大象传媒

In the summer of 1939, I was 13 years old and had just completed my third year at Sydenham County Secondary School for Girls but during the long holidays my parents received letters about the possibility of war and arrangements for evacuation of the school if necessary. At the end of August we were recalled to school for final instructions. I thought it would be a wonderful adventure and was very excited. On the Friday, we waited at school all day with our parents but were sent home again and told to return at 8.00 am. with sufficient food for a long journey to North Wales.

Then, on the Saturday morning, we were finally off. Our parents waved goodbye at the school gates as we filed out in a long crocodile to the station, carrying our square boxed gas masks and a large label tied to our coats saying "H26". This was our school code which must never be forgotten. At the station, it seemed that another school had arrived before us and had been sent off in the waiting train, presumable to North Wales. The next train for us only went to Redhill so I was very disappointed when we were taken to a large cinema there and shown Mickey Mouse films for what seemed like hours. During this time, each row in turn was filed out for a medical examination. The nurse looked at our throats, our hair for nits and our fingers for scabies. We were each given a bag of rations for the weekend to give to our hostesses and we soon discovered that it contained a bar of chocolate which we immediately devoured. Finally, we were taken to a fleet of buses which took us to various villages scattered along the A25. My bus stopped at Buckland where we waited in the village school for the hostesses to come and pick which child they fancied. I got left till last so the billeting officer eventually took me to an elderly couple in a little cottage. By this time, it was almost dark and the toilet was up the garden, but they did give me a potty for the night!

The next morning (Sunday) we had to meet at the village school from where we were taken to a large house with extensive grounds on the way to Betchworth. This was to be our meeting point and schoolroom for the next few months. On that first Sunday morning we listened to the declaration of war on the radio and then wrote our postcards home to tell our parents where we were. After the first week, my billet was considered unsuitable, although that elderly couple had been very kind and motherly to me. When I said casually that I usually had an orange for tea, they walked all the way into Reigate to buy me some and these must have been the last fresh oranges that I saw for six years. However, I was moved into a beautiful mock-Tudor house were four of us shared the end wing. Two were older than me and one had a much younger sister so I felt like the odd one out and was rather lonely. Before long, arrangements were made for us to share the Dorking County School in the afternoons, especially for the subjects requiring special equipment, like the science labs. This meant catching a little train along the foot of Box Hill which I enjoyed as I could link up with my own classmates again. Gradually, as the months slipped into years, we all moved into Dorking. At first, we all slept in a kindergarten boarding school named Stanway were the furniture and toilets were like a dolls house. Finally, I went to live with a newly married couple named Reg and Ruth Cooper who were very good to me and I did keep in touch for some years after leaving school.

My brother attended a school in Beckenham (Kent) so he remained at home. Sometimes, he and my father would cycle down to visit me. We would then jump over the stepping stones across the River Mole to climb Box Hill and the three of us would drink a flask of hot Bovril which my mother had provided. At some point, we were issued with ration books and identity cards (the latter had to be carried with us always). Occasionally we had to practise gas mask drill, although we never needed them for real.

Our teachers must have worked very long hours because at weekends they organised extra activities, e.g. art/sketching groups or nature rambles. Our school was chosen by a film company to represent an evacuated school for a documentary film. One day we were up on Ranmore Common studying wild flowers with this film company when we heard the air raid sirens. There had been many false alarms so no one took much notice. The film crew decided to take a scene of us pretending to be frightened and running into the woods. After a dozen or so rehearsals they were satisfied and ready for the final "take" when suddenly a plan swooped really low over us followed by two more planes shooting at it. This time, we really did run for the woods, scattering our panama hats all over the path way. We heard the plane crash and were told that the German airman had bailed out so we must remain quietly in the woods until he was found. This continued for several hours so the film crew went to the little shop and bought up their entire stock of crisps and apples for us. Eventually the "all clear" siren was heard and we returned to Dorking with a great sense of adventure. This must have been in early 1940 before we had experienced what War really meant.

The school sports fields were dug up into air raid shelters and as the London Blitz became reality we spent more and more time in these shelters. There was only a gloomy 40 watt light so it was impossible to read and it was too cold to concentrate so our lessons were severely interrupted. I was not a very academic pupil but I somehow scraped through the General School Certificate with two credits and three passes which was sufficient to be accepted for training to become a Registered Sick Childrens Nurse at Queen Mary's Hospital, Carshalton.

