大象传媒

I can vividly recall that Sunday in September 1939. War! The term meant nothing to a seven years old child. I did however latch on to my parents' coversation and noted in a childlike way my mother's distress. From that Sunday until June of 1940 War for me was limited to the discipline of wearing my identity bracelet inscribed with name,number and SNIX 22/3 and to the carrying of my gas mask.
In June of 1940 we went as a family on holiday to Ayr. When the holiday ended Bill,
my brother and I learned we were not to return home with our parents. It was to their credit that Bill and I felt no sense of rejection.
Through what became known as 'Private Evacuation' my parents placed us in the home of a Mr & McGregor. They had three sons
whose ages approximated to ours. Murray the youngest was about 2yrs old. Bobby was six as was my brother Bill. Duncan and I were 8. Looking back I know it must have been quite a task for Mrs McGregor Her famiy having almost doubled!
She, I belive had been a Nanny prior to marriage and was a kindly but firm soul. Mr McGregor was a strict disciplinarian Who organised the boys in what might be deemed now today as a'military style! He certainly never even spoke a word in anger to me. I was a somewhat frail child and being a girl to boot so no doubt was a mystery to him. Mrs McGregor on the other hand I think was pleased to have a little girl,if only for so brief a time. I remember her reading 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' to me' and weeping because of Amy. I know that today this would be deemed less than appropriate for child of my age but I LOVED IT!
A further memory of this period was having been put in charge of Murray and going with him and the three older boys to a local pond. Being being mid winter the pond was or rather appeared to be frozen solid and egged on by the boys I jumped onto the ice only to go through it and under. Dragged out I was taken home to 'Nanny' MaCgREGOR who plunged me into a mustard bath. I don't really recall deciding which was worse.
Bath or Pond!
Every Sunday after Church the family went to
visit with Mrs McGregor's father. He was a total fascination for me. Why? He had very large bubous nose which was pockmarked and very red. He had also lost a limb in the Boer War and so seemed to an eight years old altogether ancient!

For whatever reason my parents moved us to a new Host early in January 1941. Because some of what I now write is somewhat disturbing I prefer not use the real names.
The two ladies I now describe will be long since dead and yet I feel strangely loath to name them. Truth is indeed stranger than fiction.
The house itself was a modern semi detached bungalow. It masked what might be called the macabre. Every wall of the living room apart from windows and doors was lined by case after case of dead birds. Living ones were also housed in cages in that room. The smell was awful. In the hallway small skulls,I think of some form of deer hung everywhere. The cold permeated every part of my being.
The thing which stays most vivdly with me is the memory of the 'Holy Teaspoons' They are commonly know as Apostle Spoons.
On arriving home from school each afternoon
I would anxiously scan the table which was set for tea. Each saucer should have a'HOLY
TEASPOON' we had been told. If it did not this indicated you had sinned in some way and this meant bed straight away without tea.! I failed often and often to find my teaspoon in place and so cold, hungry and very very frightened I found myself in bed without food! My sin? The older of the two ladies said that she had me watched by a 'Thrush' who daily reported to her my every move! It only occured to me later that the Thrush appeared capable of seeing only my faults and failures.
The ladies proposed to make me a dress. It was of shepherds' tatan material decorated with a red braid. Night after night I was called from my bed. Meaured and fitted. When it was finished I was told it was to be given to another little girl. You will have guessed why. Yes, the 'Thrush' had reported sins. I can still look back with some anger on our stay in that household. The pain felt by that little girl left quite a memory and a scar still felt.
You will not be surprised to learn that our stay in that house was comparitively short.
Someone must have been aware of what was going on and informed our parents.Teacher or neighbour? It matters not. Our parents removed us from the misery.

We returned to Renfrew for one night in March/April 1941 and next day travelled to Ayrshire once more. To Alloway and to the start of the wonderful experience which has influenced my life ever since.
Our next host family lived in Alloway, birthplace of Robert Burns. Our hosts were Jack and Gret Bowie, an upper middle class and childless couple. Until the outbreak of War they had had domestic Staff. How swiftly their lives changed from that moment. Wallacefield was to become home to Mrs Bowie's mother and her sister. The latter taking refuge from the bombing in London and now two small evacuees. What a transformation for that household. What demads and pressures suddenly placed upon them. On our very first evening it was discovered that we both had chickenpox! Children ~ sick children to boot!

