大象传媒

Mrs Margo Coser,
10 Gulliver Road.
HARTLEPOOL.
TS25 4AL.
01429 271 538.
m.coser1@ntlworld,com
漏

MEMORIES OF
EVACUATION

I was nine when the war broke out and my Mam and Dad told me that along with my brother Sydney, who was seven, and my sister Lesley, who was five, that we would shortly be going to a safe place away from the bombing. I thought it was very exciting. Like an adventure. The day we left home was beautiful and sunny and I went round all the neighbours saying goodbye and I ended up with more pennies than I'd ever had before.
We carried our belongings in a bag, not forgetting our gas masks. I hated wearing mine. It had a horrible rubbery smell and the eye shield used to mist up so quickly it was like walking around in a fog. When we arrived at the Railway Station it was crowded. One of our teachers from Lister Street School came and tied a luggage label onto our coats and she wrote our names and addresses on them. My Mam and Dad and Grandmother came to see us off and Mam said I'd had to be very brave and good and look after Sydney and Lesley.
At the time we didn't know where we were going and when we got on the train, we were put into groups of six. The only girl I remember from Lister Street was an older girl called Joan Harrison. I believe a couple of teaches came with us but I can鈥檛 remember their names. On the train we were given a brown paper bag which contained a toothbrush, a tube of Gibbs tooth-paste, a tin of corned beef, a kit-kat and a bag of sweets. We seemed to be on the train for a long time and Sydney and Lesley only stopped crying when I gave them a penny and they ended up with more money than me! The older children sang songs like 'You are my sunshine' and 鈥榠t鈥檚 a long way to Tipperary'. Finally we arrived at our destination which turned out to be the lovely little fishing village of Staithes.
"We all trooped into the local school-room. I was beginning to feel frightened especially when a lady came in and carefully looked us over. She was thin and dark, with piercing coal black eyes. She wore an old-fashioned bonnet and to my tired eyes she looked like a witch. I began to cry quietly which broke into loud sobbing when she said she could only take the two girls as she had only one spare bedroom.
As we left Sydney, and accompanied her to her tiny house, tears were streaming down my face. Her husband was very tall, his head almost touched the ceiling, he was a very jolly man, with the nick-name 鈥楾itch', which didn't make sense to me, he couldn't understand our Lesley's name either; he said that's a boys name isn't it?
Sydney told us later that he and Joan Harrison where the last children to be picked. The lady who picked them turned out to be the landlady of the local pub, known as the 'Cod and Lobster'. (Actually when my Dad came to see us six weeks later, she said had she known, she could have taken us all and her maid Peggy could have helped look after us). When Dad was leaving after this first visit, Sydney cried so much my Dad took him back home with him; but he couldn鈥檛 have cried louder than me when I found out.
Uncle 'Titch' and Aunt Hannah were kind, and in fact Lesley came to love them, Aunt Hannah had this saying, 'I'll buy for one, but not for the other'- I of course was the 'other'. We used to go to Church three times on a Sunday, which was my favourite day. We would dress in our best clothes, and after Sunday school we'd rush home for our Sunday dinner, which was more special than any we got at home. For instance we had green lemonade with our dinner! Afterwards we had coffee out of dainty gold-rimed coffee cups, just like grown-ups, and a chocolate biscuit as a treat.
The local village school was quite small and was at the top of a steep hill. The teachers seemed grumpy and strict, and we were caned even for minor things. The lesson I most enjoyed was nature study -if it was fine we would go outside and study the flowers and trees, the little toads and field mice first hand.
At first the Staithes children didn't like us, but after a while they became friendly and took us all over the area. We used to look for crabs under the rocks or collect winkles in the caves and one day when we went looking for bird鈥檚 eggs, I got stuck half way up the cliff and was terrified; a burly fisherman helped me down. Sometimes, on a Saturday about ten or more of us from the village, aged from between eight and fourteen would walk a couple of miles there and back to the nearest cinema, even in deepest snow.
Although I settled in Staithes, every now and again I was overcome by pangs of homesickness and as Christmas drew near I had a physical ache in my heart. I yearned to see my Mam and Dad. A few weeks before Christmas all the evacuees where summoned to a house overlooking the harbour. As I entered, I was greeted by a sea of faces belonging to a group of weather beaten, keen -eyed, fishermen.