Thus at 16 years old, I left my evacuated school to start my nursing career. I was thrilled to have my own room in the nurses home with my own bunch of keys and felt very "grown up". We spent four weeks in the preliminary training school and I soon fitted in with my fellow probationers. Queen Mary's Hospital for sick children was built specifically for London children with long term illnesses, e.g. orthopaedic TB or rhumatic heart disease, to recover in the country air. It was constructed in semi-detached bungalows with 24 beds on each side of the pair. These were spaciously placed along six "streets". Once we finished the PTS, we worked a 54 hour week of shere physical labour and had to attend the theoretical lectures in our off duty. Each week we had to give the ward sister a list of our lecture programmes so she could plan the off duty rota to enable us to attend. In addition to all this, enemy planes were dropping incendiary bombs at night so we had to spend one night a week on fire duty. This meant patrolling the grounds with a stirrup pump and bucket of water all night. Legally, this fire watch was not compulsory under 18 years but so many of us were under 18 we were asked to volunteer as it would be unfair to expect the others to be on duty more frequently. Of course, we all volunteered as we wanted to do our bit for the War Effort. No one ever admitted that they were scared, even though it was very spooky in the black out with only a dim torch and the wind rustling in the bushes. At one point along the route, there was a toilet for the male members of staff which had an automatic flush. This made me think there was a man inside and I would run past in terror! When I think of today's sophisticated 17 year olds I was a very immature child at that age.

Our food was very monotonous with powered egg as scrambled egg for breakfast; again as a leathery slab which called it self "baked custard" on the next day, and as a sort of vegetable omlette for supper on the third day. As growing teenagers we often moaned but really we were never anything like starving, in fact, that war time diet was more healthy than much of today's junk food. I was always more tired than hungry and if I didn't have to attend a lecture I would often spend my precious off duty in bed asleep. Our social life was spent entirely within the hospital as we had no natural contact with the local area. At Christmas socials etc. we would dance with each other, not because we were lesbian but there simply weren't any men around. On my day off, I could cycle home to Anerley but my brother had been called up, my old friends had scattered, my mother was busy organising National Savings and other War Effort tasks so it just didn't seem like "my" home any more.

It used to be considered beneficial for TB patients to be nursed in the fresh air regardless of temperature, so every morning, these children were pushed out on to the veranda, strapped onto wooden frames with extension weights on their limbs. Only when rain or snow as blowing in onto them were the shutters ever pulled down. Many of them were hospitalised for months so they did have a peripatetic teacher for a few hours a week, but it was only very basic and no thought at all was given to their emotional needs. In retrospect I am horrified at their overall care and often wonder what sort of adults they have become. Even for the staff, the wards were run with tyrannical efficiency and I was always scared of not completing my work on time. I never dared to ask why we did anything and certainly never answered back, even if it was blamed for something which was not my fault.

Then, in 1944, the pilotless buzz bombs started. These were really frightening as one heard the low drone sound as they came nearer but then the engine cut out and there was any eerie silence as one waited for it to land, causing much devastation. These were during the day as well as at night. None actually landed on the wards and no child was injured, but one landed in the grounds and another close by causing much structural damage. It was then decided necessary to evacuate the hospital. Thus, for the second time in my young life, I was evacuated but this time I was supposed to be a responsible member of the staff and was extremely busy.

The medical wards went to Knaresborough in Yorkshire and the surgical wards went to Durham. No one had any choice, as we had to go with which ever ward we were working on at that time. Thus my friend and I got split up and hardly saw eachother to say goodbye. We were so busy preparing the children that we hardly had any time to pack up our own personal belongings. This time, we went in a fleet of ambulances to the station for the long train journey. Many of the children were sick as we couldn't stop their wooden frames from rocking with the train's movement.

At Durham, we were delighted to see the Red Cross and St. John's Ambulance staff waiting to unload the children and take us all to Dryburn Hospital as we were exhausted. This was intended for wounded POWs but there were only sufficient of these to occupy one of the pre-fab huts on either side of a long central corridor. Our children occupied the other huts but staff were billeted on private families living nearby. Here I was placed with an elderly brother and sister whose routine was very rigid. Once a week they had friends in for Bridge which was taken very seriously and put me off ever wanting to play. I tried not to cause any problems but they seemed to have no idea of what London and the South was enduring. Any way, my work kept me occupied and I made friends with another nurse, Sue Hayes who became Mrs. R. Andrewes. She had received a far more cultural education and taught me to appreciate Durham Cathedral and its choral music. Sometimes we would go rowing on the river or walk along the the weir.

Finally, came the news of VE Day. Of course, we were all delighted but I seemed to have missed out on the total sense of euphoria of the South as soon on old News Films. A few months later, I had completed my four years training and applied to do my SRN Certificate at Guy's Hospital. For several more years, there were food shortages and rations reduced and I also remember one bitterly cold winter (?1947) when heating was very sparse. However, the war was over and so was my life as a War Time Evacuee.

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