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It was only after the severe Blitz on Plymouth that the authorities in London finally gave their permission for Plymouth schoolchildren to be evacuated, and so it was on May 5th 1941 that I was taken by my mother to Plymouth North Road Railway Station, where are assembly area was designated.

There seemed to be tremendous activity outside the station, but events to my young mind, appeared to be very organised. Many teachers from various Plymouth Schools, plus voluntary workers, helped to sort out the children, and we were given our labels to wear around our necks with all the relevant details of our name, address, school etc.

At this stage of the proceedings I was grouped with the children from my own Laira Green Primary School. Mummies and daddies were not allowed onto the railway platform, and so farewells were said outside the station. We were led away, hand in hand, together with our gas mask and small suitcase, plus maybe a loved teddy bear, a doll or a toy. I expect it was thought best that parents did not accompany their children to the train, because in fact they seemed more tearful than their little ones. I just remember being terribly excited about the journey, as it seemed then just like a holiday. Before I left my mother, a lady came up to us with her two very young children, and she seemed quite worried. She asked if I could look after them on the train, and try to ensure they were not separated. The little girl was probably about four, and her brother about three years old. I did feel so very grown up at the age of only eight to be given this responsibility. I did keep them with me right through the journey into Cornwall, and later in the afternoon when we were at the ‘selection and collection’ point, when a lady only wanted to take me on my own, did I ask for them to be kept together, and I was assured that they would be. I did not see these children again, although many of the Laira children were evacuated in my village, and it was comforting for us to be together, especially for our schooling.

The long train eventually moved off. The train whistle blew, the guard waved his green flag, and we were able to hang out the windows to frantically wave and blow kisses to our parents, who were huddled behind the station railings. (I think these railing were later taken for the war effort to make into shells and whatever)!

I think there was possibly one teacher for each compartment, but not necessarily one from your own school. My particular teacher was called Miss Retallick, who I believe was from Hyde Park Junior School. As I attended Laira Green, I didn’t know her, but she was to become my teacher right through my evacuation, and was billeted in my own village in a pretty bungalow (with all mod cons, I expect). I only remember her as being a very kind and caring teacher.

We were on our way to Cornwall and soon we were passing over the Tamar Bridge. Our first stop was at Liskeard, where again voluntary WRVS helpers were on hand to dole out refreshments to us. We were at this stage not allowed off the train, and it was only later, when we arrived at Camborne, that we got off the train and were told to walk in single file across the road to a building which, I do believe, was then the Camborne Technical College. We were led into classrooms and given our lunch and a drink, again with the aid of WRVS workers.

After being ‘fed and watered’ came the next stage of our journey. In single file we marched outside the college where many old-fashioned motor coaches were in line, and it very much depended upon which coach you joined, as to where you ended up being evacuated, as each coach I think was destined for a different village. My coach headed off to a hamlet called Carnkie, somewhere in the middle of nowhere! We were taken inside a very tiny school with only about two classrooms. This school was an ominous building called Halwin. It is still there today, and I recently visited it. We were told to sit at the double desks and again behave. I was quite apprehensive at this stage, but still kept the little ones with me.

Again many helpers were on hand, and quite a few ladies were ushered into the front of the classroom to take the evacuees into their care. Eventually, a lady came up to me and asked if I was called Elsie, and was I eight years old. She was called Mrs Pascoe (later Aunty Em). She obviously had been informed that I was on my own (I had no brothers or sisters) and she asked me if I would like to go with her to her home, and that she had a little girl of her own called June, who was also eight. I was told that the little children who were in my care would be going to another home, and that they would definitely be kept together. A taxi journey then took us to Mrs Pascoe’s house, again what seemed to me to be miles from civilisation, somewhere in Cornwall.

We travelled through countryside of fields and animals, and being a ‘city’ girl from Plymouth, this landscape was quite strange and bewildering. I felt for the first time since leaving my mummy quite scared and lonely. We eventually arrived in a village called Edgcumb, which is a hamlet on the main road approximately halfway between Helston and Penryn. In fact the address was no1 Retanna, Halfway House, near Penryn. The Pascoe’s house was semi-detached and constructed of Cornish granite. In the adjoining house lived Mrs Pascoe’s mother and unmarried sister, who also took in two evacuees from Plymouth who were sisters, Margaret and Shirley.

