大象传媒

My mum had decided that it would be better if my brother Doug and me were evacuated to a safer place, as this is what the Local Authority were asking parents to do. The date of the evacuation was Sunday the 2nd of June 1940. Mum took us both to St Mary鈥檚 School where we were put on buses that took us to The Central Station. Dad wasn鈥檛 there as he was driving a bus doing the same thing at another school. I don鈥檛 remember being told where we were going, although I expect Mum knew. It turned out to be Monmouthshire in South Wales. It was a long journey with no stops, so we were thankful for the food that we had been told to take. The train travelled direct to Pontypool and I always remember seeing the Huntley and Palmers biscuits鈥� sign as we passed through Reading.

We were bussed from the station to what I think was a local school where we were given sandwiches and tea and were fussed over by kindly ladies. To us it was still a big adventure, but looking back they must have felt really sorry for us knowing the real state of things. This wasn鈥檛 the end of our journey, as after eating and drinking our fill, we were sorted into groups of about thirty and put aboard another bus. By the time we reached our destination it was dark, and being mid-summer, it must have been after 10 o鈥檆lock.

It so happened that the village we had arrived at was named Gwehelog, 2陆 miles from Usk, on the main Newport to Monmouth road. We were then led into the village hall where we were offered more tea and cakes before being allocated to our foster parents. I鈥檓 not sure how this was arranged but I remember going down a country road being led by a lady, with Doug and a lad named Leslie Cloke trailing behind. It was possibly a ten-minute walk to the house, which was called Birchgrove, but it seemed like miles, as it had been a very long day. When we arrived, we were introduced to another lady and a man, and it turned out that they were two sisters and a brother by the name of Jenkins.

A couple of things that stick in my mind were that the lighting was by an oil lamp standing on the table, and also the way they spoke, which was of course, with a Welsh accent and a job to understand. Some things stand out in your mind a lot more than others as what happened that night is a complete blank, but the next morning remains as clear as day. After having a cooked breakfast Doug and I asked if we could explore a little and were told not to go too far, but that we might see some other evacuees as there were others billeted in the village. The hub of the village was just a pub and the school with farms and houses scattered over quite a big area, not quite as you imagine a village to be, as they are in Kent.

The school could be seen from our house so we didn鈥檛 have far to walk like others did. Anyway that morning we walked as far as the main road which was just at the top of our drive, and sat on the gate thinking what to do next. It wasn鈥檛 long before some of our school mates arrived, I believe it was the Simpson brothers, (there were three of them,) and they told us that they were billeted about a mile along the road towards Raglan in one of a row of cottages, funnily enough called Raglan Cottages. I still see two of them, but not the youngest, who was my age, as he moved away. As our numbers had increased we became more adventurous and decided to go farther afield. It didn鈥檛 take us long to come across some fellow travellers and by the end of the morning the group must have grown to about a dozen. Somehow word got around that we had to attend the village school the following morning. How we all fitted in I shall never know, but fit in we did. There were thirty of us, all the village children of all different ages, including the Simpson鈥檚 two sisters. Our teacher was a Mr Williams, who had travelled with us from Folkestone, and was staying at a cottage at the bottom of our orchard with his wife.

I would like to add a bit of social history relating to schools, as they were rather different in 1940. Firstly the majority of schools, except for grammar schools, catered for children of both sexes, and a child would start at that school as an infant and would progress into seniors before leaving at the age of fourteen. The boys and girls were taught in different classrooms and also used different playgrounds, so although they attended the same school they were separated from each other. It was also the practice for children to attend the school nearest to there home, as the majority went home for dinner. Also the hours were standard for all schools being 9am to 12am and 2pm till 4pm.

We quickly got our bearings and began to find out where everybody was billeted as well as the lay-out of the village and the surrounding area. I think the luckiest two lads were Peter Chandler and Steve Brice, who stayed at the village pub, called The Hall Inn. I still see Peter, but no one seems to know what happened to Steve.

Living next to us, in a detached house, was a lady whose name was Mrs Baker. The house formed part of a small holding, including a barn and a hay field. She owned a lovely pony and trap and often gave us rides into Usk, which saved us money on bus fares. We got into trouble with her one day for trampling all over her hay field. During the night German aircraft had been over and dropped propaganda leaflets all over the place. We saw some in the hay field and decided to collect some and flattened all the hay, that was ready to be cut, in the process.

Directly over the road from us was a large farm called Oak Farm, which was managed by Mr Jones along with his wife. They had three young children: Aubrey, who was my age, and Bernard and Nancy, who were younger. The farm was owned by Mr Doubleday, a large landowner, from Usk.

I spent most of my time at Gwehelog on the farm with Aubrey and enjoyed a great friendship. The family always made me welcome and I used to help out with the milking, which was done by hand, and of course the mucking out. In fact I became involved in everything on the farm including learning to drive a Fordson tractor.

