大象传媒

War Memoir
In the spring of 1939 I attended Forest Hill Central School, London, S.E.23. Every day there were rumours of war and evacuation. I was staying with my sister Joan, and her husband, Duggy. When the non-aggressive pact was signed between Russia and Germany. Duggy said, "That means war鈥�.
My mother kept a boarding house in a beautiful house in Lewisham, with electric light, and a bathroom whose lavatory was encased in rich mahogany, and a lovely garden went right round the house, which stood on a corner. Mum took in civil servants and teachers. One of the teachers was a man called Francis, and he kept Mum up to date on plans for evacuation.
At school, we had to practise what we had to do if there were air raids. One teacher would ring a handbell loudly and class by class we filed into the cloakroom and sat among the coats and hats and plimsolls. The teacher who was in charge of our group was Miss MacAra. She was musical and had us all singing songs. This was a welcome interruption from lessons.
We had to buy some material called crash to cover our gasmasks and to make a strap to carry them over our shoulders. We were warned that we must always carry them with us.
In the last weeks of August, schools began to move out of London. Mum made extra sandwiches to last through a day鈥檚 meals. Every evening I had to eat the ones earmarked for dinner. The others I had already eaten for lunch. Then Francis told Mum that our school would be moving on Friday. We had to listen for our school number which we had printed in thick black ink on our labels.
I went to Marks and Spencer to buy a suitcase. It was an expanding case which I knew I should need for my precious books. That five-shilling case went with me through evacuation, re-evacuation, and service in the A.T.S.
We had to practise crossing the road in a 鈥渨ave鈥� instead of a crocodile. Apparently Churchill had seen photos of Europeans clogging the roads to escape Hitler鈥檚 armoured cars, and a directive had gone out to schools to cross in a wave so as not to get in the way of military vehicles. There were about 500 pupils in our school and we formed in three files along the pavement. . When we were given the word, we all stepped out smartly
On the Thursday, the Headmistress, Miss Bolton, told us that we would be going on Friday. She advised us that if we had to escape quickly without taking our toilet things, we all had a perfectly good toothbrush, namely, our first finger. We must bend over a stream and clean our teeth with that. Her last words to us were to take some food for the journey and to tell our parents not to come to the station. 鈥淪ay your goodbyes at home鈥�. I suppose this, too, was to prevent clogging the roads.
Some parents did come to the station. We were told to take one case, a haversack for our lunch, to pin on our labels and of course to remember our gasmasks. As a treat, Mum gave me an orange. I put it rather haphazardly into my haversack, and just as the train was coming, it fell out on to the line. The laughter broke the tension but I felt very sad. I knew that Mum could hardly spare the money to buy that orange. The civil servants and teachers had been evacuated and Mum had practically an empty house.
As the train went on, some of the girls knew the stations because they had holiday homes on the Kent coast. They said we were going to Ashford and we did. Then buses collected us and we were sent to five different villages. I was parted from my friends to my sorrow. We were taken to as church hall or to a school yard, I forget which, and some women came and picked out those whom they wanted. They mostly wanted young children to play with their own youngsters. Two other girls and I went together to a house. I didn鈥檛 know them very well, although they were in my class. Three of us shared a bed. For breakfast, we had a slice of bread and butter and a tomato. Privately, we agreed that the 鈥渉ostess鈥� could have fried them.
On Sunday we all went to church and the vicar came in part way through the service and told us that we were at war. We all felt very solemn. I thought of a young teacher whom I had met at Joan鈥檚. She was called Ira, but I think her real name was the German form of Edith. She had befriended me and we used to go for walks together. Duggy begged her not to go back to Germany. She had said to me 鈥淚 was trained to teach, and I am not going to teach Hitler鈥檚 lies鈥�. Duggy was a fluent linguist and after the war he went to Germany to find out what had happened to her. He found that she had been shot in front of her class.
After a few weeks, the two other girls in the house with me caught an infection. I think it was impetigo. Their mothers came down and kept shooting meaning glances at me and saying 鈥淚t鈥檚 always the clean ones that get it鈥�. I was moved to a farm.
That winter brought deep snowdrifts to Kent and quite a lot of the time we couldn鈥檛 go to school.
