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Evacuation, 1939-1942

The memoirs of Maureen Thorp (nee Mason)

The day war was declared I was eight years old and living with foster parents, Mr and Mrs Holman, and their daughter, Edna, in Belvedere, Kent. My father came to see me and we all listened to Neville Chamberlain; he told us that we were at war with Germany.

As soon as he had finished his broadcast the air raid siren sounded and we all went down the shelter, which had been installed in our garden. Edna and I were frightened and thought we were going to be killed but nothing happened and the “All Clear” sounded. The same thing happened several times during the day and night for the next few days and I was terrified because I had moved homes recently and had missed out on obtaining a gas mask and thought I was going to be gassed, so to keep me quiet Mr Holman let me put his on which was much too big and hung down leaving a large gap around my chin. It would have been useless; anyhow I got my own within a day or two.

At the same time we were told that we were going to be evacuated and had to assemble at West Street, Erith School where, along with some teachers and parents, we walked to Erith station where a special train was waiting for us. Some of the children were crying, also some of the mothers. We each had a luggage label, tied to a button hole, with our name and address on it. When we left the train a WVS lady gave us each a carrier bag with food to tide us over the next day or two. We were then put into coaches and taken to the village of Acrise, in Kent, where we were to be housed.

There were four of us friends that wanted to stay together — Edna, Joyce, Phyllis and myself. It was a bit like a cattle market, we were all herded into the recreation ground and local ladies came and selected the child they wanted, but the four of us decided we would select the lady we wanted. We saw Mrs Baker, an older lady. We thought she would be more sympathetic to our request and sure enough she was. She said “I’ll take the four of you” so, after registering our new address with the officials, we went to “Hawthorn Cottage” with Mrs Baker. She told us on the way that she had eight children and that she was a widow.

When we arrived we couldn’t see where we were going to sleep. The cottage had two bedrooms, two living rooms and a large old-fashioned kitchen with a pump over a shallow sink that pumped water from the well outside. There was also a large kitchen range where she did all of her cooking. She turned the sitting room into a bedroom for us by adding a double bed and all four of us slept in it.

Mrs Baker kept chickens, bantams, rabbits and geese (which made marvellous “guard dogs”). They chased us every time we went into the garden until they got used to us.

Her eldest two sons, Bill, 21, and Wilf, 19, worked at the local slaughter house and sometimes slept there. We would take food to them, a job I hated because they would chase us with a pig’s head. Bill kept ferrets, which we were not allowed to touch because they were quite vicious, but he used them to go rabbiting. Wilf had a motorbike and I loved being taken for a ride. He seemed to go very fast but everything is larger than life when you are eight years old. A local farmer kept his cows in a field some distance from the yard and we used to take it in turns with Geoffrey, Sidney and Gladys, Mrs Baker’s three youngest children, to drive them home every night for milking and for payment we were given a can of milk straight from the cow to take home.

We went to the village school which only had two classrooms. The numbers of children had doubled; with all the evacuees the place was packed.

Mrs Baker looked after the house next door. He was a major in the army and we were allowed to play in their garden. They had a wendy house and a hammock slung between two shady trees. A gardener came in to look after the garden; it was beautiful, we loved playing there.

Christmas came — Bill and Wilf came home with a huge Christmas tree, we put real candles on it. Mrs Baker wouldn’t let us light them — we didn’t see the danger. I don’t remember having many presents — I had a book “The Story of Snow White” and a game “Pinning on the Donkey’s Tail”.

At this time I learnt to knit and made my father a scarf which he wore when he came to see me. One day a car pulled up outside our cottage and my Auntie Maud, Uncle Arnold, my father and his lady-friend, Margaret, got out; this was the first time I had met her and she brought me a doll that she had dressed and made quite a fuss of me. I knew my father was coming but not the other three. Edna, Joyce and Phyllis’s parents also arrived. We put on a show for them; I was a princess in one sketch and “Dopey” in another. The boys made a stage for us and we performed in the back yard.

We had a very severe winter in 1940, the snow lasted for weeks into April. We were snowed in for a time, the drifts were higher than me. The cows stayed in the farmyard, so we didn’t have to drive them. At last they got a snowplough through. The boys made a sledge and we played for hours in a nearby field. The snow went and spring came; the days seemed endless. Some of the teachers took us for a picnic in the woods; the gamekeeper was there and his poor dog disturbed a wasp’s nest. Many of us were stung but the dog received the most. The teachers had come armed with cream for the stings but I had been stung on my bottom, so I kept quiet until I got back and Mrs Baker gave me something for it.

The only thing that told us there was a war on was the road block on the main road not far from us. We had to show our identity cards but if we forgot ours we simply went through the nearby fields.

By 1940 the war got closer; we would be in bed and hear the German aircraft flying over, their engines had a distinct throbbing noise. Hawkinge fighter station was nearby, so suddenly we were close to the action. We had been used to going to concerts put on by the airmen, but all that stopped, and when the Germans occupied France and reached the channel they started shelling Folkestone and there was talk of invasion, so we had to be moved to safety.

The parents of the other evacuees came and took them home, but not my father; I was to be sent to Wales. Along with local children and other evacuees, we were put on a train to Wales. On reaching our destination we were all taken to an isolation hospital where we slept in the empty wards. Gradually we were billeted with various families in the neighbourhood and after about three days I was asked by one of the nurses if I would like to live with her family; she had a sister the same age as me. I was really pleased because I had become very fond of Nurse Jones (Lucy) and so I was delivered to the Joneses house in Gorseinon, South Wales, by ambulance.

Mrs Jones made me very welcome and got me to hide before her youngest daughter, Eudora, came home from school. She soon found me and we became firm friends right from the start. There were four children in the family; Antony, aged 24 — he worked at the Neath Oil Refinery, Marion, 21, and Lucy, 19, were both student nurses and Eudora, aged 9, was just six weeks younger than me.

Mr and Mrs Jones were chapel goers and we went three times every Sunday. All the children in the Sunday school had to learn a verse from the psalms and recite it every week; I can still remember the first one I learned, the words of the Lord are pure words: as silver tried in a furnace of earth, purified seven times (Psalm 12.v6).
Life became more settled at this point. I started school at Gorseinon Junior School where I found the Welsh language was one of the subjects I had to learn. I didn’t find it too hard, but can’t remember much of it now. The Jones’ helped by speaking some Welsh on Sundays.

Swansea docks were only about four miles from us, they were being bombed nightly. We didn’t have an air raid shelter so we sheltered under a large table in the dining room. Sometimes Mr Jones would call us outside to see the glow of the fires. We were all very worried about Marion and Lucy who worked at the Swansea General Hospital; they were safe, much to our relief.

One night Mr Jones called us to see a German bomber which could be seen in the sky lit up with the aid of search lights. We had a search light battery in the field opposite our house and were so pleased that our boys had caught it along with two other search lights.

If there was an air raid while we were at school everyone scattered and sheltered in children’s houses near the school. Eudora and I were allocated to Barclays bank where we sheltered in the managers house along with his daughter in a hallway near the strong room wall.

At this time I became ill with pneumonia and it was suspected I had TB. I was afraid I would have to go into hospital but the tests came back negative, much to my relief. Everyone was so kind and I was thoroughly spoilt.

We made our own amusements and spent a lot of time playing in the nearby fields. There was a small colliery in the area and we would go and see the pit ponies. They would spend some time underground and then come up for a rest while others took their place. We also went to Eisteddfods which took place in the local chapels; some of our friends had lovely voices and one in particular I think, went on to greater things.

My father visited from time to time and in 1941 he married his lady-friend Margaret and in 1942 they had a baby named Kenneth. They brought him to see us when he was three months old and I was told I would be going home with them. So my evacuation was over and I came home and saw more bombing and the V1’s and V2’s and eventually the end of the war.

Mr and Mrs Jones and all the family were very kind to me and treated me as one of their family. I lost contact with them through no fault of my own but I have never forgotten them and their kindness.

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