大象传媒

In September 1938, The Liverpool Institute High School for Boys in Mount Street, situated in the shadow of the incomplete Anglican Cathedral of St. James, was the seat of learning to be entrusted with my education from the age of 8. My friend Raymond, with whom I had been at Girton House, a private kindergarten on Shiel Road, Liverpool, preceded me the year before. We joined the junior classes as fee-paying pupils, having passed an entrance examination, but most children entered the High School system from local authority 鈥淓lementary Schools鈥�, after passing the Junior City Scholarship examination at about 12 years of age.
The Institute was a Liverpool City Council school with an historic connection with the Holt family of 19th century ship owners (Blue Funnel Line), who had been generous benefactors to education in Liverpool.
No sooner had I started at my new school in form 1c than plans were being made for the evacuation of the whole school in the event of war with Germany. I have the letter my parents received from the headmaster dated 27th September 1938 headed, 鈥淐oncerning Our Preparedness to Meet the Issues before Our Nation鈥�. As a junior pupil I didn鈥檛 know about any of this until the following summer term, when the politics were coming to a head, and we were told what might come about. This was done in such a way that I don鈥檛 remember being at all fearful. It sounded like an adventure to be looked forward to, possibly because the war, if it happened, would be over quickly and a sort of holiday to North Wales, with one鈥檚 mates, might be fun! These preparations all came together during the school holidays in August 1939.
I have recently referred to the 鈥淟iverpool Daily Post鈥� archives at the Liverpool Record Office, and was interested to read of the local preparations being made throughout 1939 for a potential war. A programme of evacuation of children from industrial areas, which were considered to be likely targets for enemy action, had been planned in the anticipation that war would commence with similar weapons to those used towards the end of the 1914-18 war, i.e. bombing from aircraft with high explosives and possibly poison gas.
My parents had already decided that they would accept my being evacuated with the school, and had arranged with Raymond鈥檚 parents and the school, that he and I would be kept together, even though we were not in the same school year; 鈥淩aymo鈥� was ten and a half and I was nine on 20th September.
Soon after our family had returned from our summer holiday in Bournemouth, parents were informed of the government鈥檚 decision to commence evacuation, and that Liverpool Institute scholars were to assemble in the school yard at some early hour on Sunday morning, 3rd September. Official instructions were given regarding what evacuee boys should take with them, i.e. 鈥�1 vest, 1 pair of pants, 1 pair of trousers, 2 pairs of socks, handkerchiefs, 1 pullover or jersey鈥�, (Our parents did manage to pack rather more than this into our haversacks!). We also had to carry the gas mask with which everyone had recently been issued. The gas mask was in a cardboard box with a string to carry it round one鈥檚 neck. My sister, Val, says that she remembers standing with Mum and Dad, and Raymond鈥檚 parents, watching us boys being lined up ready for walking with our teachers in a long column to Lime Street railway station, each of us with luggage labels in our lapels giving our name and destination. It must have been extremely well organised as I don鈥檛 remember any hanging about. I have since learned that large parts of the whole railway system of the country had been taken over for the evacuation of children from London and industrial cities to places considered to be relatively safe. Our destination was Bangor, on the Menai Strait in North Wales, well away from the docks and industries of Liverpool. I remember the train journey quite well. It was a fine sunny morning as we passed along the North Wales coast through towns and seaside resorts with strange names, and we were each given a packet of sweets as a treat.
From Bangor railway station we were marched up a hill to Friar鈥檚 School and assembled in the school hall where we were informed that war had been declared at 11 o鈥檆lock. We youngsters had no conception of what war would really mean to us; so far we were enjoying a novel experience with our school friends.
In the hall were local inhabitants, who had volunteered as potential hosts or foster parents. Women seemed to be choosing whom they would like to have to stay with them according to how we looked. Rather like I imagine a slave market to have been! I am not sure how we two boys were chosen, but I remember being taken to be billeted with a Capt.and Mrs. Donald Gleig. in Belmont Avenue, Bangor.
Within a few days of our arrival a National Identity Card system was established and Raymond and I were given numbers consecutive with those of Capt. and Mrs. Gleig. and their daughter Edna - a reminder for the rest of our lives that we were not with our own parents when Identity Numbers were issued!
The Institute boys went to school in the mornings and the host school used the classrooms in the afternoons. Classes for us juniors were held in the hall of the Berea Chapel in Caernarfon Road. In the afternoons we were taken on nature walks by our teachers, in the heather covered hills behind Bangor. Those with sporting aspirations played organised games of football. At this junior level of the Institute, the teachers were middle-aged spinsters and widows, quite common in the 1920s and 30s, many having lost men folk in the First World War. I think my generation benefited from the dedication of such women, as this was at the time when women teachers had to resign when they married. Despite their gender we addressed them as 鈥淪ir鈥�!