The farmhouse had no electric light nor indoor lavatory or bath. The family, whose name I shall not reveal, consisted of Mr. And Mrs. X, their son who was about fifteen, a daughter about eight and a grandmother who sat in a rocking chair all day and literarily twiddled her thumbs. I had heard the expression, 鈥淒on鈥檛 sit there twiddling your thumbs鈥�, but I had never actually seen anyone do it.
In the evenings, we sat round the table, lit by an oil lamp, mostly mending,. I wrote letters, and read aloud to the family some book they wanted to hear. We also listened to the radio variety shows 鈥� 鈥淕arrison Theatre鈥�, I seem to remember. Of course I had homework to do, and a library van came round once and I slogged through 鈥淪even Pillars of Wisdom鈥�. I don鈥檛 remember a word of it now.
Mrs. X had worried about having a 14-year-old girl in the same house as her son. She should have worried about her 47-year-old husband.
One day I came home from school and said breathlessly, 鈥淚 saw two dogs with their tails stuck together and a man threw a bucket of water over them鈥�. My words dropped into a blank silence. That evening I went to see the cows milked and Mr. X said, 鈥淵ou know what those dogs were doing鈥�.
I stared and said, 鈥淣o I don鈥檛. What were they doing?鈥�
鈥淭his鈥�, he said and grabbed me.
This started a nine-month love-fest. He never actually raped me. One day he met me from school and took me on a 鈥渟hort cut鈥� through the woods. I think he had been to some special occasion, perhaps a funeral, because he was wearing a suit, with watch and chain, and a ring. He pulled me to the ground and laid on top of me, heaving and panting. I had no idea what he was doing. It was wrong but because it was wrong I didn鈥檛 tell anyone. His wife must have known what was going on. One evening in the cowshed he was holding me tight when we heard her footsteps on the path. He dropped me like a hot coal and left me standing doing nothing by a trestle table full of apples, and vanished into a cow stall. My immediate thought was that he was a coward.
The evening after the woods episode, he was out late and came home in tears, the first time I had seen a man cry. He had been searching for his jewellery which he had somehow lost during his exertions on me. I sometimes wonder idly if anyone ever found it.
Mum came to see me and another time, my sister, Edith came. Did Mrs. X complain to them? She couldn鈥檛 have told the school or I should have been moved. One of his ploys was to come into the bedroom and kiss his daughter, lean across her and fondle me.
When France collapsed, rumours circulated about re-evacuation. We were to go to 鈥渟omewhere in England鈥� on Saturday. On the Friday, Mr. X persuaded his wife to go shopping in Ashford, which she had never done previously during my stay, and he would heat some water and bring in the tin bath 鈥� another first. I鈥檓 sure that this was in order to see me naked. Perhaps she extracted a promise from him 鈥� I don鈥檛 know. However, he did heat the water and did see me, then he left me alone. Next day he came to see me off at the station and said goodbye. There was no chance for stolen kisses 鈥� the teachers were marking the registers as we boarded the train.
Well, we didn鈥檛 go to somewhere in England 鈥� we went to Wales. Miss MacAra told us not to drink the water on the train and that day in June was very hot. I think we changed trains at Swansea and I remember how grateful we were that some Scouts and the W.V.S. had cups of water for us on the platform. From there we went on to Gorseinon.
Once again we were herded into a school yard 鈥� armed this time with a tin of corned beef, a tin of condensed milk and a bar of chocolate, to sweeten our arrival to our new 鈥渇oster mothers鈥� (a term I never used). The chocolate was already melting so I ate mine.
It was the same story 鈥� no-one wanted hulking great teenagers, and those women certainly looked us over and discussed us in Welsh as they made their choice.
The family where I was placed was a mother and father, their married daughter and son-in-law and grandmother. They spoke Welsh and I learned to understand it, although I have forgotten it now.
