eddie braced his body against the ever-increasing pressure, but for how much longer?
I was really frightened as were others of being crushed to death. People were shouting and screaming as more people pushed from behind and then suddenly, like a cork shooting out of a champagne bottle, the people at the entrance gave way.
Carried along by the crowd we made our way out, glad to be alive and so grateful to Eddie whose quick thinking and physical strength kept us alive.

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