大象传媒

I was six years old when the war started and one of my earliest recollections was, while I was playing with my toys, of my mother commenting to another grown-up 鈥淟ook what Hitler did to the Poles鈥�. I remember being surprised that grown-ups were so concerned about what damage some maniac was doing to a lot of broom handles. What strange people grown-ups were 鈥� wouldn鈥檛 it be better to spend their money on toys rather than broom handles?

Afterwards, during what I now know became known as the Phoney War, I was fascinated by the ever-increasing number of sandbags that people were stockpiling and the brown tape that they were sticking on their windows. Just as I had thought earlier 鈥� strange people these grown-ups!

But eventually, the Phoney War ended and the bombing started. It was decided that I should be evacuated. The minimum of clothing was packed into a small case 鈥� I was only a small lad and couldn鈥檛 carry too much 鈥� and I was allowed to take one toy. My mother took me to a station 鈥� I think it was Waterloo 鈥� but my destination in the West Country was kept secret, I imagine that they were concerned that there were German spies everywhere. Seeing me off on the train, my mother was very upset 鈥� but I reassured her: I was a big boy, now and one toy would be plenty!

It was a long journey to the West Country and we were more than a little perturbed to arrive at a station called St German鈥檚: weren鈥檛 these the very people we were fleeing from? Having left the train, we were packed onto buses for the next part of the journey to Callington. I didn鈥檛 travel very well and managed to be sick, causing the driver to have to stop several times. Eventually, we arrived in Callington and were disbussed into the market square, a place full of sheep-pens, where we were lined up for our hosts to pick which children they wanted. To me, it was rather like the slave markets I had heard about at Sunday School. The big boys were chosen by farmers 鈥� they would be good workers! The sensible-looking girls were chosen by couples who thought they would be useful for household chores. The pretty girls went next and I remember wondering what would become of those of us who were left. At last, a young couple with no children of their own 鈥� Mr and Mrs Gode 鈥� chose me. I was packed into their car for the journey to their home. I don鈥檛 think I had ever been in car before 鈥� it was so exciting. The next six weeks 鈥� until Mr Gode was called up 鈥� were the happiest of my life.

Mr Gode was the manager of the local Co-op. He was to become a significant male figure in my life as my father had left my mother before I really knew him. During those six weeks with them, he would make me toys 鈥� a metal submarine that you could make submerge and surface again by blowing through a tube, a boat with a metal keel, a wooden rifle with which he taught me arms drill. He and his wife were committed Christians 鈥� Christadelphians, actually. Having been christened as an Anglican and raised as a Baptist, I was becoming ecumenical without even realising it.

After the holiday period, I was sent to the local school, where my teacher was Miss North 鈥� a very sensible lady I later realised, following the way she handled my early rebellions: refusing to dissect the snowdrops we were given as I thought it was too cruel. She allowed me to leave mine intact and learn by watching the others.

When Mr Gode was called up, Mrs Gode felt that she couldn鈥檛 stay in her bungalow on her own and went off to stay with her sister in St Ives. (I later heard that the Gode鈥檚 had had a daughter).

I went to stay with Mr and Mrs Brown, who owned and lived over a toy shop at 51 Fore Street, Callington (now an estate agent鈥檚), where I was allowed to arrange the toys in the window 鈥� playing with them at the same time! It wasn鈥檛 quite the bed of roses that it sounds as some of the bigger boys at school picked on me, saying that I had damaged their toys while I was playing with them.

In the Brown鈥檚 home there were three Davids: big David, who was about 21, middle David who was about 12 and me, little David. There were also two girls 鈥� June and Dorothy 鈥� and next door there was Sylvia. I quickly learned that the girls played much more sophisticated games than we boys did and were much sharper at school as well.

At Christmas, my mother came to see me. She travelled most of the way by train, but had to walk the last five miles to Callington 鈥� in the snow. The Browns made her very welcome.

During my stay with the Browns I came to know something about the war. On a Sunday, we would go to visit Mrs Brown鈥檚 sister in Plymouth and I saw for myself the damage that the bombing was doing 鈥� a lot different from the relative peace of Callington. I also recall a French submarine leaving the port with its crew lined along the upper deck in the ceremonial way of ships departing.

