大象传媒

Evacuation to Country Life in Great Ouseburn

Edited and typed by L Collier

Early in the month of September 1939, I was taken to school by my Mother, complete with a gasmask in a cardboard container, a packed lunch of sandwiches, a small case containing my few personal possessions and a feeling of foreboding. I was to become an 鈥淓vacuee鈥�.

I was born and raised in Leeds and at that time attended Potternewton Junior and Infants School on the Miles Hill Estate. I had never been away from home before and can recall a day trip to Redcar as my only venture into the outside world. I was eight years old. I said, 鈥淕oodbye鈥� to my Mother as we were ushered class by class, on to the waiting charabancs. I can鈥檛 remember crying, why should I cry this was a great adventure and wasn鈥檛 Georgie Wheatley, my best pal, going with me.

The buses set off on our journey into the unknown. We chatted and looked out of the windows, not knowing where we were going and not really caring. After some considerable time, or so it seemed, the bus stopped. We had left the rest of our convoy, somewhere on the way and as the bus pulled up one of the teacher鈥檚 announced the name of the village at which we had arrived. It meant nothing to anyone present, but several children and some of the adults who were accompanying us, alighted. Georgie and I remained firmly in our seats until the next stop and after a few children had left, a woman came on board and announced, 鈥渢wo more鈥�. Georgie and I were pushed forward with our luggage and we were led into the village school. We had arrived.

I have difficulty in recalling exactly what happened next, but one by one the children were selected by prospective adopters, until only Georgie and I remained. There appeared to be some discussion about what to do with us, until finally a lady appeared and said she would 鈥淭ake them on鈥�. She must have been quite young, but at eight years old every strange adult appears daunting and George and I were led away. I can鈥檛 remember her name, if I ever really knew it, but she and her husband kept the village General Store. We were taken home and shown our bedroom. Not so much a bedroom, as a storeroom. There wasn鈥檛 a bed as such, but a straw mattress on the floor and a wash-stand in one corner. With no inside sanitation and certainly no bathroom, we were introduced to 鈥淐ountry Life鈥�. We were well enough treated, but we certainly weren鈥檛 looked after. Following a very strict regime at home of bed-times and meal-times, the 鈥榣aissez faire鈥� attitude of our hosts was something to be exploited. George and I came and went as we pleased.

After our days at the village school, where we were accepted by both pupils and teachers. We spent our evenings roaming the fields and lanes. Each day the lorries rumbled by, with equipment for the new airfield at Lynton-on-Ouse, but all this was lost on us. The war, Leeds, our parents鈥� where a world away.

My most abiding memories are of harvest time. Finding tiny harvest mice and being allowed to lead the horse and cart, from the field to the stack yard was heaven, compared to our previous existence in the streets of Leeds. But paradise was short lived.

After a month my Mother came on a visit to Great Ouseburn, when she brought some new clothes and a parcel of present from my Grandmother. What she found appalled her. I had lost weight, I was dirty and unkempt and had contracted Impetigo. Next day, I was whisked back to Leeds and within a month my Father was posted to Peterborough. No need for evacuation.

What happened to Georgie Wheatley, I shall never know. Such is Life.

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