大象传媒

Chapter 1

Just Before the Outbreak of War.

The war referred to is The Second World war, 1939-1945. It fragmented our family for five long years, affecting every member, but here the perspective will come from the children, the twins Pamela and Daphne, of which I am one.

The summer of 1939 was hot, and hugely enjoyable to us. We continued to run and jump on Battersea Running Track with Dad, had many enjoyable sessions at his dock just off The River Thames learning to swim, climb ropes and make bows and arrows. Another favourite past time was to have a picnic of bread, jam and water on Clapham Common.

But towards the end of the summer, the atmosphere indefinably changed. Ma and Pa were much quieter and seemed preoccupied. They listened constantly to the wireless as it was then called. Ours was an ancient bakerlite one which was powered by batteries purchased from a chaotic corner shop in Webbs Road. Towards the end of the summer,
instead of going to Belleville Junior school every day, we spent some days at Mayfield Grammar School, the school to which we were going in the Autumn. There we played rounders and stall ball, met other children from other schools who were joining the school in September, and sitting cross-legged in the huge hall, listened to the staff talking about various topics.

The weather was delightful.

Then one day Ma and Pa, with white, frozen faces, took us into the kitchen and quietly told us that Britain was going to war with Germany. Silence fell on us all. They knew exactly what war meant. They had lived through and survived that most terrible of wars, The First World War, with the loss of two brothers on the Somme. Their apprehension and fear was passed to us.

But with true Rodaway spirit, the family rallied and began to prepare itself for what was to come. We the children knew we would be sent away from home to a place of so called 鈥渟afety鈥�, our brother would be called up to fight and eventually joined The Fleet Air Arm and our sister was sent to work in a munitions factory in Bristol. Dad volunteered to join The Home guard and Ma helped with the evacuation of mothers and young babies at the beginning of the war, and then for the rest of the war was Superintendent of a Rest Centre for the bombed out in Camberwell.

Chapter 2.

Going into the unknown.

What happened to us, the children?
A few days before we were evacuated, we gathered at Belleville to be given our gas masks and taught how to put them on and breathe. I hated mine. It had a sickening smell of strong rubber, the Perspex visor misted over so that it was impossible to see. We had to stand with them on for a very long ten minutes, during which time we were inspected to see if we were wearing them and breathing correctly. A piece of paper was placed in front of the nozzle, and was held in place when we breathed in if we were wearing it correctly. My paper always fluttered to the ground and I was accused of not breathing at all, so I took off my masked and asked how I could possibly stand there for ten minutes without breathing? No answer!

Finally the day came when we gathered in a long crocodile in the school playground and with our parents, walked sedately down to Clapham Junction, carrying our gas masks in cardboard boxes slung over our shoulders, a bar of chocolate and one of soap, and our Identity Cards. Dad came with us as Ma was busy with her mothers and babies. As we walked down Belleville Road and along the Northcote, we were silently watched by sombre groups of people who stood immobile on the pavement, some of whom gave a sombre little wave.

We stood on the curved platform, waiting for our train. Then in the distance we heard the faint whistle of a steam train and then round the curve trundled a huge green steam engine, pulling a great many carriages. With a gentle, hissing sigh, it pulled up alongside the platform. We opened the doors and climbed in. We promptly opened the window by pulling down the heavy leather sash, and leaned out to say goodbye to Dad, and then with frantic waves we were off. The train rounded a bend and Dad and Clapham Junction disappeared.

Only the train driver knew where we were going. We didn鈥檛 and neither did our parents. We could have been going to Scotland, Wales, or Land鈥檚 End, anywhere in Britain.

But after only half an hour puffing along the train drew to a halt. We had arrived! We were at Woking, Surrey, just twenty so miles away! We all tumbled out and were lined up nearby. Then the inhabitants of Woking came to inspect us, looking closely into our faces. We heard one couple say, 鈥淭hey don鈥檛 look much like London children, do they?鈥� They expected us to be wan and pale and under-nourished-far from it! Eventually all evacuees were selected by some-one and we were led away to our billets.

Then began five long years of learning, not just academic learning, but social learning as well. We learnt the true value of family and friends, the importance of supporting and being supported by our social group, of the kindness and compassion of people, of their bravery in adversity, and also their selfishness and cruelty.

Chapter 3.

First experiences of Evacuation and Education.

We had a variety of billets for a variety of reasons, one of which was our proximity to Hawker Siddeley Works which was situated in the middle of Brooklands Motor Racing Track. It built aeroplanes and of course was a prime target for air raids. So we the evacuees were really in a place of danger, and were ineffectively moved around Woking from village to village. We stayed longest at West Byfleet and Horsell. We never escaped the raids though.

We did have contact with Mum and Dad. Sometimes we wrote to them and they wrote to us, but best of all just occasionally we went home or they came down to visit us. We were desperate to be allowed to go home for good and to survive the war with them but they would hear nothing of it. Out mother was the chief opposer. Apart from the danger of living in London she was determined that we should remain with our Grammar School. She had the foresight to see that a good education was the way out of poverty and deprivation, and to a good life.

