大象传媒

In September 1938 the ARP Civil Defence organisation was formed and Dad, keen to do his bit in the event of war, joined early in 1939. This was ironic really because when the war did start Dad, being a foreign national, had to report to the police every fortnight or so!
Also about this time my uncle Andres, Dad's youngest brother, came to England-sponsored by his mum and dad- as a refugee from the Spanish Civil War. Their middle brother Juan had been in the Spanish Republican Army, had contracted T.B and died. Sister Pacquita was married to a soldier but all contact was lost with her when Andres came to England.
Andres was very political, and of course, very anti-Franco. He quickly set about setting up an "Hogar Espanol" Community centre for ex-patriot Spaniards living in England. Notting Hill Gate was its location and Andres became the organising centre of a movement whose aim was to help the Republican fighters left in their home-land. They imported and sold Spanish olive oil in drums and sold it door to door in smaller quantities. Silk scarves painted with the slogan "Ayuda a Espana" (Help Spain) were sold, and these as well as other enterprises helped obtain funds for their cause. Ria and I each had one of the scarves, mine was pink and hers was blue. We went to the "Hogar" quite often before the war and it was quite clear that in his twenty or so years of living in Britain, my Dad had forgotten the Spanish language to a very great degree. After all, he had come to England aged fourteen with his father (who had abandoned his wife and other three children) never to return. What he had not forgotten was how to make a Spanish omelette and on my visits to the "Hogar" my Dad was often in charge of cooking a huge tortilla in the biggest paella pan I had ever seen. This, together with fresh crusty bread and tomatoes, would provide supper for everyone who visited the club at the appropriate time, and they all got to know when that was! Through the club Andres met a young Spanish woman Eugenia who taught English, and, after a brief courtship, they married. Eugenia was lovely and used to teach Ria and me some Spanish phrases and test our memories whenever we met her at the club. Before long, they had a son, Andresito followed about eighteen months later by another, Ruben, then Pablo. They were a lovely family and only our leaving London to be evacuated made us lose touch with them, which was a shame really.

The tenth of June 1939 was a bright clear day- my eighth birthday! "Stand still will you", Mother admonished me for moving while she was trying to push some new earrings through the holes in my ears. I was standing on the step of the newly appointed RENE Hairdresser in Hercules Road, and the gold faceted sleepers were a present from my Aunty Rose in Newport.
For months now the grown ups had been talking of nothing but war- doom and gloom was everywhere. I found it all quite exciting. Gas masks had been issued at school and we had to practice using them- they were fun because if you blew while wearing it the mask made a disgusting snorting sound which we children loved. We had to take our masks everywhere in a small square cardboard box with a string for carrying it over your shoulder Everyone was singing "The Lambeth Walk" from "Me and My Girl" by Lupino Lane. We had been to see the show in the West End with Mum and Dad on a Thursday- their half -day and afterwards had dinner at Lyons Corner House in the Strand. I think my childhood really ended here!

2nd of September 1939. It was a Saturday and the whole of Addington Street School with Banner, labels round our necks, gas masks on our shoulders, satchels on our backs, carrying bags in our hands, gathered at Waterloo Staion to get an Evacuation Special going heaven knows where. It all sounded very mysterious, as we were told that nobody knew where we would be sleeping that night. We all arrived at Sherborne Station, in Dorset, and assembled in a large hall. Two people came in and claimed us and we were taken to a large black funeral-like car and settled in the back. It was quite comfortable, so I asked if this was where we'd be sleeping but we were told that we'd be sleeping in a bed at our billet at 25 Barton Gardens. Our foster family was a childless middle-aged couple and the husband was an auctioneer who worked at the cattle market in Sherborne.

3rd September 1939 Sunday. After some breakfast, Ria and I were told that we were going to visit some of their relatives in Appledore- some 30 miles or so away. During the journey at about 11.15 am we pulled into a garage to get some petrol and we could hear the radio. Mr Neville Chamberlain was making an announcement, saying: "No such undertaking, having been received, a state of war exists between Britain and Germany". I remember hearing the Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, issue an ultimatum to Adolf Hitler that unless German troops were withdrawn from Poland by eleven am, on the third of September 1939, a state of war would exist between our two countries. So, obviously this was it! The adults seemed a bit horror struck but to us children it was all quite exciting and we wondered what would happen next. We didn't have to wonder for long because almost immediately the wail of the Air-Raid Warning sounded- a sound we were going to dread before the war was over!

The relatives in Appledore made us very welcome and their son, a nephew to our foster parents, was going to get married at about Christmas time. It was made known that I had a white satin dress with a matching shoulder cape which mum had made me -so I was asked if I'd be a bridesmaid at the wedding. I cannot remember if this happened or not, but I certainly wore the white dress when we went to their house again at Christmas and we had a jolly time.

We used often to visit Barton Dairy Farm, which was very close to home, and watch the cows being milked and then the milk being pasteurised. To a townie like me, this was all very fascinating but most of all I enjoyed being shown the silkworms spinning their silk and being fed mulberry leaves from the many bushes lining the drive way. The silkworms were housed in a series of drawers, kept at a constant temperature to keep them productive. We often used to go the market on Auction Day and watch our foster Dad at work and it was probably the first time I'd seen pigs and sheep at close quarters. Being separated from Mum and Dad and also having (I suppose) a slightly weakened bladder, I started wetting the bed. Our foster dad was not pleased and threatened to strap me with his belt if it happened again. It did and he did and Ria reported it to Mum by letter. Mum came to visit and asked for us to be moved to a family with children and it happened soon after Christmas time.