Our parents had probably been issued with details setting out the evacuation regulation items we had to take with us. My extra item was definitely my teddy bear. I remember vividly four of these items. One was, of course, our gas mask, which went everywhere with us. The others were the regulation sized suitcase, our ration book and a pre-stamped postcard which had been formulated the previous day at school for our foster parents to fill in and send back to Plymouth the same day, to let our parents know of our whereabouts.

Mrs Pascoe helped me sort out my belongings into my bedroom wardrobe, and I placed my teddy bear on the bed. I was to have the little box room all to myself, and certainly separate from June. My suitcase contained the regulation equipment for a girl. This was; one vest or combination, one pair of knickers, one bodice, one petticoat, two pairs of stockings, gym slip, blouse, hat, coat, cardigan, handkerchiefs and nightclothes, plus a comb and brush, toothpaste, slippers, towel, soap and facecloth.

By this time it was mid afternoon, and I was told that June would soon arrive home from school. Every day on getting home from school, June’s first job, in all weathers, was to walk to the pump to fetch the water, and so it was that I went with June on the first of numerous trips to fetch the water from the well armed with buckets and jugs of various sizes. (This was a journey of about a quarter of a mile, undertaken every morning before school, and again in the evening after school). I was amazed to find out that the house had neither water, gas nor electricity installed. The ‘loo’ was in the corner of the garden, and so I was given my own torch for night use. This was also scary. I was shown how to use the small oil lamp in my bedroom, and given a jug of water, a bowl and a toothbrush mug. A small chamber pot was inside a cupboard for my own use, which I had to empty and clean each morning. This was absolutely awful, after living in a house in Plymouth with all modern conveniences. I felt quite far from civilisation, as I could now only see fields from my bedroom window, with cows, pigs and sheep. (There was a farm each side of the house, and in every direction there were fields of animals). I was simply terrified of the bulls and pigs, and would not go anywhere near them. There were no streets to play-in, no lamp-posts to swing on, and by now I was missing my own friends. It was all lonely and scary. The Pascoe’s were very kind to me at this point, especially June, who did not mind sharing her toys and games with me.

My parents visited me about twice a month, and quite often, my mother on her own. This journey from Plymouth to Edgcumb was at that time in 1941 quite horrendous. (The road signs had been removed to confuse the enemy in the event of an invasion). It entailed walking to the bus stop at Laira en route for the city centre. A walk to North Road station, a train to Truro, a change of train at Penryn, a no 21 bus from Penryn to Rame Cross, and then a walk of approximately one mile to no1 Retanna; and this in all weathers. I would be eagerly awaiting their arrival outside the house, usually swinging on the big 5-barred gate, ready to rush up to them when I saw them coming around the corner, feeling very excited. Aunty Em, in the Cornish Fashion, always prepared a most wonderful dinner for them, but the time spent with my parents seemed to go very quickly. Of course, there were tears, and I always felt very homesick for a few hours after they had left. I did worry in my young mind about mum and dad being in Plymouth during the air-raids, especially in the night when Aunty Em would stand by me on my bedroom window sill to watch the glow in the sky over Plymouth, which could be clearly seen from approximately 70miles away at Penryn. Nevertheless, I did so miss Plymouth and the hustle and bustle. I also missed my friends, the shops and the seaside, but evacuees often returned to Plymouth for short intervals during the school holidays. There were always more bombed houses, bomb craters, devastation and losses on each return visit to the city.

At first the evacuees who had been in my coach attended the local Halwin School, and so I left the house with June and her friends at about 7.45am. This entailed a walk of about three miles across open fields, to and from school, in all weathers. Because Wellington boots had not been included in our list of essential equipment, I was loaned a pair of June’s old boots. Wellingtons were essential to cope with muddy lanes, fields and the dung!

Halwin School was certainly not able to cope with hoards of evacuees who descended upon this area. I remember it being terribly overcrowded, and so after about a week, the authorities obviously had no option but to open the village halls, and so it was that I ended up in Edgcumb Church Hall with Miss Retallick, who taught a large group of us across a wide age range. At no time did I even suspect I missed out on my education, and we seemed to be having all the usual lessons, many of them at the back of the church in the graveyard, because it was a really hot summer.