Our billets gave us much insight into how differently people lived. We stayed with working class families through to an aristocratic one, the latter being a real eye opener.

A single lady named Miss Dingle lived in a huge mansion in the middle of spacious grounds near Woking. She had several servants, even in war time. We the two evacuees came socially somewhere in between the servants and her. We had a beautiful sunny attic room as our bedroom and once a week were required to have an evening meal with her and any guests she might have. We had to learn the etiquette of not speaking until spoken to, of coping with all the cutlery and of waiting for her to signal that we might leave. We were there once when the maid was called in and admonished for serving caterpillars in the cauliflower. This was embarrassing because she was our friend.

On most evenings too we were summoned to talk about what we had done all day. We learnt to give some very edited versions.
But what of our formal education? Well to begin with we didn鈥檛 have any because there was no building in which our school could be based. But gradually a pattern was established, and we began to share Woking Grammar School for boys. We did not have lessons with the boys but attended school when they weren鈥檛 there. We went on Monday, Thursday and Sunday, when we were excellently taught by our staff in a very formal way.

Detention and prep was held on Saturday morning in West Byfleet Village Hall. Detention was given for not doing prep, bad behaviour and breaking the evening curfew. The curfew rule was that we had to be in our billets by six o鈥檆lock, and staff patrolled the village to try to enforce this.

But detention didn鈥檛 work .If one detention wasn鈥檛 attended an extra one was given. Very quickly we ended up with something like two hundred and fifty three detentions-an impossible number to wipe out, so the system was quietly dropped. The curfew didn鈥檛 work either.

After a time our own school building was found for us. It was a very beautiful mansion house called Barricane which had been abandoned by the Pears Soap family. It was large enough to accommodate the whole school and was situated at the top of a hill- St John鈥檚 Hill. Every room seemed to be filled with oak panelling which smelt of beeswax, and there was a huge curved staircase which led up to the first and second floors. Another narrower staircase led up to the attics, formerly the servants鈥� quarters.

We found the attics fascinating. We discovered that it was possible to get into the lofts by crawling along narrow, dark passageways only about three feet high. We made one remarkable find when we came across one small enclosed space which had obviously been inhabited There between the rafters was a makeshift bed, beside which was a Prayer Book covered in thick dust. Placed around this little home were the remains of gutted candles. Someone had lived here, but who were they? Someone a servant was hiding? A hermit? A spy? A refugee?

We intended to investigate further but unfortunately our shadows were spotted by staff as we crawled along a passageway and we were forbidden in no uncertain terms ever to go into the loft again. We were reprimanded with such intensity that we never returned.

At the foot of the hill was a small farm and a beautiful lake. We entered the school at the foot of the hill, having walked or cycled along the canal from our billet, and so the farm provided a welcome source of food such as apples, rhubarb and soft fruits which we had no hesitation in pinching!
In the very bitter winters of the war years the lake froze solid, and on it we slid and skated with much enjoyment.

Some of our lessons such as Physics took place at the boys鈥� school in Woking and we were taken there on the school bus. Our teacher was a master called Mr. Mayhew.

The lessons were a disaster. He had a large gingery moustache through which he mumbled instructions which were inaudible. All his demonstration experiments failed. Things sizzled and fizzled and went up in clouds of steam. Apparatus collapsed amid roars of laughter from us, and at the end of each session he could hardly wait to escape.

The root of the trouble was that he did not know how to teach girls. They could hardly be given a quick cuff round the ear-allowable in those days-or have an ear painfully tweaked, so in our lessons there was very little order or discipline.

But strangely, I became very interested in Physics. It seemed to explain so much about how the world was structured, and our green text book was full of understandable ideas. So I worked my way through our standard text-book, chapter by chapter, and carried out a few experiments of my own. Much to everyone鈥檚 amazement, including my own, and certainly Mr. Mayhew鈥檚, I got a distinction in G.S E.I remember this with amusement and pride!

For much of the time we behaved appallingly in our lessons and only one or two of the staff had any control of us at all. Our behaviour was largely due to a relentless, unremitting anxiety and homesickness. We could never escape from our worry about our family and home who we knew were in deadly danger. But sometimes we behaved well!

Once we had a student teacher on her Final Teaching Practice who attempted to teach us English. Goodness knows why she was given our Form to take, the worst in the school. She was timid and nervous and must have dreaded taking us.

The time came when her final teaching examination came. She was to have a visit from an examiner to decide whether she should pass or fail, and she was coming to see her teach us!

Our embarrassed Form Teacher warned us that the examiner was very deaf and had to wear a large, old -fashioned ear trumpet. Would we please not laugh when she came in? This news was greeted with a roar of amusement, and our student must have feared the worst.

We held an impromptu meeting to decide how we should behave.

The great day came and we assembled in our room. I could see our student visibly trembling as she waited outside the door for her examiner. She came, ear trumpet and all.