Capt. Gleig. had served in the Indian Army, was silver haired, aged 55, and very patient with Raymo and me. He took us for walks, including a visit to a fair at Menai Bridge, a village on the Anglesey side of the Strait, and carried his binoculars to show us Snowdon, the highest mountain in Wales. The route to the fair was across the suspension bridge over the Menai Strait. Next to the road bridge, about a mile further down the Strait, was the Telford railway bridge taking the main line from London to Holyhead, the port for the mail-ferry to Ireland. Watching trains as they passed in a cutting approaching the bridge was fascinating. The exciting event to witness was the transfer of mailbags to and from an express as it sped by. A mailbag, suspended from a trackside gantry, was scooped into a net on the side of the mail carriage, and a bag was thrown from the train into a net beside the gantry ready to be collected by a Bangor postman.
Mrs. Gleig. was Welsh speaking and taught us a few words, and how to pronounce the full name of Llanfair PG, the Anglesey village with the longest name, a skill I have remembered to this day, but I鈥檓 not so sure about the spelling! She was a short plump lady and served a dish that we particularly liked, sliced fried potatoes with bacon, sprinkled with Indian curry powder, a novel taste for us at the time. Their red-haired daughter, Edna, aged 21, was a secretary at the Friar鈥檚 School, and seemed to enjoy exercising authority over us boys! They had a collie dog called Dan, who responded to commands in Welsh; perhaps it was this that initiated our interest in the language! I can remember 鈥渢yd y ma鈥� for 鈥渃ome here鈥�.
I don鈥檛 know what sort of pressure had been put on the residents of Bangor to persuade them to give hospitality to evacuees, but we must surely have been a considerable intrusion in their lives. I think our hosts made the best of these additions to their household, regarding it as their 鈥渨ar effort鈥�. Perhaps they received a grant for volunteering, which, when topped up by contributions from our parents, was sufficient inducement to make it worthwhile; it certainly seemed very generous of them.
We were given the use of the empty garage as a playroom, where we had some of our toys, sent by our parents after we were settled in. I particularly remember that Raymo and I each had a 鈥淪chuco鈥� clockwork model car, which was steered from a small hand-held wheel via a fine wire. The garage floor provided scope for an imaginary road layout. There were two discarded motor tyres in the garage, which we commandeered as 鈥渉oops鈥� to guide with a stick. We must have conducted these over many miles during the months we were there.
The walk across the Menai Bridge to the village was the way to the nearest cinema. This was a far cry from our local art deco 鈥淐asino鈥� picture house in Liverpool, as it was the village hall with a projector and hard seats. We watched 鈥淪ubmarine Patrol鈥� and 鈥淛esse James鈥� and Laurel and Hardy comedies, with audience participation appropriate to the excitement! Admission was 2d, but there were seats at 4d in the gallery (too expensive for us!). We eagerly awaited 鈥淭he Return of Frank James鈥� after having seen the trailer.
Belmont Avenue was a quiet road on a 1930s housing estate on the edge of town. Many of the homes had evacuees from our school billeted with them, so that we had more boys of our own age living around us than we had at home, and as far as I remember, we got on well with the local children who introduced us to street games, climbing trees and gathering conkers. A local girl taught me to ride her mother鈥檚 bicycle. It had to be a lady鈥檚 model, which didn鈥檛 have a cross bar, as I was too short to get my leg over the horizontal bar on a man鈥檚 bike!
We received pocket money in the form of Postal Orders from home. These we were supposed to 鈥渂ank鈥� with our teacher and draw upon at parentally approved periods. I don鈥檛 remember making use of this facility myself, but I do recollect regularly indulging in two penn鈥檕rth of roasted, salted peanuts from Woolworth鈥檚 in the High Street.
At this early stage of the war the availability of petrol was sufficient to enable our parents, with my sister, to visit us in my father鈥檚 1938 Rover 12 on an occasional Sunday. This, of course, involved another parting when they left, which was somewhat upsetting all round. On one of the these visits Dad took us across the Menai Bridge to see H.M.S. Thetis, a new submarine that had sunk with tragic loss of the crew, while undergoing trials in June 1939. It was beached in a small bay on the N.E. coast of Anglesey, just along from Red Wharf Bay. We looked at the stranded hull in awe.
Enemy air raids were not inflicted on the civilian population of Liverpool during the first few months of the war, as had been feared. This period was later referred to as the 鈥減honey war鈥�. Consequently our parents brought Raymond and me home in time for Christmas, as did many other parents throughout the country.
Food rationing started in January 1940 so this was our last traditional Christmas for some years to come, though I do remember that my parents did on one occasion obtain a turkey during the war.
The government鈥檚 evacuation scheme was turning out not to be as comprehensive as had been hoped, though the logistics of its implementation had been a great achievement.
Raymo is still my best friend, and when he and I look back at our three months in Bangor, we agree that it was, on the whole, fun. This unique experience during a short period in English social history has left us with many happy memories. Evacuation was not the traumatic experience for Raymo and me as it was for many other children, taken away from their families because of the war. It may have been different had we been away for longer.
Fifty years later, on 3rd September 1989, which was also a sunny Sunday, Raymond and I revisited Belmont Avenue and met some of the residents, very few of whom were still there from 1939. Our hosts had long since gone and the house had been renamed. One lady remembered my name, and claimed that I had walked her to school! Neither of us recognised a familiar face beneath the changes that fifty years had inflicted.

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