大象传媒

I was seven when the war started and my first memories were of the radio. We lived in a very happy, relaxed family atmosphere, but even as a child I felt that tension building up. As soon as the wireless was switched on for the news there had to be absolute silence. I did not understand what war could be: looking back now I can understand why my parents were so anxious as they had lived through the First World War. To think that within 20 years such a thing was going to happen again, they were very frightened. There was talk of evacuation but I did not understand what that meant. We had practised at school, before war had even broken out, going into shelters and putting gas-masks on: it was an awful feeling putting this rubbery thing over your face. This was at the end of August so people were obviously expecting the war to happen.

The day of the evacuation finally came. We left on the Friday and I remember my godmother saying to me: 鈥淒on't worry, you'll be back in time for Sunday school鈥�, and I believed her. I was not at all worried because I had my older sister with me. She was only 10 years old, but to me she was like a substitute mother. I remember wondering why all the other children were crying. We left from school (Canning Street School in the West End of Newcastle), and I was sent up from the Infant's to the Junior's to be with my older sister. We marched down to get the tram along Elswick Road to the railway station, then got on the train, and many of the parents and the children were crying. I just could not understand why as I thought this was the biggest adventure of my life and I was really looking forward to it. We had our bag with our change of clothing in, gas masks and our labels tied on to our coats. It was my first time on a steam train so that was exciting for me. I remember being told not to put your head out the window: ofcourse there were naughty boys on the carriage who did exactly that, who when the teacher came back sat down in their seats pretending that they had not. But ofcourse their faces were all black from the engine soot so it gave them away.

After what seemed like a very long journey we reached Carlisle. We got out of the train and into a bus, which took us to a small town called Wigton, where there was another school (Nelson's School) prepared: they greeted us with refreshments and gave us another carrier-bag of rations. But to us it was just an extra thing to carry. It was a very hot summer's day and by this time I was exhausted. Having to get on another bus, I was not very happy about that. I remember the heat and the congestion, and it seemed a long journey out to the village where we were going to be billeted. We had met at Nelson's School the billeting officer who was to be in charge of our group, and we had with us a very young teacher called Miss Bell. She was only 20 at the most so she must have just come out of college, and I think it must have been an enormous responsibilty for a young girl to have to look after all these children on that long journey. She was a lovely person and as a child I admired her greatly, she was my idol. The billeting officer, Mr Maxwell, took a fancy to my sister and I. My parents always dressed us the same: we both had on green hats and coats, and Mr Maxwell said that he would have the two little girls in green. I did not realise what he meant by that, but it meant that he had chosen us to be his evacuees. We got to the church hall of this little village of Dundraw, and we sat waiting for the villagers to come and decide who they wanted to take home. Because Mr Maxwell had put us aside and said that he wanted us two, nobody even came to look at us. I began to think that everybody was going to have a bed for the night apart from my sister and I, and I was becoming very worried, as I did not realise that Mr Maxwell had said he wanted us. Anyway it soon became evident, and we had to walk to where he lived. It really was not a great distance, but to a child, at the end of a very long day, it seemed like an eternity 鈥� and it was up a hill. There was another elderly gentleman (looking back now I would say he looked like he was from a Charled Dickens novel), and he came and offered Mr Maxwell and his two little evacuees a lift in his car. I think it was just a little Austin but to me it could have been a Rolls Royce, I was so grateful for not having to walk up that hill.

He lived at a mill. I remember getting out of the car and being so impressed by the little mill cottage, which was an absolute picture. I thought I was in heaven! There was no electricity (we had electricity at home), so we were given a candle which was put at the head of the stairs so that it shone through the bedroom door. We were given five minutes to get into bed, because after five minutes the candle would be taken away and we would be left in the dark. Through the night I remember hearing an owl hoot. My father, at home, had often imitated the sound of an owl for some reason. I immediately jumped out of bed and ran to the window, thinking that my father was outside. My sister explained to me that it was a real owl. That was a big disappointment: the first pang of homesickness.

The following days we explored the mill, which was such a wonderful world 鈥� I can still today smell the corn and hear the grinding. When the machine was not working Mr Maxwell allowed us to go into the mill and he showed us round. The machinery was enormous, and there was a stream nearby which turned this huge waterwheel. Everything was so green and beautiful compared to the back-lane where I had come from. It was a world of wonder to a child of seven.

There was no running water so we had to go across two fields to bring buckets of water from the spring 鈥� that was how we made ourselves useful. If you had a bath you did not use this precious spring water, so we used the rain water: the bathroom was a wooden hut at the side of the house and the rain barrel was alongside it. I remember the bath being full of midgies and flies.

