大象传媒

My mother wept. A look of disbelief traversed my father's face. I recall my bewilderment as the disembodied voice on the wireless announced "we are now at war with Germany". That fateful day in September, when the prepared lunch remained uneaten, will live in my memory forever.

The implications of that announcement were perhaps lost on me, only being eight years old at the time, but the distress of my parents instinctively made me aware that something serious was taking place. My memories of the next few days are rather vague, until the day of the evacuation dawned. Parents and children were assembled on the station platform with voluntary workers trying to organise us children into groups, but what with weeping mothers and bewildered children, some crying, there was chaos and confusion everywhere.

Eventually, by the time the train puffed into the station, and after many tearful hugs and kisses, the mothers were persuaded to relinquish their offsprings, and we were ready to board the train. Now with the natural resilience of a child, and having been given a brown paper carrier bag containing sweets, chocolate, fruit and biscuits, this had taken on the air of a holiday outing to me and I became quite excited as the train chugged along through the countryside.

We arrived at Hinckley, Leicestershire, and were taken to a church hall where a group of women were gathered. We were lined up, and these women, complete strangers to us all, walked along picking out one or two children. A Mrs. Blurton chose a girl named Frances and me and, after collecting our belongings together, took us to her home. That first night, lying in a strange bed in a strange house, I realised what an orphan must feel like and I cried myself to sleep wondering when I would see my mom and dad and little sister again.

Looking back I'm amazed at how quickly I fitted into my new life, all credit due to the way that generous family embraced me into their home and activities. The autumn of that year gave me some of the pleasantest memories of my stay with that unforgettable family.

Back home, with none of the expected bombing raids materialising, coupled with the fact the my sister, Joyce was pining, it was decided that I would return home. So one dark November night I returned to Birmingham. A Birmingham cloaked in the gloom of the blackout with air-raid shelters ready for occupation as the Brummies waited for the dreaded raids to begin.

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