Gorseinon is a mining town and I was shocked when the father took his bath in the communal kitchen. I can quite understand it now, it was before the universal pithead baths, but I had never seen a naked man before, and I told someone about it. Shortly afterwards I was moved to an ex-council house where there was an elderly couple. Mrs. Evans (not her real name) had cataracts and used to ask me to read to to her in the evenings. I read the whole of 鈥淟ittle Women鈥� and 鈥淕ood Wives鈥� to her and her husband. She also asked me to write to her son in the army overseas. These were my own compositions 鈥� all sorts of flights of fancy and gossip 鈥� God knows what he thought. I never met the man. Mrs. Evans also made me go round to her other daughter鈥檚 house because her son-in-law regularly beat her daughter. She said that he only did this since he鈥檇 had promotion. He thought that was the thing to do, now that he had some money in his pocket. She assured me that he wouldn鈥檛 do it if I were there. I certainly hoped so. Once again, I told nobody. I just did what I was told. The school would certainly have moved me if they鈥檇 known. But fate did move me anyway. In that house, once again I shared a bed. The girl, whom I shall call Ivy, was older than I was and I didn鈥檛 recollect ever meeting her at school. She told me that I was too young (now fifteen) to understand Browning, a remark that still rankles and she walked in her sleep. She used to say in her sleep, 鈥淛ust let me show you the Bible that my aunt has sent me鈥� and start getting out of bed. Terrified, I would plead, 鈥淣o, don鈥檛 Ivy, show me in the morning. I鈥檓 too tired now鈥�. One day she said she was transferring to another school, Mary Datchelor which was evacuated to Llanelly. Mary Datchelor was an old Public Girls鈥� School, financed by the Clothworkers鈥� Guild originally. During the school holidays, which we were not allowed to spend in London, I was staying with Joan and Duggy in Essex. I mentioned that Ivy was transferring.
鈥淲ell鈥�, said Duggy, 鈥淲hy can鈥檛 you transfer?鈥�
I stared in amazement. I knew that he had read some of my history and English essays, and of course, my letters to Joan, but I had no idea that I could go to a public school. At Forest Hill, my class had all had to go to the Headmistress, Miss Bolton, to talk about our future careers. I always seemed to be standing outside her door for bad writing, untidy work, or not wearing a hat, and on this occasion I had muttered miserably that I thought I should like to be a librarian. Her scorn was swift.
鈥淵ou! A twopenny library I suppose!鈥� (These were run by shops such as Boots, where you paid twopence to borrow a book). I hung my head.
Now at Duggy's proposal, I was horrified. If he even suggested it, Miss Bolton would recite all my misdeeds, my lack of any sort of qualification for going to such a school. She would haul me into her study, point her finger at my latest effort of muddled maths, blots in geography, general sloppiness, dreaminess, inattention. Duggy did write, using all his degrees and titles. He wrote to Dr. Brock, Head of Datchelor. The result was that she came to see me in the school play. I had to write an essay, and I suppose Miss Bolton had to give her some kind of report. It would have been good, as she wanted to be rid of me. As a result, Dr. Brock interviewed me and said, 鈥淲ould you like to come to my school, Pat?鈥� and I said, 鈥淵es please鈥�.
I loved being at Datchelor. The staff arranged all sorts of activities. Four of them lived at 2, Old Road, and that address became a centre for poetry discussions, play-readings, and debates on all sorts of topics. We were not allowed to go out alone after blackout, so one of the teachers would accompany us to our billets.
In Llanelly there were two coffee shops, almost opposite one another. As far as I recall, they were called Rabinotti鈥檚 and Sensechnatti鈥檚. A group of us used to sit there over a cup of coffee on Saturday mornings. To raise the money, we used to sell some of our possessions. At one point, I remember, I sold my 戮 sized violin. I had won a music scholarship and Datchelor had presented me with a full-sized one. No-one talked about money or what our fathers did.
Music was very prominent at the school. Miss Donnington, head of music believed that everyone had music somewhere inside them. I joined the choir and the orchestra (third desk, second violin). I also learned to play the recorder. We gave concerts. Mum and Dad came down for one of them. I remember the marvellous Sheila Mossman and Margaret Powell playing the Bach double violin concerto. Sheila later gave her life to teaching, and training the Orpington Girls鈥� Choir. I went to what must have been one of her last concerts in a church at East Dulwich .
Soon after, she died of cancer.
