大象传媒

We lived in East Ham, my Mother, Father, younger sister and myself. I was eight when the war started and until that time the only journeys I had ever been on were the occasional Lacey鈥檚 Coach trip to Ramsgate for a week鈥檚 holiday. I do remember that though we were at the seaside, it seemed to take ages to get from the boarding house to the sea, but in retrospect I would think that was all the family could afford - a Bed and Breakfast miles from the sea!
Then this day arrived when a man came into our class at school and told us that in a few days we were going on a long train journey into the countryside - I didn鈥檛 know what countryside actually was but if we were going by train it must be good.
A few days later we were all bundled up with labels round our necks and brown paper parcels containing our worldly possessions, tied up carefully with string, and some sandwiches and cake to eat on the journey.
My mother took me to Upton Park Station, with my young sister in hand - but I was the lucky one, it was me that was going on a great adventure, not her!
The station was absolutely packed with children like myself, not just from my school but from every school and I found that a little difficult to take because it meant I had to share this 鈥榗ountryside鈥� with lots more competitors than I expected.
Trains came, took on children and left but eventually we were told to get on a train. I had never been on one before and was very excited. I was so busy exploring the carriage, with the old-fashioned leather strap to pull the window up or down that I almost forgot to say goodbye to Mum and my sister Pam.
At last the train began to puff its way out of the station and all eyes where on the windows and what was passing by. Now we were on our way I could eat my sandwiches.
The journey seemed to take ages and was very slow, stopping and starting innumerable times. I realise now that the rail system must have been jam-packed with evacuation trains, hence the snail鈥檚 pace.
Eventually we arrived in the 鈥榗ountryside鈥�, which I would later know was called Buckland, Nr Farindon in Berkshire. I don鈥檛 remember how we got from the station to the village hall but in the hall we were all lined up and given some refreshments. There were lots of strangers, men and women, milling around in the hall with the teachers who had accompanied us trying to put possessions with owners. After a while we were lined up and these strangers walked along the lines picking out children and taking their hands, leading them away. Gradually the line got thinner as more people picked their choice of child or children as the case may be. These were the people with whom you were going to stay. Some children were chosen by the local toffs, others by farming families and workers. It finally dawned on me that I was left on my own - nobody had chosen me, probably because I was a bit of a scruff, and the teachers had got their heads together obviously talking about this 鈥榩roblem鈥�. The Hall was nearly empty and very quiet after all the hustle and bustle of the previous hours. After a while a lady came in, rather austere looking and after some consultation with the staff, took my hand and led me out. She lived almost opposite the hall in the middle of the village, was a spinster lady and knew nothing about children, particularly those from London. Her name was Miss Mildenhall.
It seemed she expected me to remain clean when washed, to go to bed about seven in the evening and not to make friends with other boys because she did not really like children and I was there under sufferance as part of her 鈥榃ar Effort鈥� and she told me so!
When she put me to bed and locked the door I used to climb out of the window and have several hours of fun with local boys I had met, fought and made friends with, all in the period of a couple of days.
In school we did all sorts of stupid things like learning to knit, even to the extent of knitting socks on three needles! Even today I can knit as a relic of that time in 1939- 40.
One of the other things I remember about my evening trips out was visiting the village blacksmith. This was truly wonderful and he was such a friendly man who would talk to me and answer my thousands of questions without blinking. Then one day apparently he met Miss Mildenhall and told her how he enjoyed my visits - visits she knew nothing about. She was furious and wrote, so I was told later, to the authorities saying the boy evacuee she had was 鈥榪uite uncontrollable, rude and disobedient鈥�. She demanded that I be removed immediately! She also wrote a very rude letter to my Mum and Dad who had to come to Buckland to sort it out, a letter I read when I was about twenty as Mum had kept it along with my letters to her, the latter usually about two sentences long and starting 鈥淚鈥檓 all rite Mum, please send sixpence鈥�.
I was then moved to live with an elderly grandmother, Mrs Carter, whose house was always full of children. It seemed like paradise, with open countryside on the other side of the lane. Believe it or not the address was Sunnyside Lane, and now my life had a real sunny side!
One鈥檚 environment is everything. As I look back those school friends who went to live with 鈥榰p market鈥� families, felt themselves a bit upper class and would probably feel very let down when they finally got back to East Ham.
As for me, I was one of those evacuated during what became known as the phoney war. It seemed I had been away for years, but it could only have been about one year because I returned home to London just before the bombing began.
Michael Talbot

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