I was overwhelmed when one by one, we evacuees had to stand in the middle of the room and tell them what we would like for Christmas. After a bit of coaxing I told them I would love some knitting wool and needles, then I promptly forgot all about it.
When Christmas morning arrived I woke up and was filled with joy as I felt the lumpy Christmas stocking heavy on my feet. I leaned over and pulled open the curtains to let in the early morning light and then slowly examined the contents of my stocking. I savoured the shiny red apple and rubbed it on my nightgown, I put the large round orange to close my nose and smelt its deliciously tang. I rattled the tube of smarties and sampled a few. Then I bit into the bright golden penny to see if it was real. It was as hard as the walnuts and almonds which I promptly ate. There was only wrapped present- which I鈥檇 saved until last.
I couldn't hazard a guess at what it could be and I put off the moment of discovery for as long as possible. I felt its shape, I rattled it, smelt it and then with anticipation rising within me I opened it ... and gasped. There in all its glory lay a beautiful little work box. I lifted up the top and gazed in amazement at the miniature balls of wool in every hue, from deep purple to pale pink. Some were even striped in two colours, like candy
The work box also contained a few pairs of wooden knitting needles, as I caressed the satin smooth needles, and noted the assortment of sizes I thought no one could ever have received such a wonderful gift. As I gazed at 'this dream come true' my heart felt it was going to burst with happiness. Santa Claus appears in many shapes and many guises, though usually he comes as a genial be whiskered old gentleman dressed in red, however in that first Christmas of the war for me, a skinny little homesick evacuee, Father Christmas was a group of weather beaten, keen- eyed fishermen, dressed in thick oily black sweaters and huge orange boots.
My Dad came to see us every six weeks or so and it was always wonderful to see him, but my Mam never came. She told us later that she couldn鈥檛 bear too, as she wouldn鈥檛 want to leave us. Her first visit after nearly ten months was shattering for her. When I arrived home from school and saw her sitting having tea with Aunt Hannah, I started to cry. I said, 鈥淚 don't know why I'm crying Mam", however my Mam came to me and put her arms around me and cuddled me, she whispered 鈥漎ou're crying for joy pet鈥�, however when our Lesley came in and saw my Mam, she went and clung to Aunt Hannah and said; "Who is that strange lady?". My Mam was heart broken and my Dad came to take us home the very next week!
When the day arrived for us to go back home we felt sad, because in one way we didn't want to leave all our friends, then my Dad was late and me and Lesley cried because we thought he wasn't coming We finally arrived home and I can't describe how wonderful it was; maybe it wasn't as tidy as Aunt Hannah's, but it was home. It was wonderful seeing Sydney, who had sprouted up since we last saw him, and being kissed and cuddled by my Mam and Dad- We didn't know then that Dad was due to go into the Army within a month and that for the next five years we would only see him briefly.
However I must not forget to say that in the main, my memories of Aunt Hannah and Uncle Titch were good ones and I think Lesley and I we were very fortunate to have been evacuated to the glorious little fishing village of Staithes.
That first night at Hartlepool, there was an air-raid and I had forgotten how spooky the siren sounded. We were bundled under the stairs and had to shelter under the tin bath until the 鈥榓ll clear鈥� sounded. The next day we walked around the middle of the town and we saw people raking through the rubble for their possessions. We also heard of a mother who had left the air raid shelter to get blankets from the family home. Her headless body was found the next day.
When my Dad went into the Army, I started having terrible nightmares and so my Mother was really pleased when she heard from the Reverend Bertram Jones. Before she married, my mother had been a companion to his mother in law when he was Rector of St.Hilda's Church Hartlepool. He left to become the Vicar of the Parish Church in Kendal and in 1940, he was given an ultimatum. 'Either share your home with ten soldiers or find a family of evacuees'. So he wrote to my mother and asked if she, my brother and sister and I would like to spend the war years at his Vicarage( yet I'm sure there must have times that he had wished he'd chosen the soldiers!).
I admired his wife very much. She was a striking looking woman, very smart, and had long dark hair which she wore in a bun. But she also had the disconcerting habit of suddenly breaking into Portuguese when wanting to speak privately to her husband. It must have been quite a sacrifice for them to share their lovely home with us. The only times of strain occurred when we had to be very quiet on a Saturday afternoon while Rev. Jones worked on his sermon. Sadly we weren鈥檛 allowed to have any friends to play and Sydney and Lesley used to go to the nearby housing estate to meet up with theirs, but I preferred to stay with my mother. We met many bishops and missionaries and they sometimes mentioned our antics in their sermons-as did Reverend Jones.
