大象传媒

We were living in North London, Tuffnell Park, three of us: myself, Margaret, 9 years old, and Daddy Edwin, her name for her father.

Because of illness he was unable to work, and when the school children were evacuated, he managed to walk to the school gates to see them leave for the station branch line (Gordon House Lane) Parliament Hill.

He had just received a postcard informing him of the closure of the TB clinic. All tratment ceased, even stretcher cases were sent home ! However along we went to find out if any plans had been made for the likes of us. No! but we were asked if we had anywhere in the counrty that we could go to. The receptoinist said "what are you going to do, you know you can not take him (my husband) into an air raid shelter" to which I replied "I would not do that". However we had a brother-in-law in Suffolk - he re-married after his wife (my sister), and she (his second wife) was a very nice lady. As they had holidayed with us in London, we felt confident that they could accommodade us for a little while. We waited until the evening to leave London as all the stations were coping with the child evacuation during the day.

Our train left Liverpool Street at 8.30pm and after a very long tiring journey, of stopping at long intervals, we reached Diss at around 6am, and enquired how to get to Redgrave. A taxi took us to the village shop, where the owner kindly offered to drive us to Wortham, where my brother-in-law lived. How kind he and his wife were to acommodate us at such short notice. After 3 weeks we were lucky enough to rent a cottage, and I arranged for Bartrums of Diss to remove our furniture from London. I rode in the cab to direct the driver. All went smoothly, and it was twilight when we arrived at our new home in the counrty. As there was no light, the furniture was mostly put in the downstairs rooms. My brother-in-law had a oil lamp, which he had found discarded in a ditch, so we cleaned it and filled it with parafin, and it gave a lovely warm glowing light. We became mail-order customers when we obtained an oil stove and oven, a new method of cooking, after gas, but results were excellent.

Meanwhile we had a postcard from Margaret, re-addressed from London saying Dear Mummy and Daddy, I am in the gas works at Olney. I suppose Mr Potter was the manager.

I think Mr & Mrs Potter were good, kind people. We exchanged letters and arranged Margarets return to us. She was put on a coach at Olney, a very dear friend met her in London and kept her overnight, and put her on a coach next day, which I met at Bottesdale. What happiness was ours! Her first bed time in a new home! She undressed and I discovered a rash over most of her body. As the doctor was due to see her father that day, I kept her from school, he took one look and pronounced scabies. I was horrified but soon got that little matter put right.

THere being no transport from the village, apart from Tuesday to Ipswich, Thursday to Stowmarket and Friday to Diss, we got bikes by monthly instalments, they cost around 拢3 each. I had never ridden one, but I soon masterd that. I ws unable to work as I had to look after my husband who needed fresh dressings each day, apart from leavign him to care for Margaret. Sadly he dies in 1943.

Then I went to housekeep for the Rector. Prior to that I had my Mother to care for. She moved from London to Bournemouth at the outbreak of war, but decided to come to Suffolk. I took Margaret away from the village school, and sent her to Eye area school, where she was transferred to Eye Grammar School.

Thinking back to my first days in Redgrave, my Landlord at 'Moneypot' (name of the cottage) said to me "your tastes are down the line", now, as we were about 8 miles form Diss station, I reasoned it was not a railway line (of course it wasn't) he meant that my tastes were at the end of the lane! I quickly learnt they were talking about soup and soap!

After 5 years I re-married, John was totally blind, such a lovely man. The Rector gave the wedding reception at the Rectory, the butcher gave an ox tongue, the baker baked a beautiful cake, ingredients were contributed by W I members (we were still rationed in 1949 for luxuries such as dried fruits and butter)

During the war at Redgrve, there was a prison camp, housing German Prisoners of War, one or two walked about the village freely, infact one called Erich used to dig some gardens for the locals, and one N C C British soldier, acting a guard at the camp used to take a prisoner to matins on sunday morning at Redgrave church.

Then the Americans came, and the village boys used to visit their camp and clean and shine their boots and were handsomely paid.

The Americans gave a Christmas party for the children. I went too and remember seeing quantities of food, dishes of butter, spaced along the trestle tables. We were given a hot lunch, roast beef. Remembering our strict rationing of 1/- worth of meat for a week, no wonder the americans weren't as slim as we were.

One family from the London East end who were evacuated to Redgrave were unhappy and it so happened that the Landlord of the Greyhound pub had an empty shed (chicken hut) quite large, they asked if they could rent it, they cleaned it up, put oil stoves in and spent the war years quite happily there.

We could get a tin of fruit once a month on ration, earned of course, but somehow, our shop keeper could not supply us. I mentioned this to a neighbour who dealt with the co-op and she was lucky to get her ration and kindly offered to get me one. When Margaret came home from school, I asked her to go to the neighbour for the tin of fruit, which she had ready for Margaret with the words "tell your mother I'll have the pints later" Margaret was puzzled, saying pints ? Yes pints, oh! Margaret, she means points, from our ration card !

Our war years were not without a little bit of romance, for our neighbour's daughter had a most beautiful baby boy, flaxen haired, blue eyed. She herself was brunette, and as I have said German prisoners wandered through the woods, so did some of the girls!

We had to toe the line with lighting and blackout - not letting a glimmer of light escape from any window after dark, and if we used our bicycle at night we had to tie a piece of rag over the lamp, to dim the light, so we only went out if there was a full moon.

One day when I had to go to Bottesdale, the shop that I was in, after I had made my purchases, and leaving, I realised how quiet it was, not a soul to be seen. THen my attention was drawn to activity in the sky where an English plane and a German plane were in combat, I quickly went into the post office. So I don't know who won.(Must have been England of course). Once a lone German raider flew over Rickinghall, up through Bottesdale, and there was not one house left with a sound roof. The Altar in the Chapel of Ease was damaged, the lecturn was on its side, the organ was also damaged. So no Sunday service. German planes used to come singly, hedge hopping, we called it. Some children returning to school after dinner dived into the ditch, but it was full of water and they arrived at school very wet indeed, but of course they were taken care of and dried out.

Our mother cat used to produce a family at regular intervals, but the German prisoners used to adopt them, and after the war and the repatriation, the RSPCA had to round up cats from the woods. One prisoner used to linger by our gate and Margaret asked him if he was coming to our Fete, and he said no, because he was a bad man, he could speak English.

I used to have relatived from London to stay, when the bombing was bad, my elder sister was ill, so could not sleep in the anderson shelter, so she slept in her bedroom, but Rose was afraid in the night and the roofs of the houses were damaged, and she woke in the morning to see a man's eye looking through the damaged roof, he said "you can't stop there Missus" but when she explained that pneumonia kept here there, he put a tarpaulin over the gap. Then she came to me when she was able to travel.

After the war, we stayed for a week with her in London. We went to St Pauls Cathedral up to the Stone Gallery and saw the burn marks made by incendary bombs, but as fast as they fell, fire watchers were shovelling them off. We walked past my childhood home, the houses which were opposite were no longer there, and the church had half a steeple. I wished I had never returned.

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