When she came in we all rose to our feet as a sign of respect- never done before! We stood in silence until we were invited to be seated, and then waited in utter silence. There was an expression of complete amazement on our student鈥檚 face. She managed to begin the lesson which was a rather boring comprehension. Nevertheless every hand shot up in reply to her questions, surprisingly intelligent answers were asked and then we studiously settled down to do our written work. The rest of the lesson passed in complete silence as we worked away. We kept an eye on the examiner who was making copious notes. When the bell went we rose to our feet respectfully as our visitor left, faintly smiling.

Our student passed.

Chapter 4.

Our Learning goes on Apace.

But very gradually, a change came over our attitude to learning. We became intrigued by the world of ideas, so that it was a pleasure to read Trevelyan鈥檚 History of England, to study the causes of The First World War, to read in Latin the writings of Caesar,( helped by the crib of
course ) to understand English Grammar, which explained so much about our and other languages. The reason why Grammar existed became clear with the enthusiastic presentation of our teacher. Why, for example did the troublesome apostrophe exist? To make meaning explicit of course.

We were very formally taught, in a structured way. Free expression played very little part in our learning except in most enjoyable Art and in essay writing. What we were learning about were the concepts or ideas essential to the different disciplines or subjects. We were intrigued to discover that one word such 鈥渞evolution鈥� can have a different meaning in History, Science and Maths .

And so our learning went on apace, and became intertwined with our leisure. Preps were done willingly, and a great deal of extra work was done with enjoyment. But we remained very demanding to teach.
Quite a bit of our time was spent in our makeshift air raid shelters, having lessons there, for dreary hour after hour. The shelters smelt strongly of damp sand, and even in high summer were chilly. Because we were so close to London-only twenty or so miles away- our sirens sounded when the London ones did. Also the Hawker Siddly factory which built planes was situated a few miles away in the centre of Brooklands Motor-racing track, and was a prime target for German bombers. Sometimes we had as many as seven raids in one day, and spent much of our time sitting on hard wooden slatted benches under dim electric light bulbs.

But our education went on apace.

Chapter 5.

The School Birthday.

The school had a ceremony which it kept unfailingly. It was the school birthday, held on October 8 every year. The formal timetable was abandoned, and many enjoyable activities were held, including lacrosse matches between the forms. We loved these. Sport was one of our fortes, and we had been excellently taught by Miss Brash, a former lacrosse international. She easily out ran and out played the best of us! The staff loyally came to watch and stood shuddering with cold on the touch-line. In the harsh winters of the war freezing days and nights had already arrived by October.

Also on this day we sang the two school songs. I do not think I remember the spelling of their titles with complete accuracy, but they were
鈥淕audiamus igatur, iuvene dum sumus, which very roughly translated means 鈥� Here we young people are here to celebrate鈥�. We sang this in Latin. In the other school song we sang about, 鈥渢he field resounding with the tramp of the twenty-two men,鈥� and finished with a rousing chorus of
鈥淔ollow up, follow up, follow up, follow up, follow up!鈥�
This of course was a song sung by boys at public schools and was associated with rugby. Why then was it one of our school songs? The explanation must lie with the fact that Mayfield was probably one of the earliest grammar schools for girls and no suitable school songs existed for a girls鈥� school, and so songs appropriate for boys were adopted!
On this day we assembled in a long crocodile and stood in our year groups behind a chosen pair who carried the school banner for that particular year. Then off we marched, singing the school songs.

We did ridicule this ceremony, particularly the singing of inappropriate school songs, but we enjoyed it. We felt a loyalty and affection for the school and staff, and also this day imposed a structure and discipline we so badly needed.

Chapter 6.

Tragedy and Suffering.

Staff and pupils alike were united by the deep burden of anxiety we all carried. Regularly tragic news would arrive for a girl or a member of staff.

Our Maths teacher was Miss Ironside, nicknamed Tinribs. She wore her hair pulled back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, and being short-sighted, wore thick-lensed glasses. We went in for a fair amount of misbehaviour in Maths, arguing, asking for complicated explanations, throwing rubbers and flicking pieces of paper soaked in ink. There were no biros then. But we didn鈥檛 go too far because we liked her for her patience, kindness and love of her subject.

One day she was not there to teach us. The Head came in and in a barely audible voice told us that Miss Ironside鈥檚 London home had received a direct hit, and her parents and the pet dog had died in the wreckage.

A few days passed and then Miss Ironside came quietly back and resumed teaching.

Never again did we misbehave in her lessons.

Because of events in and around the school we became well aware of what was happening in the rest of the world.

One day a new girl joined the school. She was German and spoke no English. Very wisely before she came it had been carefully explained to us that although she was German, she was a refugee. We were asked to look after her, and this we did. She never sat alone for meals or in class, and there was always some-one who attempted to talk to her at break.
She had curly, wavy light brown hair which she wore in a long, thick plait, and she had blue eyes. She had no school uniform but wore very expensive woollen tweeds and hand stitched leather shoes. She did not have the usual billet in which to stay. At the end of each school day she simply disappeared, to reappear the following morning. We never found out where she stayed inspite of our best detective work.