Sunday was a very important day, as it seemed that the entire village turned up to the Methodist Church on no less than two occasions for the church services. The children also had their Sunday school in the afternoon. Sunday school Anniversaries were events that no child was allowed to miss, and I was suitably dressed up in my best frock, straw hat and whiter socks for this occasion. My hat was always a problem for me, as my large bow of hair ribbon always got in my way! I will always remember the Harvest Festival, which enabled the many farmers to excel with their abundance of vegetables and fruit. The Church services were important to the country folk and the Church was nearly always full, with everyone sitting in their own pew!

I had arrived at Edgcumb on May 5th, and so on May 8th it did not take Aunty Em very long to rig me up in a white dress with long white hair ribbons for me to include in the dancing of the Helston Floral Dance, as Helston was only five miles from Edgcumb. I had never seen so many people dancing in the streets, nor parading through the houses. This was great fun, and we constantly changed partners.

From the beginning of my evacuation with the family, I called them Aunty Em and Uncle Harry. Many of their relations lived in the vicinity of Edgcumb and on the Lizard peninsula. Most of them were farmers who also took in evacuees. Many weekends I went with the family on visits to these relatives to villages called Port Navas, Trewennack and Gweek, and Ponsanooth. These outings were exciting, as uncle Harry owed a motorbike, but rather unfortunately for me I always had to sit with Aunty Em in the sidecar. Most of the folk in Edgcumb either travelled around on a motorbike or bicycle. Petrol was severely rationed, so a family rich enough to own a car usually kept this in the garage for the duration of the war, and did not tax it.

One of my most vivid memories at this time was the weekly bath. This took up most of Friday evenings, when the wooden tub was placed in the dining room in front of the black cooking range, where June and I took our turn (using the same water). The water was heated on the primus stove and poured into the bath, and the inevitable cake of Derbac soap was rubbed all over me, including my hair. When I eventually returned to Plymouth, I insisted that my mother purchase a cake of Derbec soap, just like Aunty Em.

The only shops for the area, and where Aunty Em was rationed for her groceries and meat, were at Rame Cross, which was a two-mile round trip from the house. June and I made this journey for Aunty Em on many occasions after school. My main memory of this grocery shop was the small lemonade bottles, with the bottle tops having a little clip to press open and closed, and inside the top of the bottle was a glass marble, probably to prevent the liquid flowing out too quickly. We were allowed one bottle per week when Aunty Em did her ‘big’ shop.

Most Saturdays, June and I were taken on the no21 bus to do more general shopping to towns such as Penryn, Falmouth or even as far as Penzance. These distances seemed a long way, but the memorable event was lunch in a café.

Generally, everything was so different from my life in Plymouth. Evacuees had no option but to adapt, but the countryside was the most bewildering aspect, and just seemed to me to be a huge open space of nothing. I missed city life, which included swinging on lamp-posts on huge ropes (which incidentally the railwaymen brought home from the Laira sheds), but most importantly I missed my mummy, my daddy and my own relations. I began to get accustomed to the animals, although my most outstanding memories of this time in my life was the morning and evening collection of free-range eggs, and I learnt to milk a cow manually, and to ride a horse. The most fun was gathering in the harvest, and the building of the hayricks which was always a family affair with huge amounts of good country food.

Uncle Harry worked as a carpenter in Penryn shipyard and travelled on his motorbike daily to and from Penryn. He arrived back at Retanna at about 6.00pm, after which we all sat down together for the evening meal. Aunty Em always produced good wholesome food, together with a dessert. Her cooking was done either on top or inside a huge black coal range in the dining room, or by using a primus oil stove, which always stank of paraffin. The buns and cakes were baked almost daily in the oven part of the range, so there was a lovely coal fire for warmth all year round. (This oven range was not a new appliance to me, as my own grandmother, who lived at West Hoe in Plymouth, cooked with one). Cornish cakes were quite a delicacy, as they still are, and I remember stupidly asking my own mother if she would like to taste a piece of Aunty Em’s ‘hard’ cake instead of ‘heavy’ cake, which is still a Cornish product.

Uncle Harry kindly made me a two-tier pencil case, which I treasured for many years.

I stayed with the Pascoe’s for about a year, but I shall never forget the many kindnesses shown to me by them, and also to my parents. I will treasure the memory of the many residents of Edgcumb in 1941 and will always remember this time of my childhood with great affection. I grew to love the Pascoe family, and kept in touch with them until recent years. Sadly, they are no longer alive, but I am still in contact with June’s husband, who now lives in Wadebridge, Cornwall.

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