Evacuees Story September 1939

Evacuees Story
September 1939
One day after the outbreak of war, and my brother and I were ready to be evacuated along with several hundred other children from Croydon schools. We each carried a small case containing essential items listed for each child to take gas mask, and with a brown luggage label bearing our names pinned to our jackets, I was 14 years of age, my brother would be 10 the following day, September5th. There had been a full-scale rehearsal for such an evacuation the previous year 1938, before Neville Chamberlain returned with his famous peace document, so everything was set to run according to plan. We were taken in Buses to East Croydon Station there to be herded into trains; soon we were speeding through the countryside heading we knew not where of when we’d see our parents and homes again. After what seemed an eternity, but in reality could only have been a couple of hours, we alighted at a country station where again we were packed into buses to take us on the final leg of our journey. We had no idea where we were, only sensing it was somewhere away from any large town. Later we learned we were in Westham/Pevensey, Sussex.
Shortly we drove into a parking area outside a Drill Hall where we filed in to sit in silent anticipation of the next stage of our eventful day. Several of our teachers were with us and they helped as best they could to calm our fears and ease our worries.
There were several ‘official dignitaries’ present to welcome us – the most prominent one being the Billeting Officer whose task it was to assign us to foster homes. I had been instructed by my mother to look after my ‘little’ brother and not allow anyone to separate us, and this I was determined to do!
It seemed a long tedious time during that afternoon watching local people come and go, taking with them a child chosen from our pathetic little rows. There didn’t seem to be anyone willing to take on the two of us and eventually I think we must have been the final lonely little souls waiting to be fostered. I can recall even now the feeling of apprehension as we sat in that dusty Drill Hall, thinking we were unwanted and miles from home, wondering what would happen to us.
Then suddenly an elderly couple appeared before us, who kindly agreed to take us in. they lived quite near to the Drill Hall and though initially they had not envisaged offering a home to two children, our woebegone faces must have touched their hearts so that we found ourselves walking the short distance to their cottage.
Each child had been given a pack of corned beef and some hard ‘ships’ biscuits to accompany them to their new home, I don’t think our hosts ever fed us the latter which looked more like dog biscuits!
Thus began our 6 months stay with these compassionate Sussex folk in their tidy trim home, showing us their country ways and feeding us well on home grown vegetables from Ernie’s smallholding. Their own children were long since grown up and indeed they were awaiting the arrival of their first grandchild that coming winter. Rose was a very good cook and in spite of rationing for many foods, we always had homemade cakes, jam on the table at teatime. She never cooked on a Sunday but provided a roast dinner, apple pie etc on Saturdays so there was cold meat and a sweet for the next day. She was a staunch member of the Mother’s Union and the W.I. and went off regularly to the local meetings held in a room at the church. They were a real picture book couple; Ernie with his warm Sussex dialect would recount tales of the surrounding countryside, in between puffing on his well-worn pipe. He was a house painter by trade, working for a local small business, Rose was a plump, homely, figure who enjoyed a (very occasional) cigarette – Park Drive I remember were her choice of brand.
They looked after us well and in particular I remember Ernie taught me to play Patience, Draughts, Shove-hapenny and Dominoes during the long winter evenings.
There was a small walled garden, inhabited by Toby their tortoise who lived among the mounds of ‘mind your own business’ greenery. A gate led out to an ally running along the back of all the houses in the terrace, with a further gate opening on to a small holding for each dwelling. This was where Ernie grew all the vegetables and fruit bushes, apple and pear trees, so they were self-sufficient all year round. In one corner was a small summerhouse where we sometimes sat, perhaps to read or learn a piece of work for school.
Their home was comfortable, very clean and neat, but it was a country cottage with no bathroom or mains water and only gaslights in the downstairs rooms. At bedtime we took a candle to light our way upstairs. Water was drawn up through a pump at the kitchen sink quite hard work and a definite knack required to keep it flowing. The toilet of course was outside the kitchen door, thankfully not too far away.
For washing facilities there were jugs and basins in each of the three bedrooms, with a kettle of hot water as required? Bath night on Saturday nights meant bringing down the large tin bath from the outhouse putting it in the scullery and filling it with hot water drawn from a large copper in the corner, fuelled by a fire underneath. I was awarded first go in the bath, then my brother, then Rose would take her turn, replenishing the hot water each time, and finally Ernie would have his turn.
My brother and I were sent off to Sunday school on Sunday mornings to the village church just a short walk along the road. I remembered having a guided tour by one of our teachers around this very ancient building and we duly had to write an essay about it, but I’m afraid I cannot remember much after all these years. In the afternoons, weather permitting; we would go for a walk around the lanes.

