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Evacuation in 1940. Memories of Graham J Clark.
GJC022005
When the second world war broke out in September 1939 it appeared to me that a brilliant adventure was just beginning. I was too young to appreciate the dangers this was going to bring, and, with a certain amount of childish apprehension, I waited for exciting things to happen. It didn't appear to be long before Bristol was under heavy bombardment from the Luftwaffe.

The heavy bombing of key towns in Britain had begun and Bristol was getting it's fair share. The Clark family, who lived in Thomas Street in St Pauls, began to experience the dangers of aerial bombardment.

Early in 1940 the government decided to carry out an evacuation operation immediately, and Bristol was one of the towns chosen. The big move to get children to safer areas was underway, and most were being moved to Somerset and Devon
However, it was agreed that my brother Ronald and I (aged 9 and 7) would go to Auntie Elsie and Uncle Jack in Chippenham. They had a son who was away serving in the army, and although they were "middle aged" it was agreed they could cope with us
Chippenham was a very long way away as we had no car. The journey would take all day, and we were allowed to take very few possessions with us. We travelled by bus with my parents and our sister Miriam who at 4 years of age would be staying with my parents. We arrived at 57 Park Lane and my parents left immediately. I couldn't understand that ! I was very upset and cried for two days. I should have considered myself lucky I was not with some of my friends in Somerset, who, upon arrival, had to wait to be shared out amongst local families. However, after subsequent visits by my parents, the period of upset became shorter and shorter because there was so much to do in our new home.
Uncle Jack was a local preacher at the Baptist Church and occasionally showed his temper and knew how to cheat. I think he worked in the shoe retail business. Auntie Elsie was plump and jolly, and in those first two days of misery I couldn't help reciting to myself "Jack Sprat could eat no fat, his wife could eat no lean, and so betwixt them both, they licked the platter clean"
Their son Raymond who was nineteen, was a motor cycle despatch rider in the army. About this time, on a night errand, he skidded on wet roads and knocked himself out. He lay for six hours under his machine until the morning when somebody helped him. This story was accepted with grateful thanks and passed around my school playground many times until it finished up as some other boy's relative who'd had this super accident.
Ron and I went to school on the other side of the river until he was moved to Wanstead Secondary School, which had recently evacuated "en masse" from London. I met one or two of these Londoners and they were all right but a bit old for me. I had some good pals in my own school, though. I remember two incidents about my headmaster which give an indication about the difference in discipline. With quite a bit of snow lying in the playground, I ran across to the steps in front of the main door, skidded, and knocked the Head onto his back. My reward was a visit to his study for six of the best on each hand. Another boy later played a trick on him. "Excuse me sir, your shoelace is undone--- April Fool !" He also got six on each hand. At playtime we used to go across the road to the baker's. We bought a fresh bread roll for a ha'penny, or, if we were rich, a lardie cake, dripping with fat, for a penny.
Auntie Elsie's friend, Mrs Fisher, lived by the greengrocer's near the main gates to Chippenham Park. She had a little black and white mongrel terrier called Peter. Ron and I practically took over the dog and had many happy outings into the park and Hardenhuish by the football ground.
Sometimes late in the evening we thought we could hear thunder, but the nights were quite clear. We could look towards Bristol and see a red glow in the sky. Auntie Elsie would say to Jack, "They are going through it again" My father's business was Ackland Clark Saddlers Ironmongers, run by Granddad Clark, Uncle Percy, Auntie May and Dad. Their premises in Castle Street were bombed to the ground, and they moved to new buildings in Merchant Street. Shortly after, this too was completely gutted, and they moved to my Granddad鈥檚 house at 107 Ashley Road, St Pauls, where they took it in turns to fire watch (The business was run from those premises by Percy's son Roy for many years)
Market day in Chippenham was a Friday. This was always great fun for us and we spent lots of time there. There was the time when a bull got loose inside the market and we got into a pen with some cows. It seemed the safest place at the time. I remember seeing a man running away from this bull and leaping over quite a high wall. We had long discussions later on how high a man could really jump if he was being chased by a bull ! Also when a cow got away and started running up the High Street causing consternation with the traffic. Unfortunately someone had left the cover off a fire hydrant. The cow got it's leg down the hole and broke it, and it had to be put down in the middle of the road. We waited a long time to see it removed.
It was an eye opener for us when we saw a calf born for the first time, all steaming and messy. It was amazing how soon it was on it's feet. Humans took at least ten months, but this was about ten minutes. We decided the animals must be superior beings.
