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London's children, before the last World War, enjoyed their street games and numerous other ways of having fun.
Occasionally, their attention might have been caught by something during the local cinema Newsreel show on Saturday mornings; or they may have over heard comments made by parents, or farnily. At that time few working class families had a radio, and TVs were non existent. For these children, Laurel & Hardy; the Three Stoogies; and Flash Gordon, were the real heroes. Fat Mussolini and Adolf Schikelgruber, with his funny moustache, and walking so funnily, with his right arm stuck out, were people to be aped and joked about in the school playground and on the streets. In 1936 there was a lot of talk about the King and we thought it was a shame that he wasn't allowed to marry that Dame from America that he fancied. But this was soon forgotten and it was great when the new King George VI, gave us a holiday from school, whilst he was being taken in a golden carriage to church and having a crown stuck on his head. There were street parties, loads to eat and lots of real fun.
Soon after that life around us started to change. There was serious news from Spain about Civil War, and even more trouble in Austria, but these places were far away from England and concerned foreigners, who didn’t even speak English. In the streets people looked worried and every one seemed to be buying and reading the newspapers.
Within months, our parents and neighbours were engaged in digging holes in gardens into which shaped sheets of corrugated metal were placed to make Air Raid shelters, so we were told. People were required to go and register for Ration Books, and our older brothers and sisters had to register for military service. Even the older folk were to sign on for ARP and other duties, not really understood at the time. Things became more exciting and worrying when we were issued with ugly and uncomfortable Gas Masks and given lessons wearing them in school classes. In the playgrounds we were drilled to troop orderly into bricked up, ground level, or below ground class rooms. Windows, at home and at school, were being criss-crossed with sticky tape, and we were surprised when looking out and up to see Barrage Balloons in the overhead skies. Our parents had meetings in the schools and started cleaning and collecting our spare clothing, that was then being packed into cases, hold-alls, canvas bags, whatever was to hand. And, it was then we were informed, that most of us were to be sent into the country away from our homes for safety. This only became a reality when we were taken to school by our tearful relatives, there to be labeled and helped into buses with our cases and bundles. We were then taken to various railway stations, in most cases, without our loved ones. Some parents were on the station platforms witnessing the start of our undesired exile.

Some kids were taken back at the last moment by parents unable to face this parting. So, on the last day of August, or the first day of September, we were evacuated and became evacuees, for most of us our life was changed completely from that day forward. Taken by government orders from our parents and homes and sent to live with people living lives very differently to that known to us previously.

For some the experience was far from a disaster and they soon learned to stand on their own two feet, learning independence, as it was to be in my case. The trains left London for villages and towns distant from the Capital, and after a couple of hours the train carrying my nephews and me entered the famous, beautiful city of Cambridge.

Soon, we arrived at a small village a short distance from Cambridge, named Cherry Hinton. Where we entered a large, one storied building that was the village Community Centre, where we were given something to eat and drink by the WVS. We were then sorted into various groups of two or more and taken to those with who we were to be billeted. I was one of the lucky ones to be lodged at Hills Farm in Coldhams Lane, a large farm with animals and orchards.

The Hills were a middle aged couple, two Grandmothers, and two charming girls that I believe were daughters, both in their early 20’s. Unfortunately, we never saw them very often because they were employed elsewhere, possibly as Land Girls. There was another boy named, Smith, slightly older than myself, also from London. The farm was a wonderland to someone like me, coming from a small place in the heart of London, familiar only with a very tiny back garden and knowing only one small pet dog for most of my life, until that moment. Here we were surrounded by orchards; farmlands and stables. pigs, geese, ducks and other poultry and all kinds of livestock, including horses, making me wonder if I had come to a super zoo. Then there was the wonder of sitting astride on one of shire horses: feeding the goats, geese, hens, rabbits and all the other ridiculous farm activities that were all so new to us.

Grandmothers took charge and care of us, a lovely and kind lady indeed.
She was Gran, to us, and that was something very special for me since both my Grandmothers had died before I was born. She was very caring and did so much for us. Quite often, after school, just following dinner, we were needed to help her to carry a huge tray of baked apples, or monster sized fruit pies from which we just helped ourselves. But I cannot remember ever being at table and eating with other members of the family; although this may have happened but I fail to recall. For amusement on cold winter evenings we had playing cards, books and dominoes. We used to construct simple block houses, and, no doubt influenced by the war, he would catch bluebottle flies, {plentiful because of the stacked manure), remove their wings, stick them in the houses and proceed to bomb them with more dominos. Another favourite autumn sport was to catch flies and throw them into the webs of the fat spiders in the hedges...typical boys' fun?????? Gran never knew.

There was little radio and of course, TV never existed then. On occasion Jill or the other young granddaughter would call in with some sweets and pass some time with us and how we enjoyed those visits. On more than one occasion I was taken to one of the upper rooms in order to call on the
other, very old and secluded Grandmother; very small and very kind...she was obviously treated with love and affection by the girls.

Opposite the farm there were the huge open pits of the Portland cement works, which must have offered us a very real playground, full of danger. We were many times warned to avoid the place but we were drawn to the pits and never came to any real harm; apart from returning to a scolding, on arriving home covered from head to foot in chalk and cement dust.

Whilst with the Hills we were well looked after. I really loved the freedom to wander amongst the surrounding orchards and to climb tree, over laden with fruit of the most delicious kinds. Often I would sit high in a tree observing the activities of the nearby RAF airport, whilst gorging on fruit.

One Autumn there was so much fruit that we would to stagger to school laden with sacks of pears, apples and plums to be given out in class to the other kids. Of course, this gave us a certain prestige that we enjoyed.

Two of my nephews, were installed in a nearby farm called Cherry Farm, once again with a charming Mrs. Pink and her husband. My third nephew was in a small house with a farming labourers family, also within a short distance...after all the entire village was quite small at that time. The elder son of this labouring family was, if I recall, named Jack. A fellow that we all grew to like since he was employed looking after the livestock of a farm on the main Cambridge Road, not far from the Robin Hood pub. He used to allow us the freedom of the place and we helped him in the feeding of the animals.

Especially we enjoyed the pigs, whether mucking them out or preparing the awful mixtures that they ate. Also, there was fun to be had catching the goats to be milked. It was common practice to direct one of their full teats, with a quick squeeze and catch one of our friends either nexpectedly full in the face or in an opened mouth with a jet of warm creamy milk.

We were expected and did take part in the church activities in the Church of England church at the beginning of Coldhams Lane. At some time I was selected to join the village choir which meant choir practice and dressing up three times on Sundays in the fancy surplices of the choristers...all enjoyable to me and once again, all new. My best efforts were rewarded by singing
Mendelssohn' s, 'O for the wings of a dove’ , on one occasion only, so I doubt that it was much appreciated. Shortly after we went to school at a far better and more modem school close to the outskirts of Cambridge itself......necessitating at least two mile walks there and back each school day...yet we didn’t find this other than enjoyable, even in Winter when we walked through snow drifts sometimes as high as we were tall. The 1940/41 winter was very cold.

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