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CHAPTER 5

I have no idea how the other children reached their foster homes but Barbara, Bernard and I were packed into a private car, alongside Lizzie Potts, her sister Betty and Louise Murgatroyd. We had not been riding many minutes before we stopped at a large detached house. I had told the lady driver we were to stay together but she informed me that no one on her list had requested three children, but we would be so near, it would not make any difference. This lady was saying we would see each other every day. Who was I to argue with this strident woman, a typical WVS lady of that time?
She knocked upon the door, with me standing behind her, apprehensive and shaking with fear.
Evidently, the lady of this house had requested she would prefer an older girl, so the driver thought I would just fit the bill. All the driver was interested in was disposing of her charges and returning to the schoolroom to reload her car.
A very young woman opened the door. She was small, slim and very pretty with a cigarette in the corner of her mouth.
The WVS lady asked. 'May I speak to the lady of the house, please?'
This young woman, took out her cigarette, straightened up and informed her.
‘I am the lady of the house, my husband and I moved in only last week.’
Mrs XXXXX, as she was known, informed us that the previous tenants had rented the house to them.
Not to be put off, the driver asked her if she would like to take me in.
'No thank-you', said Mrs XXXXX. 'If I must have an evacuee, I prefer the youngest, not the oldest'.
Poor Bernard was lifted out of the car and handed over to her. I felt very concerned, I didn’t like the look of her, she was too young and arrogant to be a motherly person. These people who thought they knew better, were ignoring responsibilities, which had been drummed into me.
We left Bernard with Mrs XXXXX, Barbara and I promising him we would return as soon as possible to let him know where we were billeted. Around the corner was the next house we stopped at, 13, Mount Olivet. This house was the end one of a row of four. On knocking, Miss Lilian Mary Shaw popped out and without hesitating chose me. She was a tall, well-made lady with dark, greying hair fastened into a bun at the nape of her neck. She wore a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles on the end of her nose. Instantly, I liked her, she looked very kind and concerned.
Looking back to see if Barbara wasn’t crying, I was shown into Miss Shaw’s house. We were just pawns in a big game of chess. Miss Shaw ushered me into her bright, cheerful, clean and tidy kitchen, when immediately, the door burst open and a small, rosy-cheeked sparrow of a woman rushed in, this was Mrs Elam. She quickly looked me over and said.
'Ooh Lil, I wouldn't mind taking one in like her, she could sleep with our Mabel'.
Just as quickly, I said 'I have a sister in the car, will you please take her?
The three of us chased up the hill after the vehicle and yanked Barbara out, so thankfully, she became Mrs Elam's evacuee.
Shortly we were taken round to see Bernard was all right and to let him know where we were staying. The four of us walked through the garden belonging to Miss Shaw, we stepped around the edge of a neat lawn, through a vegetable patch and past a small orchard of apple trees. Eventually down a flight of stone steps with bushes scratching us on one side and the air raid shelter opposite. We went through a small iron gate, where a few yards down the road found us once more outside Mrs XXXXX house. Miss Shaw knocked upon the door and after a while Mrs XXXXX opened it with a crying baby in her arms. She took the cigarette from her mouth and questioned what we wanted with a harsh 'Yes'.
Miss Shaw and Mrs Elam eyed their new neighbour with shock and then quickly glanced at each other with raised eyebrows.
Miss Shaw ventured. 'We want to introduce ourselves and let you know where the little boy's sister’s are staying, we live just around the corner on Mount Olivet'.
Mrs XXXXX had no intention of being friendly towards them or even inviting us in.
Her answer was 'He’s all right thank-you, he's fine and will see them tomorrow'.
Bernard stood behind her, visibly trembling. I felt a lump come into my throat and wanted to scream for me mam, but I was helpless. We all felt rejected and turning we trouped back to Mrs Elam's house. Nothing was said, at least, not in front of Barbara and myself, but I am sure they discussed their new neighbour at length, when we were out of earshot