Ron and I found a stray cow wandering around on it's own near the park. We guided it all the way through town, right down the High Street to the market, and eventually found the owner. Unfortunately, he didn't rate our rescue act as highly as we did, and gave us 2 pence each. Still, we could get half a pound of sweets for a ha'penny, so it wasn't too bad.
We were certainly more respectful of authority in those days. I remember having a great time clambering over the band stand in the park. We weren鈥檛 doing any damage (we wouldn鈥檛 dare) but the park keeper saw us and tried to catch us. He didn鈥檛 catch any of us; we ran like hell and I wet my trousers.
We used to go with Auntie and Uncle to the Baptist Church in the centre of the town. We boys were always let out just before the sermon at about half past eleven. One Sunday we found the Home Guard outside the church giving the townsfolk a taste of gas for practise. We had to get our masks on damn quick and walk through this thick swirling gas, up towards the park. I was a bit scared, but when I realised I had got through all right I tried to go back through it. I just missed a clip round the ear from a corporal and scarpered.
Although we were close enough to Bristol to hear the German bombers closing in, and we could see the glow of the fires, Chippenham had only one taste of the action. One Saturday night the siren had sounded, we were downstairs under the table, and when the All Clear sounded at about midnight, we went to bed. We woke about midday and realised with relish we had been let off church. We heard that a returning bomber had dropped a stray bomb in the then outskirts opposite Hardenhuish Park. We rushed over to see the house was extensively damaged. The family of four had been under the stairs (a recommended place) and I think they survived. I believe I鈥檓 right in saying that this was the only bomb in this town during the whole war.
The slaughter house was another favourite haunt of ours. It was situated between the market and the river. We used to watch the cows being led in and felled by the humane killer. The men only closed the doors during a particular part of the proceedings and of course there was no way they were going to curtail our education like that. We would climb up into the window and stay there for a long time. It is said that smell is the thing we remember most, and that place certainly underlined that fact.
Near the market the River Avon runs fairly fast but quite smooth. Ron and I used to wade across to the island in our wellie boots. He was all right, his boots always seemed to be about one inch above the water line, but often mine seemed to be about half an inch below and soon filled up.
I don鈥檛 remember Auntie Elsie ever losing her cool with us, even when I made a parachute from my new hanky and it was blown over a garden wall never to be seen again.
In the Baptist Church we appeared to have abstinence preached continuously. The Sunday School asked us to design a poster denouncing the demon drink. I knew my limitations, I couldn鈥檛 draw people, so I drew a long corridor with no outlet and a small table with a bottle of beer on it. I added the title :-
BEER---Keep Well Away From It
I won first prize, which was a book token. Auntie Elsie took me into town and tried to persuade me to have an encyclopaedia but I insisted on having that comic annual that none of my mates had seen. As I said to her 鈥淚t鈥檚 my prize, not yours 鈥� On another Sunday School competition we were invited to perform some unusual thing connected with the bible. I decided to learn by heart the books of the Old Testament. I got as far as Leviticus and my memory kept letting me down. I crammed and crammed, but on the day my memory let me down again at that point. I got a consolation prize for a valiant effort, and to this day I can still recite the books of the Old Testament鈥攁s far as Leviticus.
Auntie Elsie had a younger cousin, a lady called Molly who lived in Melksham. That seemed absolutely miles away but she made regular visits. Ron and I were sailing our boats in the park pond. It was round with invitingly sloping sides. Ron reached out for his boat and, yes, he was in up to his neck. To Ron鈥檚 embarrassment, the cousin stripped him and put him in the bath.
I was too young to know what embarrassment was. I remember being bathed by Uncle Jack. I said he had a temper. I did a bit of splashing about and got him wet. He hit me across the face. I cried and Auntie Elsie came rushing in, but he denied he had done anything. But Auntie knew, and I saw them have a row for the first time. Any arguments they had after that were always about us boys. (I played billiards with Uncle once, I turned to put my score up on the mantelpiece score board and saw him in the mirror move the red ball over the pocket with his hand. I turned round quickly but he denied cheating, so I stormed out of the room saying I wasn鈥檛 going to play any more with a cheat )
Uncle Jack was a champion at Bowls, and he played for Wiltshire County. We often watched when they were playing in the park, and he was the perfect gentleman with his pals. On the whole he was good with us boys, and, yes, he was the best bowler on the green.
I remember being sent up to the greengrocer鈥檚 for seven pounds of potatoes. I recited it all the way up the road, and queued up. When it was my turn I asked for one pound of potatoes. 鈥淎re you SURE she asked you to get one pound ?鈥� 鈥淵es鈥� I said, so he gave me one potato in a bag. Auntie Elsie laughed as she always did, and said it wouldn鈥檛 go far between four.
I learned how to make a Red Indian spear with a sharp point which was propelled with a knotted rope. I was amazed just how far I could throw it, but I now think it must have been very dangerous for some of my mates.

