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It was a grey, cold day at Brighton Station on March 18th 1941. There was though a babble of excitement from the motley collection of girls and parents who arrived, and stood around, not knowing either what to say or do. Each girl had her gas mask in its case hanging from her shoulder and on each lapel was a label, giving the name and school attended.

Suddenly the train arrived and hurried goodbyes were exchanged, and the excited cargo boarded the train, and as it pulled out waves were exchanged to the parents now left alone on the platform. We were being evacuated to an unknown destination, but in the excitement of the moment the significance of this goodbye did not register upon our young minds. It is only now, from the perspective of a mother and grandmother that the feelings of those waving goodbye can be understood.

We complained about the labels, which made us feel like parcels, and the small amount of luggage we were able to take, which gave a false sense of how long we would be away. On the whole though as teenage girls from the local Grammar school we enjoyed the initial send off. The exuberance was however short-lived as the train trundled northwards and we were served firstly with soup from a bucket, followed by wartime pie and peas and as a final course came lumpy rice pudding, again served from a bucket. Perhaps after all we should have stayed at home and risked the bombing and nights in the air-raid shelter.

Most of us thought that London was the North, but as the day wore on we realised that there was a good deal more beyond London. We passed the Potteries with the kilns towering over the landscape, saw the crooked spire of Chesterfield and the flames spurting from the steel works in Sheffield. We had read about these in our geography books, but now they were coming to life and in future would mean much more. The train finally stopped at about five o’clock in what we discovered was Leeds station. Chattering girls enquired whether we had reached our destination — could this be where we would spend the rest of the war?

Our questions were soon answered when we were taken to waiting buses and once more we were on the move. By this time we were tired, hungry and somewhat subdued. In half an hour we reached our stopping place for the night. It was an emergency hospital and here we were fed, but more indignities were to come when we were bathed and looked at for lice! By the time we went to bed in the long, cold wards there was hardly anyone who was not crying to go home. The spirit of adventure was wearing a bit thin!

In the morning though we were a little more optimistic as we boarded yet another bus to go to our final destination. This was another mystery tour, but for me it was probably the most significant journey of my life, for we arrived in the Yorkshire Dales during the morning and for the first time saw a real country market day. We arrived in the square on the cold, wet morning and the people gathered for the market looked up at us whilst we looked down at them and the surroundings. The hills which towered above the town seemed huge after the South Downs. Quite a culture shock for girls used to the hustle and bustle of a busy town, for even on market day it was quiet in comparison.

Before we could explore our new surroundings we had to find a home and we were taken to the National school where the billeting officer sorted us out. In many accounts of the evacuation other evacuees have said that the most poignant memory is of sitting in a room and being ‘chosen’ by prospective hostesses. Remarks such as ‘I want an older one to help with the farm,’ or ‘I don’t want a headstrong one,’ were heard around the room. We felt as though we were in an auction mart without any money changing hands. It must have been very difficult for those in charge to please everyone and they were all doing their best.

Eventually after going to a house where the owners were Jewish and only wanted a Jewish girl, I found myself back in the school hall where only a Mother and daughter were left, I felt very despondent and unwanted, but I was sent to a house where the owners had already had an evacuee from Bradford and didn’t really want another one. They certainly didn’t welcome me into their house, and that night as I lay in the attic room, lit only by a candle, I felt a loneliness and desolation which has never been matched again whatever life has thrown at me.

The morning though was brighter and we had a chance to explore our beautiful surroundings, and to feel the first stirrings of a fondness for the Yorkshire Dales. The limestone outcrops, the scree and the soft, springy grass together with the distant peaks all became features that we would remember for the rest of our lives.

We only had half day schooling, sharing the Grammar school with the local girls. This was great but we progressed very well despite the lack of time in class and when we returned to our school in Hove we were well ahead of others who had stayed behind. Some girls drifted back to Sussex unable to accept being away from home. I might have done likewise had I not met a young mother and asked her to take me in as an evacuee. She agreed and for over fifty years we remained friends and I shall always be eternally grateful to her for her generosity and hospitality which allowed me to come to a love and understanding of the Dales folk.

We gained new friends, discovered new activities and above all developed new values and attitudes which for many of us completely changed our lives. We returned to Hove after eighteen months very different girls from those who had left. I had been quiet and very shy but could now stand on my own feet and meet people from all walks of life. There was not a dry eye on the train which steamed out of the local station at 8.15am on a July day in 1942. I was determined to return, which I did regularly, but it was more than forty years before I was able to go back and live among the people and the hills of the Dales. I was lucky to be appointed Principal of the local Further Education College so was given the opportunity to give back to the community the help and kindness we had received.

I often ponder about what difference it would have made to my life, if I had not been on that train which left Brighton station so many years ago. My values and attitudes were formed in the Dales but above all I learned that ‘a walk on the tops’ puts everything into perspective. Sixty years on the memory is still as fresh as ever. We were lucky to have such good memories as many others were not treated as well as we were.

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