She seemed to have come on a very long journey, in more ways than one.

One day she did not reappear. The staff resolutely refused to answer our questions about who she was, where she had lived in Germany, why she had come to England and how. Rumours abounded in the school about the terrible suffering she and her family had endured in Germany, but we never found out about her story-she had gone from our lives forever.

In our free time, we often walked and played by the River Wey. One hot summer鈥檚 day in May/June 1940 we noticed a long and peaceful procession of the motor boats which were usually moored there, chugging down the river through the calm, clear water. They were away for about a week and then we noticed them gradually drifting back, not together but in ones and twos. Not all came home.

They had been to help with the evacuation of our troops at Dunkirk.

Sometimes at dusk we stood on high ground and faced east, looking towards London. The air and ground would begin to reverberate with subtle vibrations, and the hair at the back of my neck would begin to stand up, just as an animal鈥檚 does when it senses danger. The sky in the east would light up with an ominous red and orange glow and with the light of geometrically straight searchlights, criss-crossing the sky.
London was being bombed.

We in Woking got most of the air raid alerts as London. The air raid sirens began with a low, gurgling note and rose to a shrieking crescendo, only to fall once more. This was taken up by the sirens in neighbouring areas until the air was full of their wailing. It lasted for about two long minutes, and then an eerie silence fell. Then came the deep-throated throb of the German bombers. Pet dogs began to howl in distress and the wild life stirred uneasily. We could hear the explosions of bombs in London twenty miles away and the 鈥榗runp crump鈥� of the anti aircraft guns which were defending London.

We all knew of the dreadful danger our families and homes were in, but we never discussed it. Our constant anxiety was born silently and inwardly.

The sky was always full of planes which we learnt to identify by sight and sound. There were our Spitfires and Hurricanes, the Spitfires having slightly narrower wings than the Hurricanes. They screamed across the sky, often looping the loop in the elation of having destroyed a German plane. Then there were the heavy German bombers which throbbed with an ominous rhythmic sound, flying in formation. They came from the East. They had bombed London and were wheeling south and east in an attempt to get home. Our fighter planes were waiting for them of course. And then, generally towards evening, our heavy bombers set off to bomb Germany. They too were going East, and sometimes we saw them flying home in early morning, no longer in formation but in ones and twos, and sometimes lopsidedly.

One day we had a curious experience. We were at school and just changing classes, which meant we had to walk round Barricane in the open. Suddenly an unfamiliar plane screamed across the sky and instinctively we began to race for shelter, but we had hardly taken two steps before it vanished, but not before we had noticed that it had no propeller! Later we found out we had seen one of the first prototype jets on a trial flight.

Often a plane crashed on the hills of Surrey, sometimes a British one, sometimes German. Then if we were free, we would rush madly towards the rising plume of black, acrid smoke to see what had happened. But we never got there before the Home Guard and A.R.P. who quickly through a cordon around the site to hold us and others at a safe distance.

Chapter 7.

Freedom!

We did have considerable free time, especially at weekends, and in the summer. More and more we became attuned to the outside world and that of nature. We roamed freely over the commons and country-side, walking for miles. We knew every stream, bog, lake and wood for miles around, all the thick patches of brilliantly yellow gorse, the clumps of head high stinging nettles and rabbit burrows. We listened intently to the bird song which was quite deafening in the Spring, and we learnt to recognize many of the birds, some of which were at first quite unfamiliar to us, and to spot the tracks of the foxes, badgers and rabbits and to locate their homes.
We became very sensitive to changes in the weather and could eventually sniff the air, look up into a cloudless blue sky and say, 鈥渞ain is coming.鈥� One鈥檚 skin began to change, and became looser and slightly damp.
The sky gave considerable information. Sometimes visibility was so good one could see for miles, even to London. At other times the blue sky grew opaque and the air heavy as humidity rose, and visibility grew poor. This usually meant rain and heavy cloud was approaching. The different kinds of cloud were fascinating. There were the high, white cumulous clouds of high summer, sailing serenely across a luminous blue sky, orange and yellow and grey mackerel clouds at sunset, and the grey, dense , blanketing clouds of very bad weather.

Once during one of our day-long roamings we rounded a bend in a rough track and came face to face with two identical giant men. They were the Bedser twins, Alec and Eric, who were the famous Surrey cricketers. For one long moment identical twins stared at identical twins, and then we all went on our way.

During this time we became friendly with the moon. In the first bitterly cold winter of the war we habitually watched the moon moving majestically through a deep blue indigo sky studded with diamond stars, with a luminous, impassive face, untouched by the troubles below. We realized that just as the moon was shining on us so was she shining on Mum and Dad and home. It was a link with our familiar world and very comforting.

During the war years the winters were bitter, sometimes with heavy falls of snow. The very deep drifts had to be avoided, but there was plenty of snow for snow- ball fights which lasted all day, raging fiercely in and out of the woods and over the commons.