Ron and I returned to Bristol some time in 1941. The bombing of Bristol still continued, but my parents decided we would be better off together as a family. My sister Janet had just been born and now we were six (Gwen was born two years later). Bristol had changed, many bombed buildings, empty spaces where there had been shops, some of my friends were still away in Somerset. I returned to school at Baptist Secondary School. Further bombing during 1941 did damage to property in Bristol. I remember the occasion when a gas hydrant was on fire in Newfoundland Road. A fireman in a heavy asbestos suit carefully disappeared into the flames and turned off the gas cock, the fire subsided and he slowly became visible again, a hero in our eyes.
I remember one fairly clear night when the sirens had sounded and with my family I was in our Anderson shelter (a corrugated iron construction designed to be half buried in the ground) in our back garden in St Paul's. I was suffering from child's asthma. I remember it as being very severe, and as I didn't feel comfortable in this shut up area, I had my head out of the door. Another bomb was falling, we could hear the increasing whine. My brother and I always eased the tension by shouting "Send another down !" My father dragged me inside and shut the shelter door. There was a succession of massive bangs, and our shelter moved sideways about two feet. After a short pause my father pushed my head out of the doorway for more air and I heard my mother say "I think that's our house gone" The moon lit up the very heavy dust filled air, and as it slowly cleared, I could see about five feet away, a long piece of shrapnel, glowing red hot, stuck in the garden seat, sending up a small plume of smoke from the burning wood. Then I saw our house still standing but all windows out, and the heavy window frame lying across my bed. The bomb had wrecked the house just behind ours, with their cast iron bed frame lying on the top of our shelter. Next morning, Ron and I went into Newfoundland Road (see photograph) and tried to bake potatoes on the still burning remnants of the bombed houses
And there was the man with a bit of an accent who asked kids in St Agnes Park how he could get to Purdown, and what could they tell him about 鈥淧urdown Percy鈥� ? (supposedly a big anti-aircraft gun up on the hill) Some sharp boys told the police, who caught him and held him in St Agnes Church Hall. Was the story true that he was held, and convicted after the war as a spy ?

My memories of my time in Chippenham are quite clear, and even now, if I have butter, I feel somewhat guilty that it isn鈥檛 mashed with margarine. We have been back many times but now Auntie Elsie and Uncle Jack are gone, also Mrs Fisher and Peter. The park keeper seems very friendly and the park seems to have shrunk. No one requires my services to drive wayward cows to market. The bypass behind the railway bridge goes right across the place where my school stood.
Chippenham seems to have moved closer to Bristol. Using the M4 I can get to the market place in about thirty minutes.
Graham J Clark February 2005

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