大象传媒

On September 3rd 1939 we all sat round the wireless with our friends Tony and Donald Leng, waiting for Mr Chamberlain's announcement. Finally, at 11 AM, we heard that we were at war with Germany. Mr Leng, who worked for Eagle Insurance in Brussels, came over to collect his boys who were due to go back to boarding school at Chigwell near London. He heard his family were being recalled to London immediately, and he wanted my parents also to go to England. But my dad worked with a Belgian company, he had few business contacts in Britain and a family of five still at home, so leaving was out of the question at that point. Meanwhile, my eldest brother Wilfred had already been in the RAF for one year as a Pilot Officer. My brother Jack soon joined up as an aircraftsman. My brother Peter was a student for the priesthood in England. So we settled back to family life until the tenth of May 1940, when my mother and my eldest sister planned to visit my brothers for two weeks. The bags were packed and a taxi ordered to take them to the station at 7:30 AM. At 5:30, Mary and I woke up to a strange loud but distant sound of aeroplanes. We popped out of bed and looked out of the front room window. From there we could see groups of stars that suddenly swooped down out of the sunshine causing loud bangs. We learned later that they were the German bombers attacking Brussels airport. We rushed into our parents bedroom, and then we all scrambled downstairs to listen to the wireless. The Germans had attacked Holland, Belgium and France. All able-bodied men were being called up and told to report at various points. The bombing continued. What was to happen to us? Mary, who was employed at the British Embassy, phoned her boss to ask for instructions. He told her to carry on with her holiday plans and to take her younger brothers and sisters with her and to get to England as quickly as possible. So we all started packing frantically. We girls just put on as many dresses as possible. We found every bag and rucksack and just stuffed in all the clothes we could, and by 7:30 we scrambled into the cab on the way to the Midi station and Ostend. My father followed on his bicycle as there was no room for him in the cab. On the way we passed bombed buildings and others on fire, but we caught the train and hoped to get the ten o'clock boat. But we were not allowed in the port as it had in mined in the night. So we tramped the streets trying to find accommodation. We found a small flat over a tobacconists shop, dumped our luggage and went to find the British Consulate, where they took our particulars and asked us to report each day. We would get instructions eventually. We tried to contact dad in Brussels, but all communications were cut. Gradually, more and more people arrived in Ostend. Some decided to carry on down the coast to French ports, and refugees from the border with Germany also started to pass through. There was a constant tramp of feet. People with carts, prams and anything they could find to carry their belongings away from the battle areas. Food was getting scarce, and no news of dad in Brussels or the boys in England, and no way of communicating with them. All the time, the bombing continued, especially near the port. Eventually, dad arrived - a kind person had called at our house in a car and offered him a lift to Ostend, where maybe he could find some news of the family. He went to the Consulate where he was informed of where to find us.

On Wednesday the 16th of May we heard that there would be a ship ready to take us to England. Only women and children were allowed on board, quietly in small groups. Eventually, when the boat was full we were told that we would be sailing that night. Unfortunately the Germans came and bombed the port instead. Early next morning during a lull in the bombing the captain told us to evacuate the ship quietly, obey instructions, leave all baggage behind and make our way to the beach a couple of miles out of town. We were allowed off one family at a time in an orderly manner, and assembled at an old ruined hotel where we were told to go to the cellar. My dad was at the gate of the port and ushered us away. Bombs were still falling and anti-aircraft guns were busy too, but we got safely out of town. Later the next Thursday in the morning the Admiral of the Fleet assembled us. He told us that the Navy and the Air Force were coming to see a safely to England. There were at least 2000 British people to be evacuated. We must follow instructions. So once more we tramped to the port in small groups under a thick black smoke screen. We made our way to the two troopships and, escorted by destroyers with a squadron of fighters above to protect us, we sailed off into the night to the port of Folkestone.

We were greeted in Folkestone by the WVS is a welcome the us with cups of tea and a biscuit. We were given rail vouchers to get to London where the Grosvenor Hotel at Victoria put a room at our disposal. We were able to have a wash and a short rest before making our way to Oxford. There we were met by Fr. Hillary OP who took us to the Dominican priory where we were given the best breakfast I have ever tasted, before going on to a new temporary home in Woodstock Road with an old maiden lady who did her best to make us welcome. We had no clothes, no money and in fact no possessions at all but we had each other which was all that mattered. We were never to see our old home again.

We were soon able to contact the Lengs who had arranged a welcome for us in Oxford, all but Jack who was over in France helping to keep our aircraft in the air to eventually cover the retreat from Dunkirk. But that's another story

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