大象传媒

It all started on a Sunday, 2nd of September 1939. I was 7.
With my school, the Paddington Green primary school, hundreds of us left London from Paddington station to St Austell in Cornwall.

Although I knew nearly nothing about what was really going on, it was very exciting for me to leave London to go to another place. I was going somewhere; it was all like an outing with my classmates and I couldn鈥檛 understand why mum was crying. I felt sad to leave her but it was nothing compared to the excitement I felt inside. It felt like real freedom leaving my mum. The noise, the trains鈥� it was all like a big party; wonderful and all exciting!

The journey took about six hours; it was my very first long journey.
I was leaving that big and busy city of London, where I lived in a flat with mum, for an unknown destination.

From St Austell, we were taken to our final destination, Charlestown, by the seaside. There, we were chosen by our new families who were very specific about what they wanted. Some people didn鈥檛 want a whole family and wanted to separate brothers and sisters. I didn鈥檛 know what was going on, it was horrible.
I was picked by a mum and a dad, who would become Uncle Fred and Auntie Annie. They had a much older daughter called Gwen. She was kind to me but she was rather strict. I remember the house with chicken, cows and probably foxes around. The house was opposite the quay where boats came in to pick up the Cornish clay. This was also a target for the bombers, when the sirens went everyone went down into the clay mines, all the walls were white and it was very cold. I particularly remember how silent and dark it was as there were no street lights.
I was put in a bedroom on my own I had never had to go up stairs to go to bed before. I used to think that they had left me and would get up to make sure they hadn鈥檛 left me on my own. I was scared to be told off and most of all I was petrified by the silence.
Nothing was familiar in that place: food we bought from market stall was now coming from dust in the ground. I couldn鈥檛 help myself having that feeling of disgust and I remember telling my host family: 鈥渆uh! Fancy having milk from cow鈥� or 鈥渆uh! Fancy having potatoes from dust鈥�. They would all laugh at me.
Another terrifying experience about this place was when Uncle Fred would cut a chicken or a rabbit throat to make a stew from it; I was scared to death and would immediately think: 鈥渁m I going to be the next one鈥�?
Things were unfamiliar and made me feel uncertain about my life and my future. I felt abandoned, like nobody loved me anymore. My mum could not afford to come and see me so I only saw her once in the two and a half years I was away. The authorities paid for her train ticket but they did nothing to help evacuees cope better with such terrible feelings of being left alone, away from the love ones and your home town. We were hearing about the bombs in London but no-one told you if your family were ok.

When Aunt Annie, the lady of the place, got me ready to go to bed or undid the buttons of my vest, I kept asking myself: why is she doing that? My mum used to do that for me. She dressed me and style my hair in a way that was different to mum鈥檚 one. She got me to wear old fashioned dresses with a hat and cut my hair. Mum used to curl my hair. Every week I used to write her to thank her for the shilling she was sending to me.

Life in the countryside was quieter than in London. School was swapped mornings and afternoons between local children and the evacuees. The local children didn鈥檛 like the spirit of evacuees, who were cheekier.
Half the day was spent in school and the rest of the time we were on the beach. There were no school uniform; we used to wear shorts and tops to go the beach. I did Enjoye the Cornish pasties and cream. They were triple the size of the pasties you see now. They had a special juicy taste and would stay hot all day.

I came back home when I was 10 and a half years old with brown skin and a Cornish accent. Mum, with her broad cockney accent, was now a stranger to me. I had become a country child. I missed the outdoor, the seaside, the cows and chicken.

Grand-mum was killed by a direct hit in St Mary Abbots hospital Kensington my mother decided it was time for me to go home. She was very surprised at how much I had changed 鈥渕e duck鈥�, 鈥渕e handsome鈥�. I went back to school all day. I Felt very boxed in as doodlebugs were still falling. Me and mum never went to the shelter; we hid our heads under the table. My mum would say this prayer when we were under the table:

鈥淕od is our refuge, be not afraid
He will be with us all through the raid.
When danger threatens we never need fear.
He will be with us 鈥榯il the all clear鈥�

Things were never the same again .I left as a Londoner but came back as a country girl.
But the war was the same. London was being bombarded. The doodlebugs were very scary. If it stopped above you would be ok because it wouldn鈥檛 come straight down. If it went passed you and cut out you were in trouble because it would fall at an angle.
But I had also seen the war in Cornwall: one day in a local field at the back of the house, my friend Maureen, her three years old brother and me were picking blackberries. There came a noisy German plane. The pilot put bullets around us, just to frighten us. I could see his face. It was terrifying.
I fell into bushes. Maureen flung herself onto Tommy to protect him. We screamed. The plane flew away.

1945, the war was over. It was a big relief for every one of us. We all felt sympathy. I felt sympathy.
Four years ago, I went back to Charlestown. I saw a cousin of my host family. They were all dead. It was an emotional remembrance of the past.

Joan has been living in Paddington since the war.
With thanks to Nakame FOFANA, volunteer at the Westminster Volunteer Centre, who helped Joan record her story.

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