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Darkness was very quickly descending on that very memorable evening on 1st September 1939 when residents of Innage Crescent, Bridgnorth were aroused by very loud adult voices and muffled cries of children. My Father and I were tempted to put in an appearance and mingled with the crowd around the conduit amidst the Crescent dwellings. We very soon heard the first of the group of children from Liverpool had arrived to seek refuge in this our little market town of Bridgnorth, not far from the Shropshire hills. They were of course the evacuees. Consequently the officials of the committee had been given the task of allocating the youngsters to willing families. Incidentally, my mum was nursing her very sick and elderly mother at the time and her being away from the homestead we were exempt. But then alas came the moment of decision after an announcement that the last two children needed a loving home — a fourteen year old boy and his twelve year old sister, Vincent and Sheila McCormick from St Alphonus School, Kirkdale in Liverpool. They looked so dejected and we could not resist their pathetic glances and pleading eyes. So with hands raised and in an audible voice we said, “They are coming to us.” So with their gas masks slung on their shoulders, we took charge of their bag of possessions and escorted them up the pathway of ‘Wynslen’ Innage Lane, Bridgnorth. Although they needed extra clothing, they were spotlessly clean and so well behaved.

After a tour of the Higgins’s household they enjoyed a meal but not before they had sampled our hot water system. After the journey and all the trauma, everything was so welcome. They did not show many signs of shyness and readily approved of their sleeping arrangements. Sheila, to share my room, and Vincent to have a little bedroom of his own. I cannot recall any tears or murmurs throughout the night and the next morning they revelled in a bacon and egg breakfast and they appeared to be favourably settling down to their new schedule. Their thoughts were undoubtedly way back in Liverpool with the loved ones they had left behind. On the following day we took them both to have a glimpse of the landmarks of Bridgnorth and they were both so interested. It did not take much imagination to realise that Vincent’s chief attraction was the swirling waters of the River Severn. He had no idea of the anglers that we locals were so acquainted with. We could tell he was most eager to get his feet on the diving board. Sheila was less energetic and quite content to cast a watchful eye on my sewing machine with the knowledge that I was frantically stitching away to replenish garments for her wardrobe. In her estimation it was quite an experience to be fitted out. She was so companionable and of course interested in everything around her here in Bridgnorth. Needless to say, Vincent was in a world of his own showing off his diving and breast stroke skills. We were convinced that a fish was well and truly his mascot. My mum paid her usual frequent visit to the homestead and was so happy to know that our Liverpool visitors had settled in so admirably and we were all coping so well.

Mother was full of praise for the incredible behaviour of Sheila and Vincent so it was with a smile when she served a lovely traditional roast lunch. She glimpsed a disdainful look on Vincent’s face only to be told that they had never eaten grass back home! What an apt description of our Salopian runner beans and one which my Dad recalled for many years to come. Sheila and Vincent always thought that my dad was a humorous and lively character with such a lot of tales to tell. I cannot remember so very much about their Bridgnorth school days but it must have been at St John’s RC School in the hall adjacent to the church. Each day slipped by without any major incidents and then in a very short while came a request from Mr and Mrs McCormick for the children to return home to Liverpool. They were obviously greatly missed but our main concern was the safety of the children in our care. We did not recognise evaluation as a mere holiday. The day of the departure quickly dawned and we were left with our memories of the lovely McCormick family. Sadly it had been ‘Hello and Goodbye’. In due course we received a thank you letter with a very attractive silk handkerchief enclosed. We were thrilled and really did wonder if we would ever have further contact. During the mid fifties, brimming with adventure, with all the grim memories of wartime having slipped into the unforeseen, I was alerted to a newspaper announcement: ‘Day trip to New Brighton on one of Foxall’s charabancs’. I literally jumped for joy when my boyfriend offered to accompany me.

We arrived late morning and we made our way to the ferry boat and eventually landed in Liverpool. We had no idea of the Kirkdale locality but after various enquiries we found ourselves in the area. Latham Street was an easy solution and then my eyes wafted in the direction of a young lady strolling down the roadway and I hastily said, “George, there is Sheila.” He replied, “Don’t be absurd!” I lost no time in crossing the road and approaching her by saying, “Excuse me but are you by chance Sheila?” “Yes,” she said and with a gasp and a yell she said “Joan!” She was so delighted and took us to be introduced to her mother who, unfortunately was very poorly and in bed in the sitting room. She was so homely and kind. The kettle was soon was very soon on the boil and there in the kitchen was the evidence of party time. Yes empties waiting to be disposed of. Vincent then came along from somewhere and what an afternoon of chatter and reminiscing. Far too quickly the time came to get our ferry boat and the charabanc for the return journey home. It had been such a memorable occasion and never to be forgotten. The days revolved with the customary trials and tribulations and we wondered if we would have further news from them. Then there was a surprise that arrived with the early post — a photograph of Vincent and his cute baby granddaughter taken in August 1968. That was the last contact we ever had. As the years passed I often thought of the McCormick family and wished I could be privileged to them again.

April 2003. It was with much enthusiasm that I began a Liverpool search to try and trace my evacuees. I searched the electoral role but having no current address for guidance there was no success. I then decided on having an appeal by enclosing the 1968 photograph of Vincent and the baby in a letter to the Liverpool Echo, requests to Doctors’ surgeries, the local library, post offices, sundry shops, newsagents and Stanley Road Police Station. Talking of the latter place, I was privileged to speak to a very kind and helpful police constable who advised me to contact Mr Ronald Formby, editor or the Scottie Press, monthly newspaper. He sent two copies for reference and helpfully made various enquiries and appealed on the web site. But alas no one came forward with any information. Determined to keep on trying, I hit on the idea of ringing a very long list of McCormick’s whatever the initial. My telephone was certainly red hot and then a certain number appealed with extra attraction and I was highly delighted with the result of that call. It was a Mrs Margaret McCormick whose cousin, Mrs Kathy Donaldson, was currently battling with the McCormick family tree. What a stroke of luck! I immediately phoned her and found her so homely and interesting and realised that she would leave no stone unturned. In the space of days she frequently informed me of any progress. Then an unexpected call asking if I had a pen and paper handy. I could hardly believe the outcome! Yes, Sheila, the one time twelve year old had been traced through the baptism and marriage records.

Without any hesitation, Kathy very kindly visited her to break the news of her Salopian find and I very quickly followed on the telephone. As you can imagine it was a very emotional verbal reunion. Sheila is now a widow, wheelchair bound with crippling rheumatoid arthritis. She has five children, and many grandchildren. Vincent’s wife passed away at a very early age and the sad blow so greatly affected him, he too passed away quite a few years ago. He left behind a daughter and two sons. Incidentally he served in the Royal Navy for the latte war years. I frequently revel in telephone chats with Sheila. News and photographs are exchanged and I derive much happiness from the knowledge that we both now enjoy added interests.

This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Becky Barugh of the ����ý Radio Shropshire CSV Action Desk on behalf of Joan Higgins and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

See more of Joan's stories:

• I was the first female postie in the war years in Bridgnorth
• We didn’t really have to take any evacuees…
• ‘The Cheapest Holiday We Could Find’
• ‘We forgot about you!’
• My chance was gone
• A Victory Memory
• Lest We Forget

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