My glorious years as a wartime evacuee

SOMETHING dreadful happened in September 1939 — and something wonderful. The dreadful something was the declaration of war. Its wonderful counterpart was my evacuation from London. I was aged seven and living in a tenement flat in Walworth with my sister and three brothers. Our father was the sole breadwinner, a clerk in docklands. We led an austere existence with few pleasures. My happiest memories were of our homemade scooter, the occasional ice lolly purchased from a Wall’s tricycle salesman and a ride on a seesaw fixed to the back of a horse-drawn cart — ‘bought’ with empty jam jars! There was also a fortnightly trip on Sundays to our maternal grandmother who gave us a cup of tea ‘laced’ with condensed milk — nectar! Within a few weeks, my sister Rose, 12, and I were ‘labelled