大象传媒

Note: The names of the people where we were billeted are, here coded by initial letter only, for anonymity. Since these people are now long dead their names can be revealed.
P = Perrit
H = Hunter
W = Weller
C = Collingham
A = Arnold
D = Dodman
B L Hart March 05
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The Lewes Lads
Chapter 1. Honudean Rise
At 11 a.m. on Sunday 3rd September 1939, people throughout the land sat listening to their wireless sets as Mr Chamberlain, the Prime Minister, proceeded to make a declaration of war against Germany. The next day a train loaded with schoolchildren pulled into Lewes railway station. A contingent of children from the Parish Church School, Croydon, had been 鈥榚vacuated鈥�, transported from a place in war-time suburban London that was thought likely to come under enemy air bombardment to a place in the countryside that was expected to be safe from attack.

At just over nine years old I, along with my two brothers, Maurice (ten) and Ronald (seven), was among the evacuees. For us it was to be the start of a series of adventures that would become indelibly etched in our memories.

Carrying attach茅 cases, gas masks and carrier bags containing emergency food rations, which included a tin of bully beef and two packets of biscuits, we left the train and marched to All Saints Hall at the bottom of Station Street. There we were given something to eat and drink and arrangements were made to find foster homes in and around the town.

In a tearful farewell in Croydon, Mum had told us not to be separated from one another so our insistence on staying together made it difficult to find a home and we were the last to leave the hall. Mr Cranham, a teacher from our school together with a billeting officer took us to what was thought to be a suitable part of the town and the process of knocking-on-doors began.

At first nobody seemed willing or able to take on three young boys. Eventually, however, we were installed in a fine detached house, at the comer of Houndean Rise and Southdown Avenue, owned by Mr P, a retired schoolmaster, and his wife.

Mr and Mrs P were a well-to-do childless couple used to gracious living. That included the services of a maid who lived-in, a cook who came in each morning to make preparations for the dinner chosen by Mrs P, and a part-time gardener. Tradesmen were expected to use a side entrance to the house.

We were looked after by the maid. After she sounded the gong in the hall we would usually go and eat with her. There was one occasion, though, when we had lunch with Mr and Mrs P. It included peaches, fresh from the garden, and our hosts used napkins that were secured in silver rings when not in use. My brothers and I had been used to 鈥渄inner鈥� at lunch-time and, more often than not, tinned peaches. We had been used to decorated paper serviettes at Christmas, but for the rest of the year we devised more creative ways of cleaning our sticky fingers after eating. After evening meals the maid was responsible for bathing us and putting us to bed. A bath every night in a white enamelled bath was certainly a change from the less frequent wash in the tin bath in the two-up, two-down, cottage-style house that we had previously known as home. In objecting, one night, to a bath I was told quite firmly that if I did not behave myself I would end up in the Prison, which could be glimpsed from the garden.

Mr P loved jig saw puzzles, particularly those he designed and made himself, a quiet afternoon rest, good conversation and obedient children. In addition to seeing that Mr P鈥檚 every wish was met, Mrs P , who was considerably younger than her husband, instructed the gardener and maid in their various duties, supervised the production of jam from crab-apples grown in the garden and involved herself generally in good works. When the need arose she would drive her little black car to town to do some shopping, which might include the purchase of coffee beans or some meat from Marsh鈥檚 the butchers at the top of Station Street on the opposite side of the road from 鈥榊e Olde Tobacco Shoppe鈥�.

My brothers and I loved activity and noise, in both of which we indulged to the full when we steeple-chased along the garden paths. Looking back, the differences between the social and cultural backgrounds of Mr and Mrs P and their little evacuees were almost certain to lead to problems.

One day, as the result of some minor irritation on my part, Mr P saw fit to rebuke me. My cheek in answering him back angered him even more and he gave vent to his fury by striking me across the face with the back of his hand. Whether or not it was this incident that led directly to our departure I cannot say, but only a few weeks after being billeted in our first foster-home we were preparing to go to our second. It was to be a home that Mrs P thought 鈥榤ore suitable鈥� for us. She knew the lady concerned and thought her 鈥榥ice鈥�.