Back in Callington, opposite the Browns鈥� toy shop, was a theatre and it was there that I first 鈥渢rod the boards鈥� 鈥� as a white-coated apothecary in a play called 鈥淭he Dolly鈥檚 Wedding鈥�. A sort while afterwards, a little girl stopped me in the street and said that she had seen me in the play 鈥� I was famous!

I also learned a great lesson about morality at this time. On seeing the damaged shops in Plymouth, I had commented to Mr Brown that there was so much stuff that we could just take 鈥� the morals of a young savage who would happily take anything that wasn鈥檛 bolted down! Mr Brown asked my headmaster to have a word with me about this 鈥� which was more than a little embarrassing for me as I had quite a crush on the headmaster鈥檚 daughter, Valerie. He taught me that it was wrong to take anything that wasn鈥檛 mine and hadn鈥檛 been paid for 鈥� even something as small as a pin 鈥� that was stealing! Years later, when I was working as a social worker, I wondered more than once whether the young people I came across had ever been given that same lesson about morality 鈥� and taught right from wrong!

Mr and Mrs Brown were people who didn鈥檛 believe in physical punishment. Instead, when I stepped out of line, they would give me a time-out, sending me out of the room and making me sit on the stairs wondering why these people were too lazy to leave their comfortable armchairs next to the radio and ITMA to come and chastise me properly. I thought this treatment was quite cruel and I was often unhappy 鈥� so much so that more than once I contemplated leaving and walking back to London, but I realised that the grown-ups were fighting a dreadful war and had far more important things to do than come looking for a runaway boy.

We children were able to wander about, walking down to the river where we could pick wild strawberries and watercress and other fruit and nuts.

I celebrated my 8th birthday with the Brown鈥檚: they gave me a party, the first I had ever had.

By the summer of 1941, I overheard a conversation where Mrs Brown said that she felt that she could no longer manage to look after me alongside her other work. At the same time, the blitz was just about over and my mother felt that it would be safe for me to return to London 鈥� so she came to collect me and brought me home to West Norwood.

Back in West Norwood I went back to my old school. For some reason, I was regularly appointed to go to the shops to fetch the headmaster鈥檚 cigarettes. I felt very brave and stoical when, on these trips, I would often ignore the sirens and the instructions to return if they sounded and carry on regardless.

Although the blitz was over, there were still air raids and bomb damage and I can still recall the smell of burning buildings set alight by the incendiary bombs. A favourite game for us lads was rush out after a raid and collect pieces of shrapnel 鈥� if they were still hot, that was really macho! These raids continued until 1944, when the flying bombs started. Seeing the flames coming from the back of them, we thought that the Ac-Ac guns were shooting down German planes, not realising what they really were.

With the arrival of these 鈥渢error weapons鈥�, my mother once again decided that it wasn鈥檛 safe for me in London and packed me off to another station for another journey 鈥� this time north.

This time I landed up in Blackburn, Lancashire. I was quite lucky to start with, spending the first few weeks with a couple on a dairy farm, before moving to their daughter鈥檚 in Blackburn. She worked in a mill. I found the mill workers quite strange: they spoke with an accent that I just couldn鈥檛 understand and wore clogs! And they called London 鈥淭he Smoke鈥� 鈥� I had never seen a factory or mill in London, but here every street seemed to have one with a chimney belching out smoke! While I couldn鈥檛 understand their accents, they were obviously impressed with mine 鈥� calling me 鈥淭he Professor鈥�.

Whilst at Blackburn I went to the local senior school 鈥� a co-educational one and quite a good one.

I also moved to another family 鈥� a young mother with a small baby who obviously understood boys. At the weekends she would pack us off with a lunch and we would wander around looking for new adventures.

About this time, I learned of the 1000 bomber raids on Germany and remember being both happy and profoundly sad: happy that we were winning, but sad for the children on the 鈥渞eceiving end鈥� 鈥� thoughts that to this day make me hate war.

Quite soon 鈥� thankfully 鈥� peace came. I remember the street party that we had and being introduced to a young lady all dressed up for her first Mass. Whilst I was definitely impressed by her, I was told that nothing could come of it as she was a Catholic! Not quite as ecumenical as I had thought!

After that it was back to West Norwood and the end of my war.

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