The village school was next door to the church and because it was very small, plans had to be drawn up to accommodate the sudden influx of pupils. We took it in turns to have a teaching session, one week the local children went mornings and the evacuees attended for an afternoon session, then the following week it was ‘change around’. On the half days we were not in school our own teachers also billeted with local people, took charge of us and organised various activities. Sometimes we were taken on local walks seeing farms and country living at close hand. As September drew on, the hedgerows were full of luscious blackberries, which we were encouraged to pick and take back to our foster parents.
About half hours walk took us down to Pevensey Bay where we had organised games when weather permitted, paddled in the sea or searched for unusual shells on the beach. Although it was strange being away from our own homes in Croydon, I was quite enthralled at living so close to the sea.
Another visit we were taken on was to Pevensey Castle again only a short walk through the village. As you can imagine there was so much history to be learned from such a site and our teachers made the most of it. Thus the weeks passed with plenty to occupy us and keep us from becoming too homesick, for myself, I don’t think I was too unhappy at being far from home, it was all a new experience and I would take one day at a time, but my brother being that much younger was increasingly unhappy. However as there was a spare bed in the cottage, it was arranged that, our Grandma should come and join us, thanks to the hospitality of Rose and Ernie. She was in her 70’s and having lived through the 1914-1918 war, was desolate at living through another with the threat of air raids ever present in towns close to London.
This gave comfort to my brother and so we jogged along until Christmas 1939, when for a brief visit, he and I made the journey home, just for a few days. Granny elected to stay put and I think she got on very well with Rose and Ernie who also seemed to enjoy her company. After the Christmas break we returned to Pevensey (travelling on our own by train quite an adventure in those days!) there to resume the part-time schooling and other activities organised for us, I remember we learned to sing ‘ There’ll always be an England’ with great exuberance, sitting in the dusty Drill Hall into which we had first been delivered. Indeed there were lots of sessions in there, ranging from singing, games, and for the girls, knitting lessons culminating in many very passable efforts of balaclava helmets, mittens, scarves, etc, which were sent to our forces.
What a cold, hard winter that turned out to be, 1939/40 with snow and ice for what seemed weeks. Early in January, Rose and Ernie’s daughter gave birth to the long awaited baby, a girl to be named Nova. Rose went off to look after the family at their house that was about 20 minutes walk away. So, at 14, I assumed many household duties in her absence with a good deal of help from Ernie and my own Granny, and the occasional pop in visit from Rose to see how we were coping.
As the weeks went by and there were still no air raids on London or other cities, we began to feel unsettled and longing to return home. My brother especially felt homesick once again, though I still had plenty to occupy my time and mind.
Had schooling been normal I would have been in my final year where one subject on the curriculum would have been shorthand. One of our enterprising teachers found it possible to hire a room in the local pub, so once a week a small group of students started our secretarial careers behind the bar of the Railway Hotel.
However with the ‘phoney war’ still in being it was decided in March 1940 that my brother and I should return home. As far as I can recall Granny stayed on a while longer although she too was back home by the time the night-time blitz started at the end of the year.
So, after 6 months, my brother and I bade farewell to the country/seaside, which had been our foster home, and returned to Croydon. Many of our companion evacuees had done likewise since things remained quiet during this period, but as the train taking us home wound its, way along the coast, we saw not too far offshore, a ship listing and on fire, a victim of a Luftwaffe raider. So much for our ‘safe haven’.
I believe shortly afterwards, any remaining evacuees were transferred down to Devon where it was still considered safe.
I continued to keep in touch with Rose and Ernie for many years until sadly they both died at a great age. In 1947 however while they were still in good health and strength, when I was demobbed from the WAAF and together with my then fiancé, we spent a happy fortnights holiday in their home, enjoying quiet cycle rides around the lovely Sussex lanes and once again exploring the ruins of Pevensey Castle which still holds many memories for me.

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