大象传媒

It had been hard work but I thought I'd made it. Those were my feelings as a 14 year-old in Lancaster, Lancashire in early 1944. I'd been there for nearly 3 years, much the longest period of the three places I had been evacuated to; Thorpeness in Suffolk in 1939, Ilfracombe in Devon in 1940, a year in London and then the neighbours of my aunt in Lancaster in 1941.

I started at the local Elementary school. I was nearly twelve and the leaving age was fourteen. In terms of quality education, Elementary schools compared with their successors, the Secondary Moderns, as the Secondary Moderns did with say, Eton or Winchester. At first, life was very difficult. As a lone, cockney boy I had to contend not only with the local lads but also with the "official" evacuees who had arrived some time before me from Salford in Manchester.

I was fortunate in that I discovered during those first few months that I had a talent for accents and mimicry and in the main it was to this that l owed my survival. Wherever I was -a Salford family invited me to their home, I had relatives in Liverpool and twice a year I went to London -at these times -like a verbal chameleon I could switch on those dialects whenever I chose.

"Dost tha' know?", "D'y'know?" or "Jew know?" certainly helped but - I was small for my age, not very strong, wore glasses that John Lennon would have deeply envied and I needed something else.

Then I found it - I could play football. Not aggressively or energetically even but I could score goals.

I had two brothers, Bob and Eddie, and a sister, Betty, all in the R.A.F. and my younger sister was staying a few doors away with my aunt. My parents came up to see us from time to time but I was starting to lose touch with my London friends and Lancaster was becoming my home. My hosts, John and Mary Holmes had a son in the Army and a daughter of eight and I now acted and felt like one of the family. As I said at the beginning, it had been hard work but I thought I had come through.

Then, one early spring Saturday morning the whole world about me collapsed. Flushed with success from one of those football games I bounced into the house to be met with an atmosphere of overwhelming tension. Mr and Mrs Holmes were seated, my parents stood awkwardly and it was an age before anyone spoke.

"We've packed your things John. Now say thank you to Mr and Mrs Holmes for all that they've done for you."

My mother said all this looking out of the window.

"What dost tha' mean?"

With my mother I usually spoke in a cockney accent but what she was saying I could not understand.

"We're taking you home, John."

"Taking me home? I don't know what you're talking about,"

"Well why did you send it then?"

"Send what?"

She thrust a crumpled piece of paper into my hand. It was a telegram and it read: COMING HOME SATURDAY. STOP. CAN'T STAND IT HERE ANYMORE. STOP. JOHN.

"I never sent this!"

"John -you must tell us the truth. Bob came home on leave yesterday - but when we got this - we were so upset we left him and came up on the overnight train. We've talked with Mr and Mrs Holmes and we've all agreed it's best we should take you home."

I looked at Mr and Mrs Holmes. They stared back, uncomprehendingly, a deeply wounded bewilderment clouding their eyes. Three years of a loving welcoming acceptance into their family was ending with this cold, brutal slap in their faces. I knew I must say something, convince them that it was all untrue, tell them I loved them as much as I loved my own parents but all the things I wanted to say were drowned in the flood of tears that engulfed me and I fled from the room.

We spent the night at the County Hotel near the station and caught the morning train home. Like all Sunday journeys in wartime it was slow and full of unexplained stops and my parents and I exchanged no words. At Euston station we were met by my brother, Bob and an old school friend of his. He greeted us cheerfully.
"You poor things! God -that must have been an awful trip! Oh - er Mum, Dad, John - this is Johnny Church - remember? Yes - of course you do - he just looks different in that Army uniform. And - er - Mum - you're not going to believe this - I hope it hasn't caused too much trouble but - you know that telegram? -'Coming home Saturday, can't stand it here anymore' - well - it was Johnny here who sent it - to me! Mind you - you can understand why. He's got this posting to some God - awful place right in the middle of Salisbury Plain - isn't that right Johnny?"

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