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This story was submitted to the People’s War Site by Doreen Oaks for Three Counties Action, on behalf of Rene Wentworth, and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.

At thirteen years old my war started on 1st September 1939 in Polar, E14. On that day I went to school only to be told to go home to get my pre-packed case along with her sandwiches and other little necessities for a long journey. Then, with increasing excitement, the whole school marched to the station for a grand send off. Because my surname began with the letter ‘C’ I was first in alphabetical order entitled to carry the placard bearing the words: ‘Bromley Hall Road School’. (I kept it for many years after the war).

There was no sorrow felt at leaving our homes and weeping parents; it was an exciting adventure and we were told it would be a long, long, holiday. After hours of train journeying we eventually arrived at Glastonbury in Somerset, very tired and, by now, extremely apprehensive. We were taken to the local picture house where locals came to choose the children who took their fancy. I went with a brother and sister and taken to a policeman’s home where there was his wife and little boy, Michael, of about four years old. As I turned fourteen in January I started working two full days for a shoe factory in Glastonbury, the rest of the week attended school.

Memories of my stay in Glastonbury were happy as the family treated us kindly and at no time did I feel home sick. There were a lot of country interests to keep me occupied so missing my family at home had no place in my life then. However, my friends started to leave for home as the bombing of London hadn’t materialised. I decided to go too, this time to Poplar, London where I started a job in a cardboard box factory. It was now Easter and the bombing started in earnest in September. Our house was bombed, not a direct hit, but damage was severe enough to force us to move. (At the time of the raid we were in an air-raid shelter.) Furniture that wasn’t too damaged was taken to our next home in Upton Park, not too far away, but the night we moved in the house was bombed again. Fortunately the damage was repairable so we stayed put and I was able to travel to the factory.

During the bombings we really didn’t feel any fear, not the youngsters anyway, and when Mum urged me to get to the shelter, I preferred to stay in my bed.

My stay in Glastonbury was only six months and because the war was taking over our lives, I didn’t think to keep in touch. It was, though, an episode that I remember fondly. The tranquil country life prior to the madness of war.

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