Memories of evacuation from Clare 12yrs old in Sept 1939

Memories from Clare 12 yrs old in September 1939

I was staying with my maternal grandmother, who lived near us in Chiswick when we heard the paperboy shouting “war has been declared”. WAR ? Her reaction was “Surely not again, the last one deprived you of a grandfather. . . it was supposed to end all wars”. Whilst this may not sound relevant, it was later on, but my mother an innocent party, was divorced which I didn’t know until years later. My father, however, was a chief engineer on various ships in convoy all during the war

My uncle, on hearing the war news came round and said we must get out of London, and was making arrangements to move us to the country. We moved to Dorking but after a while as “nothing was happening” we moved back to Chiswick and I went back to my school, the Central School in Stavely Road. We were then evacuated to Berkhampsted.

I was very lucky to be placed with charming people in a delightful house, treating me as one of the family. Unfortunately the house was so far from the school it didn’t prove practical for me to get there in the winter.

My next move was to two school teachers who had a daughter. In the billet was a girl from our school, whose father was a coalman and as they didn’t know my background we were not allowed to associate with their daughter. We sat and ate in the kitchen, whilst their meals, always covered with a cloth, were taken into the dining room. My friend and I soon found out we were not getting anything like our rations. This also appeared to be happening to other evacuees from London and subsequently moved.

On my 3rd move I was with a family with a son who refused to associate with us, although this time my friend was the daughter of a doctor. We were fed and treated very badly by the boys mother and father when he was there. As bad luck would have it the lad caught measles, and so did I. The mother refused to nurse ‘an evacuee’ so my friend, who had had measles, and knew what to do, looked after me. I had just about recovered when we were called by the boy, to go downstairs and watch our houses burning together with the rest of London. A couple of days later I packed my bags and did a runner back to London because I thought if my mother was going to be killed then I might as well be too.

We were bombed, blasted and often very cold and hungry, but that applied to very many others and we met some kind (and not so kind) people from all backgrounds.
There was virtually no schooling but I went to a lady who taught me shorthand and typing. She had about 12 French lads living with her, who had been sent to her from friends just before the fall of France.

Unfortunately I was taken ill with fibrositis and a poisoned stomach and had to have an operation. On recovery I went back for a few lessons and was asked by a friend of my mothers to go as a secretary to an accountant who worked for a firm in Brentford. It turned out to be a boat building factory supplying parts to the Navy (I didn’t know this at the time since “Mum” was the word). Even my mother was not allowed to know where I worked, and in those days you kept silent.

The factory kept going seven days a week, day and night with time off only for severe illness. Near one particular Christmas I was asked by the boss of the firm to work overtime as my boss was very ill with pneumonia. Since there was not going to be any holiday, extra pay was going to be given to the workers and they hadn’t the time to do the wages(they repaired anything that went wrong). Would I do it with the help of my boss? They sent me to his house — he was propped up in bed- . His daughter, a severe asthmatic, was in the other side of the room which had the tiniest of fires for warmth. For several days I was working until 3am getting the figures ready for his approval. There were no computers and all I had was an “Express Ready Reckoner”. I was 15 ½ years old.

My mother and I subsequently moved to a flat in Barrowgate Road, Chiswick. My grandmother had since died. We were having a cup of tea with a family friend, when, without any warning whatsoever there was an enormous blast. The gentleman knocked me to the ground and threw himself on top of me. After a few minutes he told me to crawl under a table, crouch down and cover my head, as he was concerned there might be another explosion and went to find out what happened. At that time nobody knew what it was.

The next day, completely by chance I decided to get on my bike and ride to my old school in Stavely Road. There I saw what had happened but was told that it was a burst gas main. However, soon afterwards, looking out of our upstairs window I saw several important cars driving in the direction of the school. “gas main?” I thought “rubbish, do they think we are really that stupid?” This was, of course the beginning of the V2’s. Finally the sirens did sound, but unlike the V1’s, you couldn’t tell where they would fall.

This was, of course, quite frightening, but by this time one had learned to accept if you were going to be killed, so be it.

Over the war years I learned a lot, people, who you thought would have been good and kindly, weren’t, and the most unlikely were fantastic being a privilege to meet risking their health and lives for others.

The other thing I learned was not to worry over possessions, only people. Most possessions can be done without, people can’t be replaced.

Whoever might read this in years to come — treasure your family and any true friends you might have been lucky enough to meet along the path of life.

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