大象传媒

I was eight years old when war broke out in 1939 and evacuated to Ulshaw Bridge, Middleham in Yorkshire. My Mam told me to keep tight hold of my sister's hand and thirteen year old Mary was given strict instructions that we were not to be separated.

I remember us all marching down Hector Street towards Gateshead train station, supervised by our teachers. We carried our gas masks and had name tags with our ages pinned to our coats. At the station we were each handed a carrier bag containing, amongst other things, corned beef and kit-kats. It was my first time travelling on a train and I was excited although some of the others were crying. However, our teachers soon had us singing songs to cheer everyone up:
"Roll out the Barrel" "Hey little Hen" and "I've got sixpence," were ones I remember.

On arrival in the village we were taken to the Church Hall and the families who were going to take us were there, waiting to choose us. Mrs Allen and her married daughter, Beatrice, chose me and Mary along with Violet Steanson who was my age and Margaret Kane who was the same age as Mary. As we crossed the field to go to Mrs Allen's house I stood staring and pointing,
"Look at that!"
I'd only ever seen them before in books, it was my first sighting of cows.

We crossed Ulshaw Bridge and Mrs Allen's house was one of a row of three. The gardens were long and she kept hens. Every morning there was a big pan of porridge, so thick you could stand a spoon in - I think it was made the night before. We were lucky though, they were a good family. Mr Allen was a nice quiet man. Their children were grown-up, Beatrice lived nearby and their son, Sid, lived at home.

A couple of incidents stand out in my memory. One was going to an auction with Mrs Allen and having my hand up when the auctioneer called out, "Sold," leaving Mrs Allen with a fireside fender to pay for!

The other occasion was when word got round the village school that the nurse was coming to inspect our heads. I was off - you couldn't see me for dust! I knew that if you were found to have nits you were sent home with a yellow card and I was terrified of being shamed in that way. Someone told my sister, Mary, that I had run away and she came after me. But I was stubborn and wouldn't go back so she told me to go home to Mrs Allen. However, I met up with my friend Violet and we decided to run away together. We didn't get very far when we realised how hungry we were and made our way back to Mrs Allen's for dinner. She found out what had happened and combed our hair and checked it was clean before sending us back to school for the afternoon.

Concerts were arranged for the evacuees in the Church Hall and we'd sing songs like,
"Down in the Meadow" and "Tisket a Tasket."

Many of us made friends with a group of young men from Belgium who stayed in the Church house with the priest. They taught us how to count in their language and gave us rides on their bikes and we picked heather on the hills with them.

Mrs Allen's married daughter, Beatrice, seemed to take a liking to me and used to play with me in the garden with the best miniature china tea-set I'd ever seen. After our brother, Robert, was born Mam wanted us to return home. I'm sure she missed us but I think she needed Mary to help her with the three youngest; Joan, Billy and Robert. Mrs Allen and Beatrice wanted me to stay with them and Beatrice promised me the tea-set if I stayed. It was a great temptation to stay and for a moment it was a toss-up between Robert and the tea-set! However, Robert won the day and I went home to see our new baby brother. Sadly, Robert died of meningitis when he was only two and a half years old.

After some months at home I was sent on a second evacuation. I didn't mind and was expecting to return to Mrs Allen's house and the waiting tea-set. But it wasn't to be! I was sent to another area of Yorkshire, can't remember where, only that I didn't like it.

Mr and Mrs Marshall took four of us in. There was me and my friend Mary Hardy and two cockney lads. The lads had their own room whereas Mary and I had to sleep on a mattress on the bedroom floor of Mr and Mrs Marshall. We could often hear the springs on their bed moving and we were sure they had mice!

The cockney lads seemed to enjoy it and didn't appear to have any letters or contact from home. Mr Marshall needed their help around the place and when they weren't busy they would go fishing. To me and Mary, Mr Marshall was a large, frightening figure of a man. Whenever we were talking or giggling he'd shout, "Shurrup!" Though he never used it on us he'd take off his leather belt in a threatening way and his massive belly would spring forward. My eyes would stare in amazement at how far out his stomach would go and Mary Hardy would cry, "I'm gonna tell me Ma on ye."

When we wrote letters home, Mrs Marshall would tell us what to say.
"Tell them it's nice here. You're getting well looked after."
I never liked staying with them so one night I wrote two letters. One saying how nice it was because Mrs Marshall was watching me and another I wrote in the outside toilet saying, "I hate it Mam. Please, please take me home, quick!"
I hid it in the pocket of my navy-blue knickers until I could switch it with the one Mrs Marshall had seen me write and posted it in the village post box.

When my Mam got my letter she showed it to Mary Hardy's mam who came for her straight away. She gave Mrs Marshall a right telling off and told me, "Rita, your mother's coming for you as soon as she gets the train fare." She left me crying after them but I heard later she'd gone round to my house and said, "It's an awful place, you'd better get your Rita out of there."

I don't know how long it took but it was worse without the company of Mary and the happiest day for me was when my Mam came to take me home. No more evacuations!
From then on we sheltered from the air-raids in our back-yard and took our chances like everyone else.

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