From Portsmouth to France and Back Again... Twice!

My grandfather, Ernest Victor McFarlane - or "Pepere" - was born in Portsmouth, Hampshire, England, in 1894. He became a boy soldier and then a soldier, reaching the rank of Sergeant. During the Great War of 1914-18 he was posted to Northern France, where he worked delivering supplies to the troops, including during the Battle of the Somme. On a night trip dropping off ammunitions he "had a sniff of tear gas and prism gas", which badly affected his sight. According to him, he was treated by a "drunken Irish doctor", his sight was regained and remained perfect for the rest of his life!

In a cafe in Doullens, he met my grandmother, a French girl called Lucie Laurent, and they were married at the Hotel de Ville (Town Hall) in March 1918. An interesting historical point is that the previous day, the unique command of all allied troops was agreed and signed in the same book they had signed on their marriage. It included the signature of the officer in supreme command, Marechal Foch. We knew my grandmother by the French title of "Memere", and I remember her as a very petite lady - less than 5 feet tall with tiny hands and feet and twinkling, mischievous eyes.

At the end of the war in November 1918 they stayed in France. Pepere gradually learned to speak French, and they settled down to raise a family. They had 8 children, 2 of whom sadly died within 15 days of each other in 1923 of “enfantile diarrhee” (gastroenteritis). This was apparently quite common then. My father, Serge Jean-Baptiste, was born in 1925. He had an older sister and brother, Paquerette and Guy, and a younger brother and 2 sisters, Violette, William and Ivy.

Following his demobilisation, Pepere worked for the Imperial (now Commonwealth) War Graves Commission. He tended the Fricourt, Mametz and Carnoy cemeteries. The family settled in a house in the town of Albert, Somme. Albert is in the centre of the Great War battlefields and cemeteries, and during that war the statue of the Virgin and Child atop the Basilique became a famous landmark which could be seen from miles around. They rented a small house in Rue Emile Zola, with a garden where Pepere grew vegetables and raised chickens and rabbits.

Foreshadowing events to come, in 1935 two American tourists stopped at the house to ask directions. Discovering Pepere was English, they told him they had just returned from a tour of Germany. They related many disturbing things they had seen there and advised him to leave for England "with all speed". Pepere did not take the advice and they were still in Albert at the outbreak of the Second World War.

In May 1940, the German army was advancing and Albert was given the order to evacuate. Serge was by then 15 years old - by all accounts a quiet, studious boy - and working as an apprentice draughtsman. He remembers he had just been given a pay rise! Having British connections, Pepere realised the danger they were in and made plans to leave as quickly as possible. Releasing their chickens and rabbits, they gathered together what belongings they could and immediately left for the station, a prepared meal left uneaten on the table. Paquerette was by then married to Paul Guilbert, who was employed by a local firm called Potez Aviation, and they remained in Albert. The rest of the family - Pepere, Memere, Serge, Violette, William and Ivy, with Guy following later - started on their journey out of Albert, with no real idea of where they would go. The youngest child, Ivy, was just 5 years old.

On reaching the station, everything was chaotic and everyone was in a panic. Pepere recalled that a man with black hair and a beard was thrown out of the building as people thought he was a spy. Trains coming in from Belgium were all full, but the McFarlanes finally managed to board a goods train, comprised of around 20 trucks. Their final view of their home town as the train pulled out was the bombing of a local factory staffed by civilians - a harrowing sight.

Their journey took them through Paris, from where they continued south, stopping occasionally for refuelling and to get what provisions they could. Pepere recalls paying 35 francs for a loaf of bread - a fortune in those days. South of Paris they stopped at Tours, where they stayed overnight at a military barracks, after which they continued by train until they finally arrived at the coastal fishing town of La Rochelle. From there they were given accommodation at a village called L’Houmeau, in a small chateau owned by an elderly couple.

The following day, Pepere walked the 5 miles to La Rochelle and saw the British Consul. He was unable to guarantee Pepere an early ship to England, but he did find him a job at a local steel works. The family then moved to a nearby Army Camp.

Hearing rumours that the Germans were shooting all British people they came across, Pepere was concerned that the family photographs they had brought with them included some of himself and his brothers in military uniform. He therefore took the precaution of burying all the photos by the side of the road, so we have no pictorial record of my father’s childhood or any images of the family prior to that time.

