大象传媒

DISCLAIMER:
This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Phil Sealey of the Somerset County Museum Team on behalf of Betty Weston, nee Genery and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions

鈥淚 am Betty Weston but I was Betty Genery. I was living at Hamworthy, in Poole, Dorset when war was imminent. My father was in the territorials and of course he went straight into the service as soon as the war started.
He was worried that being in Poole was a bit risky for the family because of the harbour. His concern was that anywhere the enemy could get boats into, or bomb to stop boats getting out, was a target. He was very worried about this, he knew all about Poole harbour, he鈥檇 lived there sometime and he was worried that this might be a reason for a lot of bombing. As it turned out it wasn鈥檛, but then with hindsight it is quite easy. He decided that it was time to move the family back to London; he moved us back in time for the Blitz! I can鈥檛 remember any bombing, I didn鈥檛 even hear the sirens; I can鈥檛 recall hearing the sirens.
I was the middle child of three. My brother was a little older than me, my younger brother nearly five years younger. We ended up in a flat somewhere, which was a bit of a let down after a bungalow with a garden, a flat without a garden; I noticed that. That was the sort of thing you would notice; it is a bit confining. Apart from that things went on as normal. We went to school, and it was whilst we were at school that we were told about evacuation, although we didn鈥檛 understand what the word meant.
When we first came back to London it was quieter and I remember going back to school. We鈥檇 been back at school sometime when we were told about the evacuation, and we were given a form for the parents to fill in. I remember my mother saying Tony, my younger brother, was too young but she thought my elder brother and I should go. So we were kitted out with our label, gas mask and our little case, and taken up to the station.
We went on this train and, having never travelled that way before, the journey seemed an awful long way but, with hindsight, it was just a short distance, I probably could have walked it. We were taken off the train and taken to this hall; I presume it was a church hall. All these men and women were standing round; we were a huddled group of small children, very frightened and bewildered, I can remember thinking 鈥業鈥檓 not sure what is happening here.鈥� Then you are chosen, it was horrible, because you think you are not going to be picked, and you wonder what will happen to you after. Where do you go if nobody wants you, do you go back to your father and mother or are you sent somewhere else, and will they know where I am? This all goes through your mind.
Anyway, we were chosen, my brother and I, and we went to live in High Wycombe with a family of mother, father, son and daughter. They were alright, but I didn鈥檛 get on with the daughter very well. Having upset the daughter by throwing a knife at her, although I missed her, they moved me, they threw me out, and I had to go somewhere else, but not my brother. I went up to Boulters End in High Wycombe with a lady who had a lot of children; she also had another one while I was with her. They were all younger than me and I remember I was always looking after them, but I didn鈥檛 throw any knives! I stayed there until my father collected me. I suppose I was there for a couple of years; it seemed a long time. I won鈥檛 say I was unhappy; I got on all right at school with the local children and evacuees. There weren鈥檛 too many evacuees left; they were going home slowly, because if you remember, they were all evacuated but nothing was happening so they all went back. But I guess we didn鈥檛 go back, we stayed there for a little while. We had to 鈥楧ig for Victory鈥�. They made me grow spinach and I can鈥檛 bear spinach, I took it all to this lady and she cooked it all, then she said, you grew it, you鈥檇 better eat it, it was horrible, earthy stuff, ugh! I suppose they were memories of just being a child. I remember going out and catching white butterflies, cabbage butterflies, you got a farthing each for them. They were eating the green stuff that we desperately needed to grow. I wasn鈥檛 aware of that at the time. All I was aware of was if I caught enough I would get some pocket money; I remember doing that ever so clearly. We would be out there in quite a group, with our nets, trying to catch these butterflies. I don鈥檛 like them very much now; I can鈥檛 stand wings.
My father was on embarkation leave; he was going abroad. He didn鈥檛, as it turned out, but he thought he was going abroad. Peter, my brother, had come home and, as I was the only one away from the family, he thought he鈥檇 better collect me. I was at school and a message came from somebody to say that a letter had arrived and he鈥檇 be there that afternoon.
