大象传媒

Upon the outbreak of war in 1939, I was four years old and my sister Jean was six. We lived in Handsworth with my mother, father and a younger sister who was one year old. Handsworth was a designated evacuation area, so Jean and I qualified. One morning after a tearful goodbye to friends and neighbours we were taken to the railway station and following a sad farewell to our parents we boarded the train to goodness knows where.

After a long journey, the train arrived at a small mining village in Wales called Cwmaman near Aberdare. We all got off the train and were taken to a large hall where local people selected children they liked and took them home. Jean and I were left to the end, probably because we were so young. Eventually an elderly couple whom we were to call Auntie Jane and Uncle Tom took us home on the firm understanding that they would take us on a temporary basis because they felt they were too old to look after a couple of young Brummies.

How we loved Auntie Jane and Uncle Tom, they were like angels in a foreign land to us, also Auntie Jane's Welsh cakes were out of this world. I can taste them now. Jean and I settled in at school and with lovely Auntie Jane and Uncle Tom. After a few weeks our world fell apart when Auntie Jane told us we were moving to the Davies family. She wa so sorry but through age was unable to take proper care of us.

We again had to settle into a new house when, a few months later my sister caught impetigo and returned home to Birmingham. I wa numb with shock and tried to make the best of life. I was moved around the large Davies family at regular intervals and heard one say "Your turn to have the evacuee!" Another incident was when a lodger died at one of the Davies' homes and the next night i was in that same bed! A lot of stress for a small child in a strange country.

My sister Jean never returned and I was left to my own devices, picking up half eaten sweets from the street, cleaning then eating them. I can hardley believe the things that happened. I don't remember going back home on holiday or receiving any visitors - but I suppose I must have.

Eventually the long road of misery ended and the war finished. Upon my return to Birmingham, my parents had moved house and there was a new brother on the scene. I now felt like a stranger in my own family speaking in a strange Welsh accent. Because of the accent I was required to read passages from the Bible during school assemblies and schoolmates were forever asking me to speak to them. I had returned HOME!

by Ted Cooke

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