CHAPTER 6
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What a friendly, cheerful home Mr and Mrs Elam owned. Mr Elam greeted us from his chair in front of a blazing fire. A small jolly man, probably about 50 years of age, wearing a flannel shirt, grey, hand knitted cardigan, slippers and holding a lighted pipe. Mrs Elam introduced us to her 19-year-old daughter Mabel. This girl had beautiful dark curly hair and a stunning smile. She instantly won Barbara and me over with her friendliness.
Mabel was shy and very quiet but as Mrs Elam never stopped chattering, perhaps Mabel didn’t find the need to say very much. Her mum did all the talking; she constantly kept conversations in full flow and talked enough for the three of them. Everyone loved her. The budgie was the next one to be introduced. He was named Bobbie and we children listened in awe as he recited nursery rhymes, his address and said 'Where's Mabel?
As I stated earlier, each evacuee had been issued with a brown paper carrier bag containing a large white loaf of bread, a tin of corned beef, a tin of Nestlé’s Condensed milk, a packet of tea and to our incredulous eyes a half pound block of Cadbury's milk chocolate. These groceries were to help feed us until our new aunts could do their shopping. The ladies we were billeted with received fourteen shillings per week, per child. But I suspect the majority of them spent far more than that, as Aunt Lil most certainly did.
I remember, Aunt Lil wore hand knitted twin sets with tweed skirts. Her niece, Flo. who came to tea from work each Thursday, expertly knitted these woollies. This young lady furiously rattled away at her needles without so much as a glance at her work, or so it seemed to me. I was spellbound watching her. One day I will knit as quickly and as neatly as Flo does, I vowed.
Aunt Lil was an excellent housekeeper; her cooking and baking skills were envied by her many friends. Her dining table was always immaculately set with a white starched cloth, gleaming silver, a sparkling water set and her china was all matching 'Old Leeds Spray', a delicately painted floral design on a cream background and all of the service was octagonal. (I recently spotted a dinner plate in an antique shop and just had to buy it to hang on my wall). The clock ruled this household. Meals and everything were timed to the minute with no hassle. It was a joy living there. Being lucky enough to secure such a good billet was like winning the first prize in a lottery.
Having lots of friends, Aunt Lil spent some of her time letter writing, as she didn’t own a phone. She was extremely world wise, political, interesting and very generous. I cannot ever remember her having a wrong word to say about anyone, except Hitler.
Each morning she would arise at 5.30 am, light the fire, make herself a cup of tea and return to bed until 7 am, when the house would be nice and warm. On Sunday evenings, her washing was sorted out and put to soak in a large copper boiler situated in the big shed opposite the kitchen door. Monday mornings she would be up with the lark and her snowy white linen would be blowing on the line in a very short time. Her iron fascinated me. It looked very fierce and dangerous, being fuelled by gas; it had a flame jetting out at the back as Aunt Lil expertly ironed away. As she worked, the clothes were critically inspected so if they developed a tear, a worn part or had a button missing, they were placed on a separate pile, along with stockings or socks, which needing darning. These were all worked upon, the following Sunday evening as she listened to the nine o'clock news on the wireless. (Quite often Wilfred Pickles with his broad Yorkshire accent, which, it was thought, the Germans would be unlikely to translate).
Each evening at 8.30 pm, I was made a cup of cocoa and given a plate of cream crackers. This was so Aunt Lil could see me tucked into bed before nine and so listen to the news in peace. The news was the only quick and accurate method of learning what was happening in the world, or at least what the government decided they would allow us to know.
Aunt Lil’s father, known to all as 'dad', was a very old, small and wrinkled gentleman. He was also allocated his very own tasks. These were to be responsible for the garden being neat and tidy, producing good quality soft fruits, flowers and vegetables. Filling the buckets of coal to keep the fire stoked up. Each evening it was his duty to clean and polish everyone's shoes. These were done in the shed and I was very proud to lace up clean, shiny shoes each morning for school. He was allowed a small amount of tobacco weekly and when his ration came to an end, he would conveniently, be working at the bottom of the garden, near the gate, as I arrived home from school. He would quietly ask me to run down to the local shop for five Woodbines, handing me tiny silver, three-penny bit. He always insisted. 'Tha's no need to tell Lil', which, of course, I never did. I would hand him back the five Woodbines and the ha'penny change and he would mutter his thanks. I think that he must have had a stash of three-penny pieces, probably hidden in his shed. I wonder if they are still there?
The beautiful and bountiful, garden was a credit to him, having been a farmer, he was an expert. He also took care of the many visiting birds, keeping them well fed. Aunt Lil would try to shoo the Sheps away to let the smaller birds feed but to no avail. (Starlings were known as Sheps). The garden was dad's life and hobby.
One morning I remember stealing a bunch of dahlias to take to school for the nature table. Dad must have had an inkling that it was me who had picked them and he was quite upset. I felt guilty for weeks. I have no doubt he would have willingly given me a bunch of flowers to take to school, if I had only asked. We had never owned a garden so all this amazing life was new and wonderful to me. We girls would cartwheel on the lawn; help to pick the soft fruit, which always tasted sweet and delicious - loganberries, gooseberries, and raspberries, red and black currants.
The apple trees were a source of delight to us children. We soon recognised the eating apples from the cookers and which trees grew the sweetest. We had been given permission to eat as many as we wanted, we couldn’t believe our luck.