I was quite excited but it was strange going home. When you鈥檝e been away for a couple of years, it鈥檚 so long, I can remember going home and I couldn鈥檛 remember my parents. My mother had been bombed out from where we first went to live; she was at a different flat that I didn鈥檛 know at all. You go into this strange place; all I recognised was my mother鈥檚 face, nothing else, it was peculiar. These sorts of things are what children think of. She had my brother with her, my father was away of course, when she was bombed out, she was in the house at the time under the stairs. They were both absolutely fine but everything else had gone; I missed all that. We were blasted out several times.
I don鈥檛 know what the food situation was in London, but where I was evacuated the first time they kept pigs, and the father was allowed to kill one every so often. He had to give so much of the meat away; I suppose it was to the government. I didn鈥檛 understand it much, but he was allowed to keep so much, each time he killed a pig we dined on white lard and bread, it was horrible. You didn鈥檛 have any choice; if you didn鈥檛 eat it you didn鈥檛 get anything else. We were quite well fed but I hated it when they killed a pig, because we never had any margarine or butter on our bread, it was just this white lard. It was put onto the bread and had a horrible taste. That was just one of the things, the rest of the food seemed adequate.
From the second home I went to in Boulters End, she liked to cook rabbits, and I was always given the head. When my father came to collect me that day I was having my lunch, and I was eating a rabbit鈥檚 head, he grabbed the plate away and said 鈥榊ou鈥檙e not eating that鈥�, that was all I remember. I don鈥檛 know whether he had words with the lady of the house. He was very upset that I was eating a rabbit鈥檚 head, but you got used to this sort of eating.
Another aspect of food I remember was, we had to sit round in the evening, the house had no electricity only oil lamps, salting down runner beans in stone jars. We had to slice them, put a layer of beans, a layer of salt, a layer of beans, all in these stone jars, which was terrible. I hated doing that, my fingers used to get sore, where you鈥檇 already nicked them with a knife when you were doing them, and then the salt going into them. We used to spend evenings doing that because he was a man who had a large garden and he used to grow all his own vegetables, of course they were putting them down for the winter.
The food aspect wasn鈥檛 dreadful, that was just two points. I couldn鈥檛 look at white lard now, or rabbit, not the head of it. The food was adequate, we were going to school, and we were being kept an eye on by the teachers, the staff of the school, because the people who took us in were being paid to have us. We had our ration books; the rations were there
After my father collected me and took me back to London the buzz bombs started. These were planes that stopped, the engines stopped, and then they crashed. Before they knew exactly what they were, guns were firing at them. We had one gun that travelled the length of Tooting Junction Station right behind where we lived, this gun was firing all the time and made me into a bit of a nervous wreck. I couldn鈥檛 stand the guns so I went back to Hamworthy in Dorset for another year, to stay with our neighbours down there that we used to live next door to, we had a lovely year. I didn鈥檛 go to school, it seemed that it was summer everyday, there were no air raids, no bombs, no guns, nothing, I loved it.
I stayed there until I was thirteen then I came home to London and went back to school for a year, I left at fourteen. That year we went to school one week in the mornings, one week in the afternoons. They were teaching so many children in the mornings, so many in the afternoons, and most of that was spent in the shelters. I was back in time for the doodlebugs, the rockets that just came silently, then dropped. I thought they were awful; I lost a lot of school friends with those. The roads around us that I went to school along with the children, they got the rockets. We were lucky; we escaped and didn鈥檛 get any.
I was living in Mitcham and went to school in Tooting, Links Road School. I did well there. I鈥檇 got a lot of catching-up to do, but I did. I hadn鈥檛 had a lot of schooling by that time, which everybody will envy; I left at fourteen.

The war was on the verge of finishing but we still had the rockets when I was going to work. One day I was working for my aunt in her grocery shop and serving a customer. I had just handed her a bottle of sauce when a rocket dropped, the bottle just exploded in her hand, the vibration, it just went. I worked for her for three years, and then the family went to Plymouth to live. I took up nursing, became a student, gave that up at eighteen and returned to London, because that was my home; I left Mum and Dad down there. I worked in the grocery trade for a couple of years and then went into an office; there I met Don Weston, a mechanic, [see: Chasing Pigs in Somerset and bomb disposal in Norfolk 鈥� A7390857] who worked at the same place. We were married some years later.鈥�

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