A Long Evacuation

My Experience of the War.

Mother took me to school that morning, which was strange. I was just turned 6 and had been going to school on my own for some time. Also I had a pullover , jacket, coat and a Mac. on and it wasn’t cold or wet.
She said good bye as I was sheperded onto a bus along with the rest of the class and a few adults. (teachers and some parents as it turned out) . I was being evacuated. It was September 1st 1939. Two days before the war broke out.
It was quite a change. I was the youngest of a family of 8 children. By nightfall I was the eldest of three. In 2 years I was ‘an only child’. Two more years I was technically an orphan, but still with my foster parents. Almost 20 years later I ceased to be an ‘evacuee’ when I got married. Again technically I stopped being an evacuee when I reached my 18th birthday but socially there was no change until I married.

Why should I consider this to be exceptional? Apart from the obvious that is. In 1950/1 I was the subject of questions in the House of Commons. My foster father was paid for keeping an evacuee, I think it was 2s-3d a week. That stopped when the war ended, but I was still an evacuee, a ward of the education department. This matter was taken up by a retired bank manager in the village, and finished up with our MP raising it in ‘The House’. The question was fielded by the Attorney General, Mr Hartley Shawcross, who wrote to my foster father in long hand from the House, appologising for the oversight and sending him a cheque for the back payment. We quickly had visitations from the local education department, who were most helpful in some ways until my 18th birthday. “Now young man you are on your own”! Surprise! Surprise! I had been that for quite a while by then as far as they had been concerned

The change was even more exciting when you consider I had left being a ‘townie’ and now was at the bottom of the learning curve to be a ‘country boy’. On the second day into this adventure, I being the eldest now, led the family into the back yard. There was a door in two halves, the top open and the bottom giving out funny noises. I could not see over it but could reach the latch. The door opened and I was confronted with a large white sow that grunted in my face. I led the charge back to the house. Poor Mrs Cope. She now had a pig loose in the yard which was open to the road, as well as three very excited if not terrified youngsters on her hands. We staid inside until Mr Cope returned at lunchtime and put flossy back into her sty. It was the start of a most interesting learning curve.

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.