I do not remember much about the lady of the house, Mrs Maxwell, but my sister tells me that she always blamed anything that went wrong on the 鈥渆vacuees鈥�. She had grandchildren of her own, and naturally she looked to them first. They were not blamed for anything, although according to my sister they were very naughty children.We were there for about six weeks but then it became too difficult for her. They were not a young couple, and to take on these children was a wonderfully magnanimous gesture. I was a 鈥渨et-the-bed鈥� and this is why my mother had never allowed me to leave home before. So poor Mrs Maxwell, not having a washing-machine, and not even having running water, found this too much of a problem, and wanted us moved on. I do not remember being worried about this but my sister was, and she wrote home to tell my parents. She must also have told the teacher who was looking after us because she too was very worried and was desperately trying to find someone else who would take me. The family she was staying with must have seen how worried she was. She at that time was sleeping in a single bed in their bathroom, while the daughter of the family had a double bed in another bedroom. So they said that if she was willing to share a double bed with their daughter, then we as evacuees could sleep in this single bed in the bathroom until she could find another billet for us.

So this is what happened. It was a bit of a squash but we managed. It must have not been very pleasant for my sister 鈥� looking back I feel very strongly for her, having to share the bed with me. Although we were not in the single bed the whole time, we ended up staying there for two years. That was another different world: from a mill to a farm, where there were all these lovely animals. You would find a cat that had just had a litter of kittens, and there were puppies and calves, chicks, horses. I remember going out in the harvest fields and watching the harvester. They had bicycles which we were allowed to ride. One of our jobs was putting the hens to bed at night so that the foxes would not get them.We would also go and collect the eggs and feed the pet lambs and the new-born calves. That was wonderful 鈥� it gave me a love of animals. I was just so happy in this environment. Another job we did not like was peeling potatoes. There were actually nine of us on the farm: the teacher, the two evacuees, there was five in the family, plus a live-in workman. So there were nine people to peel potatoes for every day. The potatoes had come straight from the field so they were all muddy and dirty, and at that point I was not used to putting my hand into anything that was dirty. I had a terrible fear of spiders and beetles, which ofcourse there were lots of. Now I can peel potatoes with my eyes shut! We had to go out and collect kindling for the fire because there was no central heating. The farm had running water but no electricity, so we used oil lamps to move about the steading at night. The toilet was in the garden, and to get to the garden, you had to cross the farmyard and go through the pig-sty with all the pigs snorting away. It was a flush-toilet but being in the garden, it was always covered in spiders and spiders' webs. So it was no wonder that my bed-wetting problem was made worse rather than better, as I was mortally terrified to go the toilet on a dark winter's night.

The food was excellent. The problems with rationing that we had to deal with when we came back were non-existant, and I appreciate the difficulty my mother had trying to feed a family with the rations that were allowed. On the farm they made their own butter, they had their own milk, their own eggs, and they killed their own pigs for bacon and hens when they wanted chicken. They were wonderful cooks 鈥� both the mother and the daughter. I can remember now sitting at that table having the most wonderful meals. Bramble pie 鈥� we used to have to go out and collect the brambles but we enjoyed doing that. But we were made to work and I think that is excellent training for young children. It was necessary and it gave me the feeling that I was helping, even though I was only a child.

We started off the new term at the village school, having to share the school with the village children. They went in the mornings and we went in the afternoons. There were only two rooms, and there was a blazing fire in the winter. I do not know why, but after some time it was decided that we had to go to a school in Wigton. So we had to walk to the bus-stop in the morning (a journey just under a mile), next to which was a blacksmith's shop, and I remember watching the horses coming in to be shod 鈥� another wonderful world. There was also a joiner's shop, and the joiner was the first man I saw with a biro: I remember him taking this pen out of his pocket, and saying 鈥淵ou've never seen a pen like this before鈥� - we had still been using the nibs.

Sadly my sister did not like the country life. When we wrote home, out letters were scrutinized by the family before being sent, so when we were given them to post, she would lift up the flap of the envelope and write 鈥淲e want home鈥�. Eventually my parents got the message so we went home. I would have happily stayed much longer but my sister did not settle. It is likely that more was expected of her as she was older, which may be the reason.

When we came home I went back to the school I was at before. I think I was aware of how different it was. Here you never saw a banana, very few sweets. It must have been a struggle although I had a mother who was good at improvising. Occasionally the air-raid siren would go, and the first time it went after I came home I was so excited: I remember my father being very angry because I did not go straight into the shelter. I was puzzled by his anger as to me it was just an exciting episode. I remember my mother carrying the budgie in his cage. I was not really afraid, because as a child I did not understand the threat and because my parents tried not to show the fear. One night when there were bombs dropped at the top of our street and one hit the cinema, I was lying in bed and I remember the sound of it and the flashes of light through the bedroom window. I think that did instill a certain fear into me: by that time I was coming to realise what war meant. There was still this insistence on silence when the radio was switched on. On the way to school I used to regularly see a man walking down the street, who in my mind was a German soldier, and I was terrified 鈥� I would cross the street so that I did not have to pass him. Many years afterwards I discovered that what he was in fact was an RAC man: that RAC uniform had put the fear of God into me!

I remember being in the school hall when the war ended. It was announced and we were given the rest of the day off. I could see the adults were very relieved but as a child it really did not register very much. Then there were all the street parties when we would put all the flags and tables out, filling the back-lanes to celebrate. But it is only in subsequent years that I came to realise what that war cost. I consider myself extremely fortunate that I got through without the trauma that so many others went through. I was also fortunate that my father was in neither wars: he was too young for the first one, and during the second he was a policeman so he could not join the forces.

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