大象传媒

My grandaughter's class were participating in a school project about WW2 and Chloe, over a short period, asked many questions. Like so many others I had no answers to the subject of war, and as a human race why we are responsible for death, destruction and suffering. If you think at times children do silly things, adults must certainly take responsibility for being even sillier still!

As a youngster of 69 years, my memories of those war years are vivid; we didn't know it then, but the war would change our family's lives forever. This story is about survival and a family's love and commitment for each other.

The sirens had gone off for the third time that night. I was in my dad's arms; I loved going to the undergrund shelter. Our home was Ramsgate, Kent.
Once in the shelter Dad used to put me in a deck chair. I would be all wrapped up in a blanket, then came the sweets and nuts; well, when you're only 4 years old, those things are important!

Dad would rush back for old Granny Griggs and push her to the shelter. A couple of times Dad was hit by shrapnel but like Mum said, he was always too boozed up to feel it anyway.

We loved to play on the sands at Ramsgate; the seafront was the place where we met family and friends. Everybody knew my sisters, Carrie, Elsie and myself as the chimney sweep's daughters; that was what the Griggs family was famous for. All too quickly we couldn't go to the beach anymore as huge barbed wire fences were put along the seafront. "That will stop that bloody Hitler getting in," Uncle Albert said.

Nothing was to prepare Elsie and me for the shock of leaving Ramsgate to be evacuated; I was just 5 and Elsie 10. I remember so clearly Mum didn't want us to go. We didn't really know what evacuted meant, but I do now!

We hated every minute living in Stafford, and the family we lived with hated us, so at the grand ages of 6 and 11 we ran away, we were both so unhappy.

Of course we didn't get very far and had to go back. Mum used to send us parcels, but they never reached us as they went to the farmer's children.

There was light at the end of the tunnel, revenge was on it's way. Mum found out how badly we were treated, arrived in Stafford, gave the farmer's wife a good hiding and we all left together.

It was quite simple really; as a family we didn't want to be separated. Mum rented rooms in Stafford and got a cleaning job. It wasn't safe to return to Ramsgate. We all missed Dad so much; he wasn't going to carry me to the shelter ever again as he had joined the Royal Navy. As Dad was the last family member to leave the house, it was boarded up.

Stafford was not a place for us; our prayers were eventually answered - Ramsgate here we come.

When we reopened the huse, there was great excitement, especially when Mum looked in the oven to find Dad had left a rice pudding in the oven for 2 years (well our family did always like their rice with a double helping of mould!)
Mum went off to visit Dad for a long weekend and we stayed with our family, our granny, sister Carrie and our uncles.

Mum got back from her visit very, very excited. "Girls, we are going to to and live with Dad." We all cried with excitement. Mum went on to say she had rented rooms with a very nice family that lived at a place called Avonmouth, and close by was a lovely village called Shanghai. Within a very short time the whole of Ramsgate, Margate and Broadstairs must have known we were moving to be with Dad.

Now Uncle Albert wanted a little word with us. "Elsie, Eileen, why on earth is your father taking you to China?" China? Who said anything about China? With all the excitement Elsie and I didn't hear Shirehampton, we only heard Shanghai!

The Martin family made us very welcome and straigh away I knew I was going to be happy in Avonmouth. We were, afterall, living 4 doors away from a sweet shop!

"Come on", Betty Martin said, "let's go to the shop, the Jew shop is closed today." I said, "But it's Saturday". "Yeah, if you're Jewish you get the day off," Betty said. So we had to go to Specks. Dad would never let us call the local shop the Jew shop. "Ogbourns, that's the name," he would insist.

Mum and Mrs Martin would swop their rations and we would have their flour and the Martins would have our sugar. I had one dress that Mum would wash, dry and iron every night.

One day Betty Martin and I were taking baby Stephen, my nephew, for a walk down Avonmouth Road in his pram, when all of a sudden the Dixon boys came running towards us. One of them shouted, "Quick, the Americans are after us". We could see why, as they were armed with chocolate. The covers went back on the pram, the chocolate went in and we just carried on walking.

I can taste that chocolate now. When you've had a diet of rationed everything, but plenty of fish paste, dripping, spam and powdered egg, that chocolate will always be a fond memory.

Several years ago I was so touched to see at the Remembrance Day parade in London that at long last children who were evacuated during the war were given recognition. Although I was watching the parade on television, it was an emotional moment for me. Like so many children, we were taken away from our families, friends, homes and schools - everything we knew and loved.

We had no choice, we were made to go. We didn't ask for war; we were not allowed to question, why.

My mum was not an educated woman; she could hardly read or write, material things meant very little to her. In those days there was vey little money around and what you did earn had to go such a long way.

I realise now how wise she was, and how much she knew and understood about life.

Whatever it took, and it must have been a great motivation and commitment to keep our family together.

Were they the good old days? Everybody has their own story!

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