To me their fourteen roomed Victorian Vicarage was like paradise. It was set in its own extensive grounds, had a large kitchen garden, fruit trees, and two lawns the size of tennis courts. In the middle of which was a huge tree-which still remains, even though the house is no more- There was also a summer house and stables. It was surrounded by a thickly wooded coppice so it seemed quite isolated. I was given an attic bedroom of my own. It had formerly housed the 'Girls' Friendly Society' meeting and was lined with books and it was a delight to lean out of bed and pick up a different book any time I wanted. Scattered rugs and comfortable easy chairs made it a very happy room and for the first few months I loved it.
But when the dark nights made their appearance, it was a different story. When it was time for bed my mother accompanied me up the attic stairs and tucked me into bed. She said I could read for a while and then be careful to blow out the candle. By candle light the room took on a menacing air. It was filled with shadowy shapes and one night when the owls were particular vocal, I padded out of bed and looked out of the window. The moon played tricks with the trees. They took on weird shapes and the pond which housed little friendly fish suddenly spawned a family of frogs that croaked and gasped and made all manner of strange noises.
I made a dash for my bed and to my horror there seemed to be a figure of a man near the door, and a shaft of pure terror invaded my whole body. I hid under the bedclothes hardly daring to breath. I lay there mouse still, expecting to be jumped on at any moment.
I longed to escape to the safety of my Mothers arms, but I was glued to the bed, trapped by my own fear. Eventually I fell into an uneasy sleep and when I woke up it was daylight, and as I gingerly looked around and noted my dressing gown hanging behind the door and I was relieved to discover my bed room was the same friendly place it had always been.
Yet when it was time for bed the next evening, my fears returned, I started to dread bed times and for some reason I never confided in my mother and soldiered on alone. In the course of time my fear of sleeping in the attic dissolved, or was it only driven under ground? Because for most of my my adult life I have had this recurring dream. That I am in a large house with attics, in which resides a family of ghosts. If you leave them alone you're fine, but if not, they attack you. At this point I usually wake up in horror. Even now I loathe staying at hotels with attics and once, this fear even stopped my husband and I from acquiring his 'dream' house at a bargain price. It was a five bed roomed house complete with attics.
I went to two schools in Kendal. The Junior School in Milnthorpe Road and the Senior School, for girls only, near the green. I remember the head-mistress, Miss Little. I was very happy there it was an excellent school and the friends I remember were Delphine Swindlehurst, Mary Saul and Margaret Pearce.
My first job in Kendal, at the age of fourteen, was as a very green junior at the 'Provincial' insurance office. I was so hopeless my boss Mr Levinson gave me the nickname 'Fanny Alice'. Years later when we moved back to Hartlepool, letters would arrive addressed 'Dear Fanny'. That man has a lot to answer for!
We were in Kendal until 1947, and then we all got homesick for Hartlepool and moved back. We settled down and put the war behind us. The memories I have of the war are exciting ones. For me, the war meant an end to the terrible poverty trap we were in due to the Depression. Both my evacuee homes gave me a solid foundation in the Christian faith, and I received genuine love, and help from so many people-who were not part of my family. I realize now that we all belonged to that wider 'family of God'.
I thank God for bringing me through the war years unscathed. The experience of those times enriched my life in many ways- not least, with the knowledge of His great and powerful love. Out of evil-even the evil of war, separation from loved ones, loneliness and grief- God can produce good for those who love Him.
As a brief post-script, to this account of the evacuation, when I married and had children of my own I periodically used to wonder how my mother could have let us be evacuated to an unknown destination, with an unknown family. I never asked her, but in my heart I did question it. However after she died, I found a poem in her little box of 鈥榯reasures鈥�, sadly I no longer have it.
The poem was entitled 鈥極 Woman Heart Be Brave鈥�. It had three of four stanzas.
The first exhorted women to be brave and let their loved ones go off and fight in the war.
The second was on a similar theme but encouraged them to remain faithful.
The third was being brave enough to let their children be evacuated to a place of safety putting their well being before their own.
When I read that poem it really did answer a lot of unanswered questions and for the first time, I realized that my mother had let us go, not through any lack of love on her part, but because of an abundance of it.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.