大象传媒

On Sunday September 3, 1939, I vividly remember listening to the radio (the 'wireless' as it was then called) and hearing Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain's famous speech: "We are now at war with Germany."

I was going to be nine years old the following day, and a birthday party had been arranged for that Sunday. Not fully understanding the significance of the declaration of war, my main worry was whether my friends would turn up for my party. They did, however - all carrying their boxed gas-masks on their shoulders!

I lived in Dover, the nearest frontline town, later to be known as 'Hellfire Corner'. During the months that followed, schools were preparing for the evacuation of all the children. On June 2, 1940, my elder sister Jeanne and I, together with hundreds of children, marched to Dover Priory railway station with our teachers, to begin our journey to south Wales. However, at the time we had no idea where our final destination would be.

We travelled all day and eventually reached a small town called Blaenavon. To us it seemed a great adventure, but it must have been heart-wrenching for our mum and dad.

We assembled in a school hall, waiting to be 'chosen' by prospective foster parents. My sister and I were lucky; we were taken by a very kind and caring couple, Reg and Cecily Edmunds, who lived in a fairly large house - much bigger than our home back in Dover.

They had no children of their own, and treated us with great kindness for the two years we were with them. Our foster father was captain of the local Home Guard, and our foster mother was very active in the WVS (Women's Voluntary Service). My sister and I kept in contact with Mr and Mrs Edmunds for the rest of their lives.

Obviously, there was always the worry of what was happening at home in Dover, as the bombing and shelling from the guns in France intensified. Also, our father was an engine driver transporting the troops to London after they arrived in Dover from the evacuation of Dunkirk.

I was one of those rare children to be evacuated twice! I returned from Blaenavon to Dover in 1942, and having passed the exam to go to a school in Folkestone, in 1944 at the age of 13 I had to return to Wales with my new school, whose pupils had been sent to Treharris. I was billeted in Aberfan and had to travel to school each day on a rickety local train.

I settled into the school quite happily and made some wonderful lifelong friends. But my new foster parents weren't as kind as Mr and Mrs Edmunds had been in Blaenavon. By now, though, I was 14, and learned to make the best of it.

Many years later, having children and grandchildren of my own, I came to realise how my parents must have felt to be parted from my sister and I when we were evacuated. But we were lucky, we survived, and mostly remember the happy times.

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