Our new billet was a three bedroom council house on a new estate. They had two boys, Bruno and Esme, and two girls, Vanessa and Charlotte, also Kathleen, a teenager, the last one left at home from a step-brood of four and us two. It was somewhat crowded and the food was poor- often just a half penny bun and an oxo for dinner and sometimes "Chappie" dog food sandwiches. Our foster mum was also quite cute when it came to getting clothes and shoes for her children. She would give our clothes to whichever of her brood that the fitted and send us to the "welfare lady" at the Town Hall to get clothes and food for us, because she would say "These poor London kids don't have any". Despite these shortcomings I really enjoyed it there and our evenings were spent "finishing" gloves which we had previously collected, from a local leather factory, in an old pram. Night after night we spent our time pulling the cotton ends through to the inside of each glove, knotting them and cutting them off. Then the finished gloves were returned to the factory and our "outwork" paid for (presumably) before collecting another batch to be done. Needless to say we never saw any of the proceeds, but this enterprise served to give me a life-long love of the smell of leather.

However, our poor diet led to complications when first Ria and then I developed chicken-pox. My sister was taken into a Nursing home called "The Beeches" because her spots turned to Impetigo. Mined did too and I also had the infected sores on my head AND head lice -so I found myself at "The Beeches" too! At least the food was good but, because of the sores, I had to have my hair cut and head shaved, which I hated. I'd had a lovely head of thick dark brown hair with reddish tints, so for me it was heartbreaking.

At The Beeches, as soon as the infective period was passed, children were sent back to school with all their spots painted with Gentian Violet. I seem to remember it was a difficult substance to erase as it dyed the skin and almost had to "wear" off! We left the Beeches and were found new billets, separated for the first time. Ria went to a couple with two older boys, indeed young men, who lived in a very small terraced house -the sort where one room leads to another. She seemed to like it there, but Mum was a bit horrified to learn that the lads had to pass through Ria's bedroom to get to theirs.

I was billeted on the Gear family who had one small son called Raymond and lived in a tiny terraced cottage with a long, narrow strip of garden. Mr Gear worked for the Railway company and I think their home may have been Railway Cottages. He loved to tend his garden and grew all sorts of vegetables in neat rows. I would often be helping him as I was rather sensitive about my bald head and stayed in the garden as much as possible. I wore a hat to School and was allowed to keep it on all the time.

Living in the kindly Gear family鈥檚 home was just how a home should be! It was well ordered and homely with everything happening at the right time -a home in which I felt safe and loved- and Mrs Gear was an excellent cook.

At the start of the Easter Holidays 1940, Mum came to visit. Imagine her horror to find me hairless and spotty- Ria mostly recovered with the odd blob of Gentian violet still lingering. Mother was not happy that we had been separated, not ecstatic about Ria's new billet and was naturally very upset to find us in a poor undernourished state and she was determined to take us back to London. I was disappointed to leave the Gear family, but glad to be going back to Mum and Dad.

I suppose Mum was feeling a bit more secure because by December 1939 many evacuees had returned to London, there having been no air raids. Cinemas and Theatres that closed down at the outbreak of war, reopened. This period was called the 鈥減honey war鈥�. Early in 1940 Food Rationing began, to give everyone a fair share of the limited food supplies available. Everyone was issued with a Ration Book, and evacuees had to bring theirs with them so their foster-mothers would be able to feed them. The rations were meagre, but I cannot remember going hungry. People got very resourceful in the war and there seemed to be no limit as what could be done with dried egg powder! Children under five had green coloured ration books and this entitled them to the occasional oranges or bananas to be found in shops, as it was felt their needs were greater. We older children were green with envy! Foster families had an allowance for each evacuee they took in, so there was a suspicion that sometimes the allowance was the main attraction in taking 鈥淟ondon kids鈥� as we were often rather disparagingly described.
Mum had found out that our last but one foster mother, with all the children, had previously been summonsed for child neglect. Not unnaturally, she was incensed that we should have been billeted there at all and planned to go to the Chief Billeting Officer at County Hall in London to make her displeasure felt. But first, we had to go back to London. Mother made us matching coats and jockey caps in fine cream wool with a small green cross woven into the material. The outfits were most attractive, but wouldn鈥檛 look to good on someone without any hair. So, when we got to Sherborne Station Mum, with scissors at the ready, chased a very unwilling Ria round the platform to obtain a bit of hair to pin to each side of my jockey cap, so that I would look a little less freakish! The next day, Mum took me to County Hall and when we got into the Chief Billeting Officer鈥檚 Office she pulled off my jockey cap, still with hair attached, and let him know what she thought of his abilities, placing her children with a woman who had been found guilty of Child Neglect. I can still feel the humiliation that I felt then鈥� it was horrible!

For some time the war hadn鈥檛 had too much effect in London and this, together with Mum鈥檚 belief that no one could be trusted to look after us properly, made her decide that we should stay in London.

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