We built a hut in our favourite wood of saplings and pine tree spruce. It was surprisingly comfortable and weather proof. We used to sit in there at all times of the year, warm and happy. We had to say goodbye to it when we visited it one day and found it had become a home to some one else. Meagre supplies were placed by a make shift bed. Was it home to a tramp or a deserter perhaps? We never found out!

During these years of growing acute food shortage, it became very important to find and use the natural resources. Some of our leisure time was spent doing this. We learnt that the tender tops of stinging nettles made very nutritious greens, full of iron and vitamins, as did the leaves of dandelions. One of our billet ladies knew how to make a very potent dandelion wine which was very popular in the neighbourhood, and with us too! There were the sweet chestnuts to be collected, roasted over a fire until soft and then eaten ravenously. Then there were the cob- nuts or hazel nuts which were equally nutritious and consumed uncooked.

One of our favourite pastimes was to go blackberrying. We knew every blackberry bush for miles around. Sometimes our sister got leave from her munitions factory or Ma and Pa were free at the same time and came down to visit us. If it was blackberrying time we took them to our favourite bushes to collect basketful after basketful. We certainly got scratched and pricked by the thorns, but the prize was well worth it.
The best bushes were in the field in which Weybridge Railway Station stood. There were no houses nearby and the station stood alone, as if on the Canadian prairie. But nearby grew huge blackberry bushes which bore large, sweet fruits and had only small blunt thorns. We were the only ones who seemed to know they were there so we got most of the fruit-we left some for the birds of course.

We also gathered fuel in the form of dead wood, which was easy to find on the commons and in the woods and taken back to our billets. But best of all were the fallen fir cones, which when burnt gave off a wonderful scent of pine resin, which made one feel sleepy and content. These we gave to Ma and Pa to take home, or we burnt them ourselves on the common.

Chapter 8.

Home Visits.

Because we were so close to London and home, when a lull in the bombing was anticipated, we were allowed to go home if this coincided with the school holidays. We always travelled in our special friendship group, us the twins, Margaret who lived in a council estate in Wandsworth and Edna whose home was near Earlsfield Station. We caught the bus at the stop near Barricane, our School, and travelled to Woking Station, when we went by train to Clapham Junction. In the winter we were travelling at dusk or night. Because of the blackout the trains were unlit and so were the streets so it could be very difficult to see. To us it was hilarious. We were ecstatic to be going home, nearly always got a compartment to ourselves where we got up to all kinds of tricks. Finally a dimly lit Clapham Junction came into view round a bend, we jumped off, my twin and I raced along The Northcote, past Battersea Rise and home.

Sometimes the raids unexpectedly resumed when we were home. Then we sat under our heavy kitchen table at the bottom of our solidly built Victorian house, stroking and nursing Wicky our cat, to comfort him during the raid. He was a 鈥渨ar鈥漜at, having been born in a raid. We used to wrap his ears in a scarf to deaden the noise.

At such times we were always invited to go into the Morrison Shelter next door but always declined, feeling that we were safer in our home. Nobody could survive a direct hit of course.

If the raids persisted, with heavy hearts we were sent back to our billets.

But when we were at home there was much to be enjoyed. We were never left completely alone and always had either Ma or Pa with us. If Dad had to go to the Home Guard Barracks just opposite Clapham Junction when he was with us while Ma was at The Rest Centre, we went too.
The Home Guard often had sessions to learn unarmed combat which were a hoot! We sat on the benches at the side of the hall watching, and in fits of laughter. The men, who were elderly, in reserved occupation or unfit for service, often had to pair up to practise their throws. The session was taken by an army sergeant who roared out his instructions. Nobody could actually understand the words he was saying, but had to go by the tone and inflection of his voice, so many mistakes were made.

It was all done in the greatest of good humour, with many simple jokes cracked . Once the men were struggling in pairs to throw each other to the ground unsuccessfully when the exasperated instructor shouted, 鈥淕rab him by the hair!鈥� Back came the reply, 鈥淏ut he鈥檚 bald Sarge!鈥� Roars of laughter echoed round the hall.

One very happy event stands out in our memory. One terrible night in the Spring of 1941 the air raids on London were particularly heavy. For a time Dad had to go out to help rescue the bombed out and injured. As he moved about in the wreckage of homes which had received a direct hit, he noticed a tiny white shape hopping aimlessly about in the debris. He threw his Home Guard cap over it and picked it up. It was a budgerigar. Every feather had been blown off by the blast and Dad could only tell what sort of bird it was by the shape of its beak.

He was carefully carried home, fed and well looked after for many months, and he was named Winston of course! Gradually his feathers grew back and he became covered in beautiful green and yellow plumage, but he never sang, and hardly moved. Then one glorious peaceful day in the spring of 1942, when all the London birds were singing piercingly, Winston in his cage was put out on the blossoming lilac tree in the garden to enjoy the sounds and sunshine. Other birds came to see him. Winston began to stretch his wings. He began to hop around his cage, and then a miracle occurred. A few hoarse notes came from his throat, and his song got purer and purer and stronger, and he sang all day with the other birds.
Winston was singing! He was given many enjoyable outings like this and became very happy.