CHAPTER 7

Dear Aunt Maxine, Aunt Lil's old auntie and sister of dad, was a frail spinster who had her own room upstairs, where she lived and slept, her meals being taken up to her on a tray. We became great friends and allies. Her tasks each morning were to make the beds and dust the bedrooms. Each night, after supper, when I was in bed and Aunt Lil was listening to the nine o'clock news. Aunt Max would creep into my bedroom, tuck me into bed, kiss me twice, saying 'good night and a God bless you, ducks' and pop a mint imperial into my mouth. The fact that I had just cleaned my teeth was of no concern to either of us. I practised my Scottish dancing in her room each evening, ready for the Christmas school concert.
Aunt Max owned a Victorian text box and each morning we would all take her fine knitting needle and pick out our text for to day, which was printed on a tiny roll of paper. The vicar's wife visited her every two weeks and would bring a bag of mint imperials. She had been given a cowbell, which fascinated me; a friend had brought it from Switzerland, so that she could summon help if needed.
Aunt Max was eager for me to relate all the 'goings on' and gossip from downstairs and she always wanted to know what I had been doing at school and all about my friend, however insignificant. On her bedroom wall hung a delicately embroidered sampler, she had worked herself when a child. If I remember rightly, it was dated 1869. From her bedroom window she had a view of the nearby hospital and spent her time watching the activities there. She would feel very sorry for the unfortunates, when seeing a trolley being wheeled to the mortuary and say. 'Another poor soul for God'.
On Saturday, September 2nd 1939. Aunt Lil took me into the town. We walked over a small bridge towards a beautiful tall spired church. Aunt Lil brought my attention to a water level, depicted on a plaque denoting the date when a cloudburst had flooded Louth and the water level rose several feet. She could remember dead sheep floating down the streets. It seemed impossible to believe a town could be deluged with water so quickly.
We walked past the church and around the corner to where a market was being held. This market was not at all like the one we had in Leeds. Farmers came here each week to sell their fruit and vegetables, bric-a-brac and unwanted tools. These would be auctioned and I was really intrigued and would have liked to stand watching but Aunt Lil was working to her usual timetable. Her shopping had to be completed to return home quickly to make the lunch.
Louth was then a quaint, old, clean market town and I was to get to know it much better as I ran errands to shops and friends of Aunt Lil's, also going to school and the Girl Guides.
On that first Saturday evening, Aunt Lil, along with Mrs Elam and also Mrs XXXXX took us to the cinema to see a Shirley Temple film. As the story unfolded we began to weep, it was so heartbreakingly sad. I believe the excuse to shed tears was a great relief to all of us. We had been through so much this last twenty-four hours. We were away from 'our mam' and Leeds, all we were familiar with and loved. I was by now beginning to realise that what Betty had said might just be conceivably true and I felt confused and frightened.
Sitting next to confident Aunt Lil and Mrs Elam comforted me. The part bar of chocolate we had taken to the cinema with us had not stayed long enough in our hands to melt. As we walked home in the dark we could hear strange noises which scared us children but Aunt Lil and Mrs Elam soon put us at ease by saying 'It's only the old owls, they wont hurt you'. We had never seen or heard anything like it before. The birds, which came to feed in the gardens were also strange to us, we were only familiar with sparrows and pigeons

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