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CHAPTER 11

My friends, living up the road, were billeted at the same extremely large residence. I never ventured past the kitchen into their living quarters but I suspected the furnishings were very old and beautiful. Mr and Mrs ==== who owned this impressive house, from our eyes were obviously extremely wealthy. The three evacuees had to live in the kitchen where their employed 'live in' maid was required to care for them, her and the evacuees had to address their daughter as ‘Miss Mildred’.
This maidservant was a cheerful young woman, working desperately hard. The three evacuees were no problem, they were a delight to her, she loved their company, made them laugh and see the funny side of their troubles. At first the three girls enjoyed living there until the maid decided there was more to life than being in service. Most of the men were being enlisted for the forces and so many jobs were advertised. This young woman applied to be a bus conductress, which paid far better wages and allowed much more free time then ever she had enjoyed, so reluctantly, she deserted Louie, Lizzie and Betty. Consequently, I understand, they mostly had to fend for themselves.
Lizzie and Betty were distressed at this situation and so when their mother heard of their plight, she decided they would be better off in Leeds. This left poor Louie to live alone in the kitchen and also use the maid’s bedroom. To be fair to Mrs ====, she did invite Louie to sit with them after their evening meal, but Louie was quite self conscious and knew that she wouldn’t fit in with this upper class family. Mrs ===== was so overbearing and as she insisted that her daughter be referred to as ‘Miss Mildred’, Louie knew that the lady of the house intended to keep her in her place. After all Louie was only an evacuee waif, from a slum area of Leeds. ‘Miss Mildred’ wasn’t much older than Louie and so the poor girl, felt uncomfortable in the family’s presence and decided she was far better off alone in the kitchen. Miss Mildred did offer to help Louie with the washing up after the evening dinner but Louie quite often declined her offer, she felt more at ease tackling the job alone.
I would walk up to Louie's after my evening meal and stay in the kitchen with her. If she hadn’t managed to finish the dishes, I would help. We would then spend time chatting and knitting in front of the large kitchen fire. There was always some ironing on the go and so the iron was usually handy. The paper bags we carried our knitting in were so very precious to us, as paper was extremely short. Shops had now stopped wrapping goods, people had to provide their own paper bags, so we hung onto a bag if we were lucky enough to possess one. We religiously kept our prized paper bags ironed, carefully carrying our knitting in them. On rare occasions, Louie's mother posted her a ginger cake, so when all was quiet, we would creep upstairs to the maid's bedroom, in the back attic and secretly devour a slice each.
Louie, to my mind, was extremely brave, I really don’t know how she lived there. The large kitchen with its big walk-in pantries and also the maid's bedrooms were so frightening and scary to me. Having a timid nature, I’m sure that I couldn’t have coped. Mr ===== was a kind, compassionate man, quite a different kettle of fish from his wife. He was sympathetic and would pop into the kitchen to check that Louie was all right and have a friendly chat with her.
On Sunday mornings I would call for Louie to attend a morning church service. Mr ===== would drop into the kitchen and hand us each a shilling for the collection plate. This generosity continued for some time until one Sunday morning, the poor man was ill in bed. We were not aware that he was unwell and so we stood waiting for our regular shilling for the offertory plate. Mrs ===== stormed into the kitchen demanding to know why we hadn’t set off for church as it was late. Louie answered by saying.
‘We are waiting for Mr ===== to give us our collections’.
Obviously, his wife wasn’t aware that her husband had been giving us money for the church offertory. She was so furious. We were sent off on our way with a flea in our ear and I have no doubt Mr ===== received the sharp end of her tongue as he never again came into the kitchen when we were due to set off for church.
This family had a garden over the other side of Grimsby Road to their house and to use it they used their own private bridge. This bridge was extraordinary, we enjoyed standing in the middle, knitting, as we watched the traffic pass under. I remember one unfortunate day, dropping my ball of wool and watching helplessly as it rolled through the ironwork, onto the road. I came to the conclusion that the only way I could retrieve it was by throwing all my knitting after it and dashing all the way down the steps into the middle of the road to pick it up. This I did, but I cannot help wondering that it would be impossible these days as the traffic, on the once extremely quiet Grimsby Road, is now so heavy and continuous.
No longer is the bridge there and I wonder who now owns the immaculate tennis court and gardens, along with the immense walnut tree, whose nuts were gathered and left on shelves to dry in one of the big pantries. A few of these, Louie and I would secretly devour on an evening, whilst enjoying our social chats.
On Saturday afternoons a lovely lady named Betty Simpson took us for long walks into Hubbard’s Hills and the surrounding countryside. She would have been in her twenties and living on St. Mary's Road with her aunt and cousin. We had hours of fun as she organised our Saturday afternoons. Nature walks and then in the deep snow, we would have great times tobogganing. Betty knew all the wild flowers, trees and the lovely hills. This person was a true Christian and she always treated we evacuees with respect, never talking down to us. Eventually she was required to do war work and so became a nurse at the local hospital and married a soldier from Durham, who had been a patient of hers.