At Christmas time it seemed there were no raids, as if by tacit agreement, so invariably we were allowed home. The Home Guard always put on pantomimes and Christmas celebrations which were held in the Clapham Junction Barracks Hall. They were greatly enjoyed. Once Dad was as chimpanzee who was perplexed by his own reflection in a large mirror, and danced and capered around on the stage. He was very funny.
Somehow the Home Guard managed to provide vast amounts of sweets, cakes and sandwiches and other rationed food to be consumed very quickly indeed by the spectators after the show. We were supposed to be seated quietly at the trestle tables on which the food was placed, but in reality we scurried back and forth looking for favourite food- cheese or ham sandwiches, chocolate cake, fruit, nuts!

We were on the fringe of some of The Home Guard activities. We were taught to fire a rifle in the basement below the hall, and this was much enjoyed and stretched over a period of time.

At certain times of the year The Home Guard went on parade. The parades were often held on Clapham Common. A 鈥榖ig wig鈥� would inspect the uniforms and bearing of the men and their marching. He would be closely followed by the senior officers of this particular Home Guard, of whom Dad was one. Groups of spectators would stand at a respectful distance, watching. Somewhere amongst them we would be lurking-lurking because we were not supposed to be so far from home, and so had to remain hidden.

Sometimes we were unable to go home at the beginning of the school holidays because of the frequency and intensity of the air raids. It was then that we had a taste of the world of work.

Chapter 9.

Entering the World of Work.

In 1943 the war was beginning to turn in our favour, but there was a serious shortage of workers at certain times of the year. It was at these times that we joined the world of work.
At Christmas time there was a great need for people to deliver the Christmas mail as the skeleton staff could not cope with the extra volume. The Post Office appealed for strong children of fourteen or more to help, and offered to pay them a few shillings for many hours work. We volunteered.

It involved going to the sorting office in Woking. There we helped to sort out the post first. A huge pile of letters was heaped onto a long table, and we threw the letters one by one into open-mouthed sacks which were labelled with the names of villages. Then the contents of each sack was sorted according to street names, we were allocated a village, given a sack and a bike and off we went on delivery. We always travelled in pairs or groups.

Some of the bikes were formidable. They were very heavy and old and had large crates attached to the handle-bars into which the sack of mail was placed. Some had badly aligned handle-bars so that although they were horizontal when you steered the bike you went sideways. Others had brakes which were permanently on so that even when going steeply down-hill you had to peddle, while some had loose chains which kept falling off. Some of the most uncomfortable had saddles which were too high for us so that you could never sit on the saddle but had to cycle standing up on the pedals, while others had saddles which were so low our knees nearly hit our chins as we peddled. We learnt to avoid the dodgiest bikes and developed our own methods of improving the others.

A few well-placed blows with a hammer straightened the handle-bars, a screw-driver could lever up the offending brake blocks and the efficient use of pliers, hammer and screw-driver could adjust the saddle. Links in a loose chain could be removed with pliers.

Somehow we were never given mail to deliver to neat rows of terraced houses along smooth, made up roads, but were sent out in to deliver mail to far off villages in gravely lanes which were full of pit holes. One of the worst features of these were that the cottages were not numbered but named, so we had to cycle up and down looking for 鈥楲ilac cottage鈥�, 鈥楾he Blue Well鈥�, 鈥楾he Old School House鈥�, 鈥楬oneysuckle Cottage鈥� and so on.

But there were substantial rewards. The families of the people who lived here were broken up as were most families, with the young people away in the Armed Forces, working in munition factories, on the land and down in the coal-mines, and so those who remained were rather elderly, and lonely. So many were very pleased to see us. They came out to greet us, bringing food-slabs of cold Yorkshire Pudding, cakes made with real egg, and best of all, chocolate! And as it was Christmas time they often gave us little presents.

After we had finished our rounds, we walked and cycled over the hills and commons back to the depot to return our bikes, and then walked to our bill

In 1944 there was a great need for workers to gather in the harvest-Britain鈥檚 survival depended on it as food was extremely short.

Once more school children were asked to volunteer to help. All pupils of fourteen and over at Mayfield were asked to 鈥榲olunteer鈥�. We all did and had our first taste of working on the land.
For all our work on the farm we were paid five shillings a week with a bonus of two shillings if you were a good worker. This was riches indeed for us.

In the summer of 1945 volunteers were again needed to help with the harvest, but there was another pressing reason why we should be out of London and in the comparative safety of the country. Attacks on the civilian population had not ceased, but intensified with new methods. The V1鈥檚, or Doodlebugs came into being, and also the V2鈥檚. They were fired across the Channel to attack the cities and their people on the South coast indiscriminately. Of course London was a prime target. It meant that in these hot summers it was not safe for us to go home, but what to do with us during the long summer holidays?