Mrs P celebrated the relief of her husband and herself at our departure by buying each of us a small present, in my case a box of lead Red Indian braves on horseback. Then we were bundled into her car and driven off to Miss H鈥檚.
Chapter 2. Castle Banks
Miss H lived in an old terrace house at the bottom of Castle Banks. Nearby, on White Hill, was a small grocer鈥檚 shop and just around the corner in Mount Pleasant was a stonemason鈥檚 yard where headstones for graves were made.

The house was built on three levels. Care was needed on entering it, particularly in the dark, because there was a flight of stairs just behind the front door that fell away steeply to the floor below. At the bottom of the stairs, on the right, was a small kitchen. There, in the stillness of the evening by the light of an oil-lamp, we would munch our supper biscuits and sip cocoa before going to bed, two flights up, by the light of a candle. The shadows cast by the lamp and the flickering of the candle flame produced an unfamiliar air of mystery. In our house in Croydon gas mantles had been replaced by electric light bulbs for lighting in 1935. Opposite the kitchen, on the other side of the stairs, a short passage led to an outside lavatory which had to be flushed using a bucket of water.

Miss H was a dumpy, middle-aged lady with spectacles and a pudding-basin haircut. Claiming to have been a nurse in The Great War of 1914-1918, she was good-natured but inclined to be strict. We were made to understand that if any one of us was careless enough to fall over and cut his knee while playing outside, then he would have one sausage less on his dinner plate that day. She was also a trifle eccentric. If she was riding her bicycle and it started to rain she would still unfurl her umbrella as she careered along.

Our early schooling in Lewes was in two establishments. The Pells School and The British School. Miss H鈥檚 house was conveniently located for both and for buying toffees in Mr Pelham鈥檚 sweet shop at the comer of St John鈥檚 Terrace. Our school, shared classrooms at The Pells. We would occupy the rooms for one part of the day, the morning for example, and The Pells pupils would occupy them for the rest of the day. The British School in Lancaster St was situated next door to The Little Theatre and opposite the Naval Prison. Inside a corrugated fence at the front of the school was a dirt playground and around its edges were patches of soil that we tended with hoes and rakes before planting seeds.

At lunch-time we would stand outside the fence and watch the soldiers stationed in the prison practicing drill on an artillery gun placed outside a gate. Just in front of The Little Theatre was an air-raid shelter. In air-raid practice we were all expected to line up and march to the shelter carrying our gas masks and 鈥渢ins鈥�. Biscuits, in tins sealed with sticky tape, were meant to stave off the pangs of hunger if we had an extended stay in the shelter, but the temptation was too much for some boys and tins were opened before the intended event. Sometimes, when we were sharing classrooms, our teachers took us on long healthy walks in and around the town. During walks along the footpaths, and through the fields, by the river we were given lessons on 鈥渘ature studies鈥�. When it came to walks in the woods, some of those trailing at the back would prefer to 鈥済et lost鈥�, i.e., hide behind trees and take a short cut home, rather than learn about such things as the shape of a sycamore leaf.

On historical trips we clambered up Cliffe Hill to see the Martyrs鈥� Memorial and up to the Race Hill to learn about the Battle of Lewes. A teacher told us the date and how to remember it. The gist was as follows. 鈥淚ts twelve sixty-four. Remember, there are twelve pennies in a shilling. Divide by two and what do you get? That鈥檚 right, six. Now divide by three and you get four, so it鈥檚 twelve-six-four.鈥� That magic formula never left me. After being told about the battle we were divided into two groups. The King鈥檚 Men and Simon De Monfort鈥檚 Army and encouraged to re-enact it, but this time without loss of life.

Apart from homesickness, my brothers and I were not unhappy at Miss H鈥檚, but when Mum and Dad came down to visit us they were upset with our accommodation and demanded to see the chief billeting officer. Another foster-home was speedily arranged and, after only a few weeks stay with Miss H, we were off to stay with Mr and Mrs W on the Landport Estate.

There were no leaving presents this time and, to make matters worse, the heads of my Red Indian Braves had to be secured to their bodies with matchsticks.

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