大象传媒

I was three years old when the second world war started, the youngest of five children living with our parents in Walthamstow in East London. My father was eventually called up and joined the Royal Artillery as a Gunner, although he did not see active service.

We were firstly evacuated to Kempston in Bedfordshire in early 1940. My mother, my sister and I stayed with Tommy Cork and his family and my two brothers went to Mr. and Mrs. Wildman, (uncle George and Aunty Liz),just down the road. Mrs. Wildman could only take two at this time because she had four children of her own, three of whom were adults. After a short time my mother felt she needed to go back to London so she could be there when my father was home on leave and Mrs. Wildman said she could take my sister but I was too young to be without my mother. After spending a few months back home, my mother was worried about my safety and Mrs. Wildman said she would take me as well. So began five and half happy years of being evacuated. Mr. and Mrs. Wildman were the kindest people you could imagine and we were treated the same as their own children, their youngest Brian was the same age as my youngest brother.

My brothers, my sister and I slept in two beds in the same room, my brothers were 10 and 9 and my sister 5, I was 4 at this time. I soon became a 鈥渃ountry girl鈥� and made friends, although at first us 鈥淟ondoners鈥� were accused of living by our fists. I started Up End school when I was 5, and the evacuees had separate classed with our own teacher. Life was good, I had cousins across the road and one the local farm and we were free to play in the fields and in the orchard of the Cryselco Electric Light Company, but we MUST NOT take the fruit from the trees, which we found delicious of course. There was a walled pathway in Kempston which led to a field where we played and later after the war where the fairs came at Easter, the walls bordering this pathway were of very soft bricks and we used to rub our pennies in the bricks to make them shine, we thought they would be worth more if they shone.

I remember on Sunday evenings we all used to go for a walk with Aunty and Uncle ending up at the Conservative or Constitutional Club for a drink, we sat in the Ladies Room with Aunty and had ginger beer and an arrowroot biscuit, the highlight of the week.

I suppose being so young, the war was something I did not really worry about, except that my dad was fighting Hitler (albeit he was stationed in England). I can remember going with my brother to the Off Licence (called the Jug) at theDuke public house to get a jug of beer for uncle, we took our own jug and of course often splilt some on the way home.

We often went to the shops for Aunty, Pearces was the local grocers and the butchers where we would ask if they had any offal, not on ration, or the wonderful treat of sausages. We used to the cinema occasionally for real treat, that is if my aunty could get there in time, she did love to stop and chat with people and we would ran back and forward urging her to 鈥渃ome on aunty鈥�, we will be late, I鈥檓 coming ducks she would say. I remember at least one occasion she chatted for so long we never reached the cinema that day.

Because we were, as I then thought, a long, long way from home, in the country, we were very excited for the weekends when our mum came to see us, I think about once a month. She always brought surprises, a new dress, shoes and I remember a beautiful bracelet made of silver threepenny pieces, dipped in gold for my sister and I. I don鈥檛 know what happened to mine. We sometimes went home for a few days and I loved the train journey to St. Pancras, the engines breathing fire and the station porters carrying peoples luggage, it seemed much a long way to travel, sometimes the train stopped long enough at Luton for us to get off and get a cup of tea and a biscuit. It seems strange now to think we were taken home for a few days holiday, in spite of the danger of bombs.

As the time went on I became a real Kempston girl accent and all, for which I suffered ad little bit of ridicule when I eventually returned to London. My uncle worked at the Cryselco factory as a foreman and he was in their fire brigade, we used to go and watch them practice in the fields attached to the factory. I think most local people worked there because at 5 o鈥檆lock the main road was full of bikes with people going home.

We had lovely Christmases with a Christmas tree which was planted back in the garden each year and eventually got very tall. We seemed to get many presents but I expect they were few by today鈥檚 standards.

We had a large garden and my uncle grew many vegetables and blackcurrants from which my aunty made a delicious jam. He also had an allotment and I loved to join him there and try to help.

I made two very good friends, Shirley Dynes and Jill Bull, Shirley and I are still in touch. We used to roam the fields and made friends with some Italian prisoners of war who worked on the local farms, we thought of them as men but probably they were just 18 to 20 years old. They made us rings and bracelets from what we called aeroplane glass, I don鈥檛 know if was indeed that.

I remember entering a fancy dress competition held in Kempston Park, I went as Susie Salvage and had waste paper pinned all over my dress, my friend Shirley went as a miner.

In the evenings we sometimes played cards with uncle and auntie and Brian their youngest son. Their elder children were not at tome, Barbara had got married and Cyril (Sam) was in the Airborne Regiment.

Life was very simple and happy. I liked my school and enjoyed the home life, we used to go home for dinner and my uncle came home from the factory for lunch, he sat in the living room to each his lunch and us children all sat at the kitchen table, I was the only one allowed to go and talk to him while he ate his lunch, probably because I was the youngest.

This happy life carried on until the end of the war when, by coincidence my sister and I were home in Walthamstow, my brothers had gone home earlier, as they got older. One evening my dad was home on leave and my mum and him had gone out for a drink and my eldest brother Kenny was looking after us. We were in bed when he came up to tell us that the war was over and we could come outside in the street, in our pyjamas, where he lit an enormous bonfire in the middle of the road and all the neighbours came out and we were all singing, one man was throwing pennies for the children. The hole the fire made in the road was there for many years.

Well of course this meant we would be home to stay, much to the disappointment of aunty and uncle who expressed a desire to adopt me. I have always kept in close touch with my foster family, going there every year for the long summer school break. As I reached 11 and 12 my mother would put me on a train at St. Pancras with a lady travelling as far a Bedford and my aunty or uncle would meet me the other end.

So the relationship with my 鈥榦ther family鈥� continues to this day with the later generations of Wildmans. I think my evacuation added a lot to my life, I hope the connection will continue through my children, who also have affection for my 鈥榦ther family鈥�

The story of Thelma Betty Coombes
Romford

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