After about 3 weeks, a French nurse told Pepere she had heard that a Norwegian fishing boat would be sailing for England some time that night. Again gathering their few possessions, the family hurried and set out to walk the 6 miles to the dock at La Pallise. As they walked they could hear what they took to be the rumbling of transport behind them, but later discovered it to be the sound of German tanks.

There were no lights on the ship or the dockside, but they managed to find their way. The captain of the Havorn - the Norwegian ship - spoke very good English and told Pepere that as Norway was overrun by the Germans, he intended to go to Canada stopping at England en route to pick up much needed supplies. He was delighted to rescue a whole family and take them to England.

Putting their bikes on a train, Paquerette and Paul had managed to reach La Rochelle for a visit. They saw the family aboard the Havorn, which was sailing at 4.00 in the morning, and bade them an emotional farewell, not knowing if or when they would see them again. The Havorn was the last ship to leave La Rochelle before the Germans arrived.

As they left, they passed a passenger ship which had been sunk in the harbour entrance. Its funnels were the only part of it that was visible. Pepere praised the way the family was looked after during the 3 days and nights of the voyage. During the day they saw large quantities of wreckage floating past, and later learned it was from Dunkerque after the evacuation. The following day - their fourth at sea - they arrived at Falmouth.

Many ships were in Falmouth harbour, bringing refugees from all countries. After inspection by the port authorities, the McFarlanes were permitted to land and were taken by WV Aid personnel to a large Odeon Cinema to stay the night. Whether a film was showing is not recorded!

After various checks the following day by customs, excise and the police, the family was collected by a lady who lived locally and took them to her house where they stayed for the next few days. Pepere was thrilled to have a lovely hot bath and a clean bed, and to finally get rid of the smell of fish that had attached to him during the voyage! The whole family was pleased and thankful to be in England, though Memere was very sad at having to leave her country under such circumstances.

So in July 1940, the McFarlanes made their way to Portsmouth, and Pepere came full circle, now back in the city where he was born. They were helped by family and stayed there for the rest of the war, coming unscathed through the numerous bombing raids the city suffered. It must have been a difficult adjustment to make, being in a strange country and unable to speak the language, but the children learned to speak English. Serge first found work in a factory and eventually went to India with the Air Sea Rescue Unit of the RAF. Guy was drafted with the Airborne Division. Pepere and Memere received news from Paquerette via the Red Cross telling them of the birth of their first grandchild, Margaret.

After the war Memere was homesick and anxious to go home to France, so arrangements were made for her, Pepere and their daughter Violette to return. They found themselves refugees for the second time. However, they were shocked at how things had changed. The post-war situation after years of occupation was extremely bad, so after 14 months they came back to England where they settled, Pepere found work and they spent the rest of their lives. They made a number of visits to family in France, and the visits were returned here. They had 11 grandchildren (I was born in Portsmouth in 1954, and still live in the area).

After the war, Serge went to night school and qualified as a design engineer - a career he continued until retirement. He met my mother, Colleen, whose parents ran the Bluebird sweet shop in Highland Road, Eastney, Portsmouth, and they married in 1951.

Pepere died in 1978 aged 84. One World War led him to France, another forced him back again. Memere died in 1981 aged 82. She had never learned to speak English, I think maybe because she still hankered after her home country and her language gave her some comfort. Pepere reverted to a typical Englishman, though one concession he made to his life in France was the regular wearing of a beret - and, of course, a love of wine, which I was introduced to with a drop of lemonade at a very early age! Of the children, Paquerette and Violette have passed away. My father, Serge, is now aged 78 though sadly in poor health.

As a child growing up I took my family history for granted. I didn't fully appreciate the upheaval and trauma endured by those displaced through war, or the difficult adjustments they faced making new lives elsewhere. I would visit my grandparents every Sunday and it was nothing strange to me that much of the conversation was conducted in French. If anyone asked, I would say that my family had come to England during the war and didn't give any thought to how or why. It has only been as time has passed that I’ve come to understand what a fascinating story it is, and I regret not asking Pepere about it when I had the chance. But over the years, having a father named Serge Jean-Baptiste McFarlane has certainly proved quite a talking point!

(Compiled by Shelagh Simmons, using Pepere's account of his life “Memoirs In The Life Of An Ordinary Englishman” by Ernest Victor McFarlane, and information given by Serge Jean-Baptiste McFarlane and other members of the family.)

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