There was one marvellous holiday I had, when my friend, Ruth Mitchell, invited me to her aunt鈥檚 home near Morecambe. The aunt was one of our history teachers. Miss Margaret Grey was the other (and also my Form Mistress. I think she was aunt to Katherine Whitehorn). Ruth鈥檚 aunt had a tennis court and we spent hours playing tennis. Then Joan and Duggy invited Ruth and me to their home at Gt. Bardfield, Essex. Several famous artists lived nearby and they used to stand their paintings in our garden to dry. Duggy was an organiser for the W.E.A. lectures, and he used to take me with him when he had to arrange speakers. I met, Eric Ravilious, Michael Rothenstein and his wife, Betty Fitzgerald, Thomas Hennel, who sketched me, and Dorothy L. Sayers.
When I was in the 6th Form, Miss Swithenbank, the English teacher, wanted me to try for a university scholarship, but I had received two terrible shocks. My sister, the nearest one to me, Maud, had died from tuberculosis, and my favourite brother, Arthur, was killed at Sidi Verani. His name is in the Alamein Book of Remembrance. My next brother, Ralph was Missing, believed killed, captured in Java. I wrote to him regularly every Sunday in case he was still alive. He was, in Changi Gaol, but he did not receive any of my letters. Suddenly, studying seemed irrelevant. I did stay on at school long enough to sit for a scholarship to Teacher Training College. My last billet in Llanelly was with a middle-class couple who hated me. I鈥檓 not surprised as I was now 16 and full of adolescent argumentativeness. On my first night there, they insisted on taking me to see 鈥淒r. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde鈥�. I begged them not to take me. I knew the story, but they said they couldn鈥檛 leave me in the house alone. I sat through it with my eyes shut. The husband always called his wife by her surname (I鈥檒l call him Mr. Price). He鈥檇 come in and say, 鈥淗ullo, Mrs. Price, have you got a headache?鈥� He was in a reserved occupation and drilled a local cadet unit after work, always wearing an airforce uniform. When I had the letter about Arthur鈥檚 death, he said that any man who got himself killed was a fool. I let rip at him for hypocrisy.
One day I came back from school to find myself locked out. I didn鈥檛 have a key and there was no message. I didn鈥檛 know what to do, so I sat in the garden. Hours passed and apart from anxiety in the blackout, I wanted the lavatory. Eventually they came back. I tore upstairs to the bathroom. When I came back, Mrs. Price said, 鈥淵ou should have waited 鈥� rushing in like that, and you should sit on the side of the closet so that when you pass water, we can鈥檛 hear you. You sounded like a herd of elephants. Your breath smells. Perhaps you鈥檙e hungry鈥�. Perhaps I was. I also had to obey the house rules, 鈥淏ring everything down in the mornings 鈥� no going back for any books. You鈥檒l wear the carpet out鈥�. I had to do my own washing, and Mrs. Price shot in from seeing my clothes on the line and said 鈥淒on鈥檛 hang the knickers up by the legs. The neighbours will see鈥�. I thought it would be worse if they thought I didn鈥檛 have any. When my friends came to collect me to go on our bikes to Loughor to swim, she said 鈥淥n a Sunday! Don鈥檛 let the neighbours see. Tuck your swimming things in the saddlebag鈥�. When Joan and Duggy came down on the last day of matric, they told her that they were taking me to Swansea to See 鈥淣ight must fall鈥� with Emlyn Williams. Of course they brought me back to the house. Mrs. Price ranted on about being out after blackout and 鈥渂oys鈥�. I should be so lucky. They had no children and resented me. They rubbed in every day that they 鈥渉ad to take me鈥�.
In 1943, I joined the A.T.S., (the 6th member of my family to be in the army). I was sent to Pontefract for basic training at 13/6d. a week. Leslie Howard had just finished making 鈥淭he Gentle Sex鈥� and everyone was full of it.
When the Commanding Officer called us together for an initial introduction, she said, 鈥淭here are 57 pubs in Pontefract and only two of them wash the glasses in running water. If you go to the others, you鈥檒l get gingivitis鈥�. A pub! Me, just straight from school! I鈥檇 never been in a pub in my life. Funnily enough, the only woman who got gingivitis was older than most of us, very staid, and never went into a pub. The language in the barrack room was filthy. My first night in the army, I hid my head under the blankets and wept.
