大象传媒

War had been declared and Liverpool Corporation offered evacuation to families within the ring road of Queens Drive. My matriarchal mother declared that if a bomb had our name on it, we would all go together - to eternity!
I was due to start at the Liverpool Institute on September 13, having won a scholarship. Then we were informed that the school would not assemble in Liverpool but would evacuate to Bangor on the 15th September.
With recent knowledge of the despair of unemployment and economic depression still in my parents' minds, my mother decided that the chance of a good education to "get out of the rut" should not be missed.
I was kitted out at great expense aided by a minute grant and was made ready to assemble on the 15th at St. George's Plateau. On the way, my mother took me to Jerome's on London Road for a formal photograph proud and resplendent in my new school uniform. - to remember me by!
Those children gathered on the plateau were counted and recorded and then to Lime Street station to entrain for this new adventure. I am sure I was not the only boy whose horizons had been severely limited up to then.
The journey itself was of great interest as we gazed through the window at the passing scenes. In due course, we arrived at the little North Welsh town - or was it a city ? Yes, the local football team was called Bangor City and there was an ancient cathedral in the town centre. The town itself was dominated by the superb Bangor University building, high up on the hill overlooking the world that would be ours for some tome to come.
On to the County Secondary School in Sackville Road and the boys were placed in small groups, presumably of age and then given the brown carrier bag with its contents of corned beef, margarine, biscuits etc.to give to our new hosts. I was teamed up with another boy new to the school and we were placed at No. 1 Sackville Road, a few yards from our new school, with an elderly Welsh couple. The old lady could speak no English and her husband spoke a few words, something which he later told us had earned him a lance-corporal's stripe in World War One whilst serving with a Welsh regiment. The house was old but spotlessly clean with table linen so white that might have been an advert for Reckitt's starch. There was a cold water tap in the yard, together with the toilet, and the house, having no electricity, was lit by oil lamps. The characteristic smell stays in my memory to this day.
"What are your names? we were asked. "Bobby" we both replied, much to each other's surprise. "Oh then, how should we call you?" Pointing to me, I was declared to be Bobby Fair whilst my new friend was to be Bobby Dark.
The couple were very kind to us despite the language problem and we were set to learn and pronounce our new means of communication.
Our meals were beautifully cooked and included a dessert which was very, very much to my liking. Eventually when I returned home, I told my mother of this but did not know the name. She tried all sorts, tapioca, sago, semolina etc. but no. That was not the taste. It was nine years later when visiting a friend's house, our host made egg custard! I felt like Jimmy Durante singing "I'm the guy who fould the lost chord! "That's it! I've found it.That's it!"
The old couple in Sackville Road were devout Baptists and no newspapers or entertainment was allowed in the house on Sundays. In the morning, our school had church parade and we all trooped off to the cathedral for morning service, all except those of other persuasions who went their separate ways. Then, after tea, we were taken by Mr. and Mrs. Jones (naturally) to the Baptist chapel where the entire service was in Welsh. We understood not a word. At one point in the proceedings, one by one, children stood up to recite what to us sounded like a verse from the bible. Eventually, all eyes were fixed on us but we could not respond. A man in front of us, at the end, gave us each threepence and asked us to learn a verse for next week. Fortunately, we never returned. Our elderly hosts felt that they could not cope with two eleven-year-old boys and so we were moved to a house in Maes Tryfan, about a mile away from the school.
Meanwhile, we were exploring the neighbourhood and it was never long before we were in rural surroundings. Hence the surprised comment shared by both Bobbys, "Look! There's a cow in a field!" The only live cows I had previously seen were in a shippon at the back of my grannie's house.
Garth on the Menai Straits watching men fishing, an old skeleton of a boat rotting on the shore, Roman Camp with its millions of acorns - we were in a new world and how we enjoyed it.
The "Phoney War" persuaded the Institute to re-form part of the school back in Mount Street, Liverpool to cater for the home-sick boys who were beginning to drift back in numbers. At the start of the Whitsun holidays in 1940 , I was brought back and so my idyll ended, just in time for the blitz and real war on the Home Front to begin.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.