A solution was found. The whole school was to camp in a large field on a huge farm in Addlestone and we would work on the land. Our accomadation was in army tents, eight to a tent. Our beds were palliasses which were linen sleeping bags filled with straw from the haystack at the end of the field 鈥攆illed by us. There was one large tent in which were trestle tables and collapsible chairs (they often collapsed) and it was here that we had our meals, and washed.

We often worked with the Land Girls, who were housed in wooden huts nearby. But also German prisoners of war were transported from their camp to work alongside us, and also Italian prisoners of war. The German prisoners despised the Italians and didn鈥檛 hesitate to show it. This puzzled us for a while until we came to understand the differences in their national cultures. Anyway, when we were all employed in working in one vast field it was thought wise to separate the two groups of prisoners, so on one edge of the field were the group of Germans and next to them worked some Land girls, then came us and then some more Land girls and finally the Italian prisoners of war.

We worked in very different ways. The Germans were very efficient and methodical, the Land girls skilful and quick, we worked with a will and got faster and faster, but the way the Italians worked was mind- boggling.
They 鈥榳orked鈥� entirely without enthusiasm and very badly. They never worked together or helped each other. At the first opportunity they crept off and went to sleep behind a hedge or in a ditch, to be found and roughly prodded awake by their guards. They would be in the fields until ten at night, being made to re-do and re-do their work. Their haystacks always fell down, huge weeds were left amongst the crops, and apples and potatoes left to rot.
But they sang beautifully in the fields.

We quickly settled into a routine which was well organized by the staff and the farmer. We were woken up at six, ate a filling breakfast of thick, homemade bread, eggs and bacon and fruit if we wanted it, and after a quick wash in the large tent (this depended on how much time we had left, which again depended on what time we had dragged ourselves out of bed) and then were taken out to the fields to work, to begin at eight .If the workplace was some way away we piled into a very old lorry and were taken there. The country was extremely beautiful at dawn, with the sun slowly rising above the hills and woods, and very often a soft white mist eddying above the streams and brooks. The land was full of calm and peacefulness. The dawn chorus of the birds was vibrantly beautiful.

If our work lay in a field within two miles we walked there, or occasionally some of us got a lift in the horse and cart. This was pulled by two magnificent cart- horses, Punch and Judy. Punch was lazy and developed a trick of walking a few inches behind Judy so that she took most of the weight of the cart. But the ploughman was onto this and continually prodded Punch forward so that he did his fair share of the work. Sometimes at the end of the day we were allowed to ride on the backs of Punch and Judy back to their stable, but as soon as we arrived it paid to dismount quickly, otherwise the horses would lean against their stable wall and trap our legs between the wall and their heavy sides. They were tired and wanted to be rid of our extra weight.
We did a variety of work in the fields, such as weeding endless rows of carrots which stretched as far as the eye could see-this with a short hand hoe so that we had to bend right down-planting cabbages and leeks with a dibber which also required being bent double, potato picking and a large variety of other jobs. By far the hardest physically was potato picking.

We were taken to the potato field and placed round the perimeter in pairs. The tractor came round, driven by an ancient farm labourer, and travelled in ever decreasing circles round the field, throwing up the potatoes. Each pair had a plot which stretched towards the centre of the field and this plot had to be cleared of potatoes which were sacked before the tractor came round again. Gradually we worked towards the centre of the field until all the potatoes had been collected. It was backbreaking work. But we quickly found a way of gaining some respite. As the old tractor passed we threw a handful of dry, dusty soil at the petrol tank and engine, unseen by the driver. Eventually the tractor spluttered to a shuddering halt, and the driver, muttering and cursing under his breath dismounted to clean the engine with gnarled hands and to try to start it again. A huge cheer would echo round the field and we flung ourselves to the dusty ground for a most welcome rest.

Our day finished at about four. If we were not too far from camp we walked slowly back. But there were some who just could not do this after a day in the fields. They were taken back by lorry or cart.

It soon became apparent that there were huge differences in physical strength and endurance among us. The weakest could do about half the work of the strongest, with the best will in the world. Some were badly affected by sunburn-no sunglasses or sun cream then-and the sun had a cruel way of seeking out the tender skin behind the knees and elbows and round the eyes and lips. These people also seemed to be the worst affected by the bites of many insects and the toxic juices of the many plants and weeds we handled. Some, scarlet with sunburn and heat- stroke had to be taken back to camp, in tears of exhaustion. It was a burningly hot summer.

The Doodle 鈥擝ugs came with avengeance in the summers of 1944 and 5. Our defences destroyed many, but some got through and overshot their target of London. Some landed in and around our farm. We quickly learnt to recognize the phut-phut , phut-phut, phut-phut, of their engines as they approached. The dangerous time was when the engine suddenly cut out and there was no sound at all. That meant the Doodle-Bug was descending and in seconds would hit the earth and explode. We had been told to throw ourselves to the ground face down when we heard them but we soon got tired of doing this because there were so many. We did lie down on the earth but looked up to watch them descend. One did land at the end of the field in which we were working-this was the nearest and no-one was injured.