We had no ration books but we could buy sweets in the N.A.A.F.I. Then we had talks about the trades we could follow. I wanted to be a radio op. We were given aptitude tests, distinguishing between differing sounds, long and short, and whether we heard the same or different sounds when dots and dashes were repeated. Another time we had to speak for two minutes on whatever subject the corporal threw at us. Mine was 鈥淭hunder鈥�. Those of us who were accepted were sent to Strathpeffer for six months鈥� training. We had to learn Morse Code, wireless procedure, how to get messages through if one listening post was put out of action, how to strip a radio set and reassemble it. Our radios were No. 9鈥檚 and had receivers, transmitters, and accumulators which powered the set and which we had to recharge. We girls were housed in one hotel and ate in another. Every morning, we came clattering down the hill with our cutlery in our top pockets, and sometimes saw the remains of the aurora borealis, leaving the sky full of pinks and greens.
At last we had to pass our final test. There was a practical and theoretical. The lieutenant in charge of the practical was in love with one of our number, and she had primed him with all our forenames. So he dispelled some of our qualms by calling us by them. Otherwise we were addressed by our surnames.
At the end of our training we were all 鈥渇inger printed鈥�, that is to say that we had to send every letter of the alphabet and numbers up to ten, to see if we had any habitual tics in our smooth sending of morse. These were kept on file in case we misread or mis-sent a signal which upset the cryptograms. Once trained, our pay rose to 18/6d. We had to go to a holding unit at Leicester, which was so cold, my fingers bled. We were sent home for Christmas. This time I had my case full of books, my tin hat, kitbag and gasmask. It was as well I had my books, for a telegram arrived telling me to report to Salisbury. This was a pattern of army life. You never knew if you were going back to the same place or would be with the same friends. After a while, I was sent to Blandford Forum, Dorset.
The next years were very happy. I had good friends. I liked the work and had my first real man friend, give or take an American or so on a date. He was Michael, and he taught me to dance, to play better tennis, and stylish table tennis. When there was a regimental table tennis tournament, he won the men鈥檚 singles, I won the women鈥檚 and together we won the doubles. As all metal was wanted, there were no cups, but for the singles we received 7/6d. each and for the doubles, 15/- between us. His motto was, 鈥淲in with style and lose with grace鈥�, or perhaps it was 鈥淧lay with style and win with grace鈥�. He said he would teach me horse-riding. We met before breakfast, and he led me out to a great, black horse 鈥� the Colonel鈥檚. I said, 鈥淒o you know the Colonel?鈥� and he said, 鈥淣o, I know the groom鈥�.
On days off, we went to hear the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra and once we went to the ballet. Another time, Maurice Cole, I think it was, came to play the piano to the troops. He asked if there was any composer whose music we would like to hear. One girl called out 鈥淐hopin鈥�. He apologised and said his hands were too cold, but when he鈥檇 warmed up, he would play Chopin, and he did. He gave us a wonderful concert. We were so grateful.
The ballet caused me trouble twice in Scotland. We were in Edinburgh at one point in our journeyings and I queued for hours to see Margot Fonteyn and Robert Helpmann. Of course I was late back to barracks. As a punishment I had to scrub out the lavatories. I went again the next night and again was late. The punishment that time was to work two evenings in the officers鈥� mess. That wasn鈥檛 so bad. The officers鈥� food was better than ours and lots of food was left in the dishes untouched, so we feasted.
At Blandford, we worked in shifts throughout the 24 hours. After one night 鈥榮 duty stint, nobody came to relieve me. I worked for 19 hours. One of the C3 orderlies (Men who were not fit for the front) brought me a mug of cocoa and dog biscuits (iron rations, very hard biscuits flecked with specks of iron). I was on a charge for making one mistake (one letter in a group of five), but I wasn鈥檛 punished.
I was on duty on the night before D-Day. It was a wet night and on our headsets we heard that one of the Special Dispatch Riders, an American, was severely injured when his motorbike skidded. We spent our day off in the American Military Hospital where he lay, smashed up, and could only wiggle his toes. He was flown back to the States.
When the war ended, the army couldn鈥檛 demobilise everyone at once on to the employment market, and I believe it was Montgomery who devised the plan of educational courses for the troops. I applied for one at Dalkeith, and it was there that I met the man who became my husband.

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