A further demand placed upon the patience of our new hosts was my lack of education. I had suffered what might justifiably be termed a litany of of diseases. You name it and I had had it culinating in Diphtheria and Polio. I did not enter into formal education until I was seven and a half. Aunt Greta as Mrs Bowie soon became known set to work with a will to remedy my appalling educational deficiences. Free of any preconceived ideas of what might be appropriate nothing was considered either
in content or method beyond me. She certainly ensured I quickly progressed and to a remarkable degree. To this day I give thanks for her determination and belief that I could and would reach my potential.
Having been punished so ofter in the previous home I was punished but one during my four years in the Bowie household and I well deserved it! We had been reading the 'Jackdaw of Rheims' at school and later that day lost the white shiny belt from my after school play dress. Afraid of the consequences I reported a jackdaw had stolen it! I was sent to bed without tea. Not for losing the belt but for lying. A lesson well learned!
Uncle Jack,(Mr Bowie) was an ARP Warden and his going on duty and the weekly practice of the siren at 1pm on Saturdays was the only time War impinged itself on our lives. We learned to ride cycles and horses and to scrump apples fromt the orchards which surrounded us. How can one ever describe the pleasurable sound of great Clydesdales munching proffered apples.
I am inaccurate in saying War never impinged on our lives. of course it did.
The continued separation from our parents.
The arrival in our local school of a little Jewish girl of German extraction certainly made War seem real. Jewish meant absolutely nothing to us , but 'German' certainly did. 'THEY' were the enemy after all and we were certainly 'PATRIOTIC'. As a result I am fairly certain that life may have been miserable at times for that little girl.
Later in the War we were to be aware of German and Italian POWs who worked on the farms of our friends. I recall being absolutely shocked to discover one POW being given afternoon tea by Aunt Greta. He was one such worker and had come down into the village with her friend, the owner of the farm on which he was employed. I was so ashamed I never spoke of this to the village children.
Another young man came into our childhood lives at this time. A young Irish soldier. He seemed such a charming playmate whose company we enjoyed and who obviously enjoyed ours. At first we could not see that his behaviour was strange. He would detach a child from the group and lure him/her alone into the wood which surrounded our play area. Even now some sixty two years later I cannot write of the experience. Only native wit and intuition kept us from further harm. None of us spoke with the adults in our lives. As his intent became clear the group wordlessly but effectively banned /excluded him from our play.
Sadness came to the Bowie home as it did to so many during the War. Aunt Greta's brother James was lost at sea. He was Master of a tanker. My brother and I were fully aware of the family's grief and I remember adding 'Uncle Jim' to Night Prayers.I went to sleep for many, many nights imagining Uncle Jim on the Brige of his ship as it went down.
A pleasant memory is of sitting cross legged on the Morning Room floor fascinated by the spectrum of Granny Murray's (Mrs Bowie's Mother) long amethyst earrings. They had become a prism as she sat with her back to the sunlit window. She was in so many ways the companion of our childhood. Full of stories of by-gone ages. A wonderful audiences for our frequent plays, poetry readings etc.
The Auld Kirk of Alloway which features in Robert Burns' 'Tam O'Shanter' played its part in our lives. Once while playing a form of 'Hunt the Thimble' in the Kirkyard renowned for its ghosts,witches and such like my brother let out a yell. He had put his hand under an unsteady gravestone and brought out half a jaw bone of greenish teeth. On that bright sunny morning the Kirkyard was quickly returned to peace as we children fled. Later, many years later we learned it must have been a sheep's jaw bone.
Burns cottage was in many ways my only 'Wendy House'. The curator of the time was Mr.Tom McMynn Sn. Natrurally he did not encouragewe village children to romp through the place but he did encourage us to visit often. We were free to look, to touch and to dream.. We could almost hear the 'Jan'war blasts that blew hansel in in Robin'. Once when coming from such a visit we met some American soldiers entering the cottage. They gave us sandwiches of white bread and spam. I was a somewhat waif like child so they probably thought we were starving. When this benevolence was reported at home the adults were not amused!

Looking back on the War years I see a tapestry of experiences woven in a multiplicity of vibrant colours. The colours chosen, the stitches crafted by people who moved in and out of my life throught the accident of time and events.
Each and every one contributing to the peron I have become and so for them D.G.

One footnote only. In speaking to the children of our local schools during this VE commemoration the following thought occurred to me for the very firat time. From Summer 1940 to Spring 1945 I never knew the warmth of a hug or the encouragemnt of a kiss other than those received on my parents on all too brief and most certainly sporadic visits.
'LOST YEARS 'INDEED

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