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When World War 2 was declared I was just 1 month short of my 7th birthday. Before I was 7 years old I had been evacuated to Worthing, on the south coast. I remember being on West Norwood, London SE, railway station, with my two brothers, one older one younger, a label in my button hole with name, school and destination, and a brown paper parcel with all my belongings (basically a change of clothes) and gas mask. What an adventure! We arrived in Worthing and were billeted on a single, retired schoolteacher who really knew what small boys away from their mother needed. As we had come as a school there were friends to see and news to exchange. School was in a parade of uncompleted shops, work had stopped due to the war. The prospective accommodation on the first floor had not yet been subdivided into living rooms and so provided natural classrooms. The ground floor was good cover in wet weather, and no glass to get broken from footballs. When the weather was suitable we would have classes in the open air.
The following September a clever person somewhere in London decided that the south coast was not the best place for us as the flat beach would provide a perfect landing place in the event of an invasion. Accordingly we were shipped lock, stock and barrel to Chorleywood, a small village north of London and about 7 miles from Watford, which had the largest railway junction in the country and an obvious target for German bombers, we did have the first doodlebug. The school premises this time were a large wooden structure previously used for W.I. meetings etc. and was situated in the grounds of the home of a member of the Bowes-Lyon family (Related to the late Queen Mother). Here we were billeted on the Brock Family, yes those of firework fame. They had two sons, James and Andrew who were both naval commanders, and a live-in housekeeper/maid. Everything was fine until the maid decided the country needed her more than we did and volunteered for the W.A.A.F. Mrs Brock, not a youngster, said she couldn’t cope with 3 lively boys so were split up for the first time me and my younger brother (John) going to one family and Eric going to another. This worked quite well until the mother of the husband where we were staying became ill and someone had to go. As I was more capable of looking after myself John was moved to a family next door to Eric. The family I stayed with (Carroll’s) had two daughters and a son. To help with then war effort Mr Carroll joined a neighbour in clearing an area of wood and setting up a small holding with 4/6 cows and a number of calves for meat. I learned to milk cows, feed calves and all the associated jobs. After passing my 11 plus I moved to Hitchin and the home of a widow, who already had another north London (Jewish) evacuee. I stayed there until returning to London and my ‘new’ family. My mother had remarried during the war and I now had a new half brother.

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