We were always given a certain amount of work to finish within the day, and we stayed until it was done. Without saying a word, those who finished their task first, such as hoeing a row of carrots, went to the end of the row being hoed by someone far back and worked towards them. Then when you had both finished you went to the end of two other rows and so on, until the work was finished. The group always finished its work, sometimes early, in which case we all lay down for a rest in the earth, exhausted.

There was a way out for the worst sufferers and that was to be a camp orderly. The orderlies had to prepare and cook all our food, clean the large tent in which we washed, put out fresh water for returning field workers and prepare and take out midday refreshments for those in the fields, and then do all the washing up.

We had one turn at being an orderly, and that was enough.. Preparing the vegetables for the evening meal seemed to take the whole morning. A large tin bath half filled with water, round which sat the orderlies with a bucket of potatoes by their side. These were peeled and thrown into the bath. Once all the potatoes had been done the same process was repeated with the carrots, onions, turnips, cabbages and so on. Some diversion could be created by throwing a vegetable so hard into the bath that it splashed the people opposite and then retaliation was quickly taken, but it was very boring work. All these vegetables were to make a delicious stew every day for supper, to which various forms of meat was added. The farmer provided all our food for nothing and in large quantities, and it was mouth-watering.

After the vegetables had been prepared it was all put on to cook very slowly, and then we went onto the cleaning jobs, all of which were deadly. The best part of an orderly鈥檚 day was taking food and drink out to the field workers.

After this one experience, we decided we would much prefer to work in the fields. It was very easy to do a swop, as there were many people who found field work too much. But we wanted to be out there, and missed it if we weren鈥檛.

At the end of a day鈥檚 work after supper we would wander across the fields, down to the river. Sometimes some of the Land Girls would be there, and we would sit on the soft grassy bank and talk, with our feet dangling in the cool, clear water. As the light faded, a change came over the world. There were mysterious rustlings, barely audible squeaks and soft splashes along the river bank. The leaves of the trees gently rustled and strange shapes began to flit about. Small eddies of white mist rose from the water and we could hear little plops beneath them. When the bats began to emerge from their hiding places we knew it was time to go back to camp, and to bed. As we wandered back the scent of the countryside changed and delicate scents rose from the plants and trees. The natural world was taking over.

On reaching camp we would throw ourselves into bed and listen to the sharp barks of the foxes and the hoots of the owls as the night darkened, before falling into a deep dreamless sleep. At that time the world was immensely peaceful.

Towards the end of the brilliantly hot summer of 1944 the Doodle bug attacks began to wane, as did the V2s. The war was clearly coming to an end with victory for the Allies. We knew this, the Land Girls knew it and so did the prisoners of war.

Chapter 10.

The War ends.

Every Saturday evening the Land Girls put on a show in their largest hut to which we were invited. No matter what happened, and plenty did, the show always took place. Most of the Land Girls were engaged to men who were serving in the forces or had relatives who were fighting, so it was inevitable that there was some bad news for someone during the week-someone killed, wounded or missing, but the party always went on.
It consisted of 鈥渢urns鈥� done by them and us. These were songs , recitations, dances including tap and jokes. We formed a choir and sang. All the 鈥渢urns鈥� were greeted with rapturous applause, however aweful,
and to end the evening there were refreshments which were mouth- watering. They were prepared by an Italian prisoner of war who used to be a chef. He came from southern Italy and was middle-aged, brown-skinned and desperately home-sick. He did all the cooking for the Land Girls and could make appetizing meals out of practically nothing.

The last day at camp came, and with it our last Saturday entertainment. It was a poignant occasion because we knew that momentous things were going to happen. The war would soon end and we would all go home, never to meet again. On a sudden impulse we made a huge circle and began to sing Aulde Lang Syne. The Italian cook was standing wistfully behind his counter when the warm- hearted Land Girls grabbed him and drew him into the circle to sing with every one else.

At that moment we were all just human beings united by immense relief, joy and some apprehension, and enmities were irrelevant.

In early 1945 our evacuation ended and we returned home. We had been evacuated for five long years, at the beginning of which we were eleven. When we returned we were in our seventeenth year, so we had gone from childhood to early adulthood.

How did evacuation affect us, and what did we learn about ourselves?
We learnt to cope with adversity, to be adaptable and resilient and that tomorrow really was 鈥渁nother day鈥�. We discovered that we were not true city dwellers and had a desperate need to see the line of the horizon occasionally, the moon, sunset and sunrise. We developed a deep love, respect and admiration for wild life and the natural world. And we learnt the powerful and sustaining value of friendship. All these things are with us today.

Every evacuee received a personal message from the King in the form of a certificate. It told us we had shared in the dangers and hardships of war and in the victory of the Allies .It told us too that we should be proud of our country and our families who had shown such courage and endurance, and he hoped these qualities would be ours in the future as we united to strive for world peace.

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