CHAPTER 12

In later years, I renewed my friendship with Betty, who told me that her and her husband had enjoyed a very happy married life and had been blessed with four lovely daughters. One very sad day, one of her girls wrote to tell me Betty had died in 1994, ages 82 years. I was thankful I had been fortunate enough to remake her acquaintance and was able to correspond with Betty until her death. I was quite sad that circumstances had deprived us of actually meeting again. There were so many things I would have liked to have asked her. I am also regretful and so sorry to relate that Betty informed me that her friend, (the eldest daughter of Mr and Mrs =====, whom Louie and I never knew), had been a nurse on a hospital ship, which was torpedoed in Singapore and she had lost her life.
Up the Grimsby Road and very near to Mrs ===== was a well-kept bungalow named 'Verdun'. This belonged to a delightful old couple, Uncle Dick and Auntie Lionel, they were aunt and uncle to Aunt Lil and so were part of this lovely family. Uncle Dick had a wealth of knowledge; he would regale us with such interesting true stories. We were kept spellbound and never tired of hearing his tales and anecdotes. When younger he had been an engine driver and had also served in the police force. Eventually, the call of the countryside could not be resisted and so he became a farmer.
He loved to reel off all the stations on certain railway routes he had been familiar with, not stopping for breath. He had taken advice from his father and saved hard to buy himself some land. After years of hard work he owned his own farm. In later days he retired to this bungalow with his lovely wife, letting a manager run his farm for him. We all had a gorgeously hot day there during harvesting, watching and helping the men at work and afterwards enjoying a scrumptious meal. All home made pies, meats, pickles, fresh bread, puddings and delicious cakes. I had heard of haymaking time but never imagined that I, myself, would one day enjoy the experience.
When I was at Louth, Aunt Lionel was old and frail but she kept her home sparkling clean, in spite of hands that were knotted with arthritis. Her fine embroidery was exquisite and a credit to her.
Having had two sons, the family had been very happy until the eldest was killed in the battle of Verdun during the 1914-18 War. They named their bungalow after the battle in memory of him. Their younger boy worked in Grimsby as a bank manager; he was married with two small boys.
Uncle Dick and Aunt Lionel had one of my school mistresses billeted on them. Miss Hirst taught English and Art. She herself was very gifted and an extremely good teacher, we all respected her. The Osborne’s came to love her, she also really appreciated their friendship and enjoyed her stay. I remember one day, watching Miss Hirst seated on the settee knitting at Aunt Lionel's, the wool was a pretty shade of peppermint green in fine two-ply. The pattern was a very intricate lace design. I asked her what she was making. Miss Hirst whispered.
'If I let you into a secret, promise you will not breathe a word to anyone at school'.
I promised faithfully and she whispered into my ear. ‘It’s a camisole’.
This type of garment was similar to an under bodice, a vest and knickers all in one but there was a split between the legs. Elderly ladies wore these garments in the Victorian and Edwardian periods. In 1939, they were considered very old fashioned; this type of underwear had gone out of vogue. Of course I didn’t tell anyone about her camisole, I liked and respected her too much to let my tongue slip. I certainly would not have wanted the girls to be giggling behind Miss Hirst’s back.
I can remember Uncle Dick having a pig killed. We had bowls of pure white fat stored in the shed along with a couple of hams hanging from the roof. Aunt Lil made sausages, hazlet and all the tasty tit bits from the animal. Nothing was wasted. It was obvious she was not a novice at dealing with a slaughtered pig. Uncle Dick owned a field at the back of his bungalow and would often arrive carrying a basket of freshly gathered mushrooms. They were delicious eaten with home cured bacon and fresh eggs.

CHAPTER 13

Mr and Mrs Bourne lived next door to Aunt Lil. Unfortunately and much to Mrs Bourne’s regret, they had no children. Mr Bourne and his brother ran their own plumbing business and the three of them lived together. Mrs Bourne was constantly busy; she was employed as a cleaner at the local Grammar school, which was very demanding and she also worked for Aunt Lil two days each week. She was exceptionally fond of cats and so late at night we would hear her creeping around the gardens calling her three pets in before she retired to bed. She doted on them and was referred to as 'cat crazy', but she didn’t mind at all, they were her life and her hobby.
Mr Bourne and his brother enjoyed a drink of beer after work and they would invariably arrive home quite tipsy. If I happened to be visiting Mrs Bourne at the time, Mr Bourne would slip a silver sixpence into my hand.
Poor Mrs Bourne was prone to severe headaches, which were probably migraines and she was forever taking aspirins. Her illness didn’t surprise me, as she never seemed to rest she was forever working, cooking or about to go somewhere to do a kindness for someone. I never ever witnessed her sitting down to relax.
We began settling to life in Louth. The air raids everyone expected didn’t materialise. The only war inconvenience to us was the blackout, which was extremely scary and dangerous. Walking along lanes and roads with overhanging branches and not a glimmer of light to be seen was terrifying. Unless one has experienced a true blackout, it is hard to conceive. Aunt Lil always carried a very tiny torch, which was allowed by law, but as the light had to be pointed down onto the ground, it was of very little help. The small beam just swung to and fro with the swing of Aunt Lil's arm as we walked. One could hear footsteps approaching or behind and eventually a 'good-night' as they passed but we had no idea who the person was unless Aunt Lil recognised the voice.
Accidents by falling from pavements or bumping into lampposts were very common but the only advice we were given was to wear something white. This probably stopped people colliding but it didn’t stop a person crashing into a lamppost, unknown obstacles or spraining an ankle from slipping into a pothole. Dog excrement on pavements caused many unnecessary, appalling accidents
The church bells were silenced by order, only allowing them to be rung, to warn of an invasion by the enemy. To me, St James, although beautiful and a very old church, built from old grey stone and reported to boast the second highest steeple in England, seemed icy. I always felt the interior was hostile, not like my St George’s in Leeds. It was most likely a case of what one is used to, although the coldness was most probably due to the fact that heating was also drastically rationed.
I had been made to feel so guilty on that Sunday morning when I didn’t have my collection. Had I the time to call back at Aunt Lil’s, this would not have been a problem. The man with the offertory plate stood in front of me for what seemed ages before it dawned on him I was not going to contribute. I can’t believe it had happened to him before and it’s hard to imagine which of us was the most embarrassed.
We all loved attending the Methodist Chapel. I had transferred to their Guides and was made to feel very welcome. We were kept pretty well occupied taking our various badges and doing all the interesting activities Guides enjoy.

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