Mum used to send us a parcel every week without fail and it always contained a letter, sweets, a comic, and a shilling between us. It sometimes contained items of clothes that we had worn out. Years later when Mum was talking about the war, it turned out that Mrs Jenkins would write to her asking for these things which we didn鈥檛 know anything about. One such parcel contained a torch so that we could get about in the dark. It played a part in one of our more stupid activities. We used to hear the German bombers flying overhead, on their way to the Welsh ports and flash the torch skywards. At that time we thought it was great fun. It was quite easy to identify German aircraft as their engines were not synchronised and gave a distinct throb, whereas ours would drone.

I had a nice summer there, as we had the usual six weeks holiday, which was spent mainly on the farm. We were also taken for days out to a couple of other villages that had evacuees from our school and I met up with some of my classmates.

During August, I was admitted to hospital in Newport with a very bad earache, that turned out to be a mastoid. I was soon operated on and had to stay there for six weeks. During that time, I used to lay in bed and watch the barrage balloons being raised and lowered. I was discharged in October and a few days later Mum and Dad arrived with my young sister, Betty, who was only two, in time for Doug鈥檚 thirteenth birthday. We knew what day they were arriving, but not what time. As Doug was waiting for the bus home from Usk, he looked up at the window and there was Mum and Dad sitting there. Mum always said she remembered the look on his face and the tears in his eyes. They only stayed a couple of days as Dad had to get back to work.

Christmas soon arrived and I felt a bit homesick, but cheered up especially when we had goose for dinner. These were kept around the house along with chicken and a couple of goats that we used to milk.

Around about February, Doug and one of his mates found themselves in trouble with some of the local ladies. On their way home from the village hall, they had frightened them by coming out of the woods in the dark covered in sheets. Apparently this was not the first time. Mr Williams wrote to mum asking for him to go back home, which he did.

Winter was a bit bleak, but come Easter it was arranged for me to travel back to Folkestone for the holiday. That was quite an experience, as I had to travel on my own, and to top it all, I had decided to take a kitten home with me which I carried under my coat! I started the journey by bus from outside our house to Newport station, then caught a train direct to Paddington. From there, I had been told to catch the number 11 bus to Victoria Coach Station, where I asked the conductor to put me off. On arriving I went to the East Kent office, where a driver, who had been briefed by my Dad, put me on the coach to Folkestone. I was then met by Dad and arrived home safe and sound.

This was my first visit to our new home. During 1940, Mum and Dad had decided to move out of Dover Road, round the corner to 40 Queen Street. Although it stood on its own, it was built in the same style as the rest of the street, but has since had a house built onto it. I stayed home for about a fortnight and noticed all the defences that had sprung up around the town and how there were very few people about. There were also Emergency Static Water Tanks erected at vulnerable places in case water mains were ruptured. These were normally placed on roads that were wide enough or on waste ground and were about eight feet by sixteen feet and four feet high, with the tops covered with wire netting. There were also Air Raid Shelters, surface ones, built with curved roofs, in quieter roads or cul-de-sacs. In Radnor Park and Canterbury Road recreation ground, there were underground shelters, which are still there today, although the entrances have long been blocked up. There was also one in the playground of the old Dover Road School, which was demolished to make way for flats. The builders had a shock when they started digging footings, as no one remembered they were there. This also happened in Folkestone Road at Dover on the corner of Elms Vale.

Things were rather quiet on the war front, as I don鈥檛 remember much happening at that time.

On returning to Gwehelog, Mr Williams thought I should take a scholarship exam for the Grammar school, which I did. The next few months were enjoyed on the farm and a good pastime was to watch the local Home Guard practising their war games. Most of the village men were members, including Mr Jenkins, who like a good many, had served in the First World War. Looking back now it was so much like the television series of 鈥淒ad鈥檚 Army鈥�, although it was taken very seriously. Mr Jenkins had a 1929 AJS motorbike with sidecar and on this he mounted a Lewis machine-gun and he would hare round the village with great pride.

One thing Aubrey and myself decided to do was to make a truck to ride on. We managed to find some timber for a sort of platform and had some luck coming across two pairs of cast iron wheels and axles from an old horse-drawn mower. The whole thing weighed a ton, but with some grease on the axles it went down hill like a rocket. It was great fun even though it took ages to pull it back up again.

During my stay there, I also got involved with cider making on the farm. It was made in the old fashion way with a hand press. The apple juice would come out of one corner of the press, into a bucket, and then, be poured into barrels to ferment for a year, ready to be drunk at next year鈥檚 haymaking and harvest time. I also enjoyed threshing time, after all the corn had been cut and stacked. This was carried out by a team of men that travelled around farms with their steam traction engines and thresher. They worked from dawn till dusk until all the farms in their area had been completed. Mind you, they worked well on scrumpy cider.

During this term at school, Mr Williams told me that I had passed for The Harvey Grammar School, so it meant saying my goodbyes and moving to Merthyr Tydfil. It was a sad time for me leaving my friends, some I鈥檇 known for five years since starting school, while others, especially Aubrey, I had known for just over a year.

After leaving the village for the last time at the beginning of July 1941, I made my way home as before and looked forward to my holiday until returning to Wales at the beginning of September. There wasn鈥檛 a lot of enemy activity around Folkestone at this time, although aircraft of one sort or another could often be heard flying overhead. We started to form ourselves into gangs, I suppose there were roughly six of us, but that depended on who fell out with who, which was quite often, knowing boys. Each gang had their own territory, ours was the railway bank at the back of Peters Street and extended to Grove Road, where there were bombed houses. These were occupied by a rival gang and were always being fought over. This consisted of missiles being thrown and, as it was a bombsite, there was no shortage of ammunition. Basically, it was good clean fun and no one ever got really hurt. A lot of the time was spent just being with your mates, going up the hills, making rope swings from trees and generally enjoying yourself.

Come September, it was time to go back to Wales and the start of a new adventure. This time I was not on my own. Other boys who had been in my class at St Mary鈥檚, but had been evacuated to other villages, had also passed for the Harvey, and were making their way to Merthyr. About six of us arrived together at Merthyr station and were taken individually to our foster homes by a billeting officer.

My new address was 17 Railway Terrace. It was on the very outskirts of town, the home of Mr and Mrs Morgan. You couldn鈥檛 get more Welsh than that! I had to share a room with their eight-year-old son, Peter, who turned out to be a bit spiteful, but I couldn鈥檛 do much about it.

When the Harvey Grammar School was evacuated, the whole school moved to Merthyr Tydfil. The lower forms took over a large part of Georgetown School which was a secondary school, whilst the upper forms took over part of Cyfarthfa Castle School which was a grammar school. They were quite a distance apart and we had to walk from our school to the Castle school for our carpentry lessons.

I found school life a lot different to what I had been used to, especially the surroundings. Although I knew some of the boys, a lot were strangers and they seemed to group themselves according to what primary school they had come from. I soon renewed acquaintances with boys from St Mary鈥檚 so I had some mates.

There wasn鈥檛 so much free time as before as we now had homework to do in the evenings. When it came to having fun instead of nice green fields, I had to be content with slagheaps - at least it was a change. At weekends we would wander around the shops, and more often than not, go to the pictures. Mum still sent me a small parcel each week so I always had some pocket money and after pictures it was off to the chip shop for a treat. The chip shops, then, seldom had fish, but they would fry a sort of fish cake in batter, which were very nice and were called 鈥渟callops鈥�.

Christmas 1941 saw me off home again along with the vast majority of the grammar school and I believe a special train was laid on to cope with so many boys, at least as far as Cardiff. I travelled the usual way, with a coach from Victoria after catching a bus from Paddington. Nothing much was happening on the war front, as the weather didn鈥檛 really allow for anything to fly at low-level below the radar. I renewed contact with the mates I鈥檇 made in the summer. I didn鈥檛 see a lot of them as it was a much shorter holiday and I was soon back off to Wales.

I wasn鈥檛 very happy going back this time, whether it was the school, my billet, or the town, I don鈥檛 know, but I do remember not looking forward to it at all. Still, I knuckled down to life away from home and made the best of it. I still had lots of fun as you do when you are boys and just enjoyed the present.

Easter 1942 soon came around and I was off home again. This time I had made up my mind that when I got home, there I was going to stay as I had had enough of Wales at least for the duration of the war.

There were several incidents regarding 鈥渉it-and-run鈥� raids, that were made by German Messerschmitt 109鈥檚 carrying a 250kg HE-bombs. They would come in at low level without any warning and normally drop their bombs fairly accurately, but some would just get rid of their load and run, as the name of the raids suggests.

On one occasion, which is still very fresh in my mind, was the bomb that dropped along side the gasometer at the rear of Bradstone Avenue. It was around 9 o鈥檆lock on Friday 24th April. I heard the roar of a low-flying aircraft, followed by an almighty bang and rushed out to see a cloud of smoke coming up from by the viaduct. I charged off through the Brickfields to see water pouring from holes in the side of the gasometer where shrapnel, from the near miss, had punctured its side. The water was going straight into the back doors of the houses in Bradstone Avenue and out through the front. It shows how close that German pilot was to the viaduct, which wasn鈥檛 bad for the speed and height he was travelling at. Anyway the fire brigade and police soon arrived and we were sent packing. Ship Street also suffered severe damage on the same day with one fatal casualty.

The next part of my story made a big impact on my life. When the time came for me to return to Wales I would not go as I鈥檇 had enough of being an evacuee. On the morning that I was supposed to leave I locked myself in the toilet and no one could coax me out. In the end everyone gave up and I was allowed to stay at home. Soon after I was admitted to The Royal Victoria Hospital with appendicitis so mum was pleased that I hadn鈥檛 returned to Wales.

I was now able to settle down to normal family life in my own home and things were much happier. I really began to enjoy myself with all my mates, and being home with mum and dad. I also realised how much I had missed them. It was shortly after this that we moved house down to 21 Queen Street.

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