大象传媒

I was born April 1937. I was evacuated 3 times during the war: at Jaywick Essex, then Stroud, in Gloucestershire, each time with my mother and an Aunt. The last time I was evacuated at Ascot 1943/44. My Father was stationed there temporarily in the Army Garrison very near the Race Course. He found 'digs' for my Mother and myself.

It was a small terraced Cottage owned by a Mrs Todd, the oldest inhabitant in the village. Several other evacuees came and left during our stay. There was Dot, about 20 who always had an American soldier in tow. This was were I had the perks of being given chewing gum to Scram! There was a kindly English Officer who would visit an 'Ethel', about 30 and they would make goo-goo eyes at each other in the downstairs front room. He sort of 'lived in' as well. I thought he was lovely, just like David Niven. I trusted him to remove a huge strip of furniture plaster from my cut knee. He promised not to hurt me, but ripped it off while he distracted me. He felt SO sorry he had to do it, we hugged together after - but I never really trusted him again. There was a boy named Jimmy Mears aged 9 from 'up north', he slept with granny Todd. My Mother had a room which sometimes she shared with my Father when he had leave. My tiny room adjoined that room. I remermber telling Mum that I had ladybirds on my pillow. They were in fact bed-bugs, and all her attempts to clean the mattress etc. failed, they still came back. But I didn't mind them or the earwigs. There was no electricity in the place so I used to take a lit candle up the stairs, shutting the door in the Kitchen wall as I went up in the pitch dark, in the candle glow, very eerie! My Mother would often than not go out for a stroll with Dad and I had a strict bedtime routine and had to do as I was told. Granny Todd or Dot or whoever was there would say it was time for bed and up I would go. I had no toys at all so I used to while away the time and ammuse myself folding and re-folding my socks into differnt shapes!

A very sad thing happened there. Another Mum and her daughter Rose were also evacuated from London into our little Cottage. Rose was 11, a lovely looking girl with long brown hair plaited, a very reserved, aloof type of girl. One week-end her Mother went back to London to join her soldier husband for a 72 hour leave and they were both killed in an air raid. Rose was soon whisked away from the Cottage by the welfare Authorities. One day I asked my Teacher where was she? I was told she had been allocated to people living in a Great House in Ascot and was to be adopted by them. Rose would have been very suitable to be brought up as a Lady.

School was a walk through fields and over styles, into just one Class of mixed ages feom 5 to 14. We only used a slate board and chalk as there was very little paper to spare to write in pencil with, However we did hear some lessons on an old Wireless and I loved this. Meals were taken in a Hall streets away and the bad smell of these started out in the queue along the road. I would be retching before I entered. Potatoe or 'Pom' as it was called was laddled onto your plate and would set in a cowpat shape or run over the edge, and spam fritters mostly.

Having little parental control, my playtime was mostly on the Race course, although never crossing the track because horses were often in practice. There would still ba a Royal Ascot week in June the Hoy-Paloy in their Taxis, Limos and Landeurs would turn up in their finery and bizzare costumes and Gents in their top hats and morning suits; war didn't make any difference to the toffs. There would be a huge fairground on the course every day and we urchins would pick up the loose ice off the ground that had kept the Hokey-Pokey ice in. We had no money to buy the real thing so to us it was a novelty and FREE! After all the racing week had finished and the place cleaned up we could get into the Royal Box easily and would sit on the seats where the Royalty had sat. If only I had kept some of their rubbish on the floor as memorabillia now.

I had a bad accident to my head while throwing up bricks to loosen conkers off the trees by the Garrison wall. My friend threw hers up without my knowledge and it split my head open, blood everywhere. As was usual, parades of Soldiers were marching nearby, they were ordered to halt and one to fall out. I was carried round to the Medical Office for the Army, wrapped in a rubber sheet, held down in a chair while my head was stitched without any anesthetic. I wore a large bandage hat for a long time after full of congealed blood, until I saw a GP some time later.

At racing season Granny Todd would 'put up' some Bookies. They were her regulars and knew her from each year, they didn't pay in money but would bring large Hams and food, Black Market stuff. When there was a celebration she got all the pans off the shelves and would bang them with a spoon as we all sang and danced in the tiny room. One such time was when her Son Georgie was coming home from overseas, safe and well, we all had to bash the pots then.

One day my Mother recieved a Telegram from her Sister with the news that our house had been caught in the blast of a bomb dropped on the railway nearby. We left Ascot for a while to find our house in Enfield in an awful state. Windows blown in, glass in the rooms, front door hanging sideweays on its hinges still, about an inch thick of grey dust over everything, eiderdown was as grey as the floor. All the houses were affected and Irish 'navvies' were reparing each one in turn. It was gong to be a long time before our turn so back to the safety of Ascot again until news to return. The Irish gang came in, did a good job but we had lost our stained glass leaded light fanlights forever, now just plain glass was replaced. There were scaffold boards in several rooms as ceilings were repaired. We both lived in this state until the 'gangers' had completed and moved on. Again we both returned to Ascot. I was running amuk each day with the local kids, having more serious accidents and being moved from pillar to post to several schools. One was a very elete St May's Convent School, they were duty bound to take some refugees and they showed it. So we had a novice Nun for everything. Mainly our lessons were taken in the fields and woods, teaching us about Nature. There were about 25 of us and she was lovely to us all. Inside the School the other Nuns ignored us completely, I think we were far too common, the wrong religion, heathen ragamuffins. I asked one something once and she overlooked me and went her way. Children, it seemed were to speak only when spoken to-- very Christian I must say.

My Mother was getting fed up with being head cook and bottle washer in the Cottage and finding it harder to keep me penned in, so she made the decision to leave Ascot, once and for all and take her chances back home. So we packed our meagre belongings to finally return to Enfield. Near our street there were Italian prisoners of war chained to each other mending our railway. They would wave and be cheerful to us English as we passed but the rule was - "Don't look at them and wave back".

It's a strange world people creating wars causing all tragedies and havoc. I now have very good Italian neighbours and a wonderful German 'daughter-in-law' whose son calls me his Nanny......

Dated 11th November, Rememberance day 2003.

Mrs Rita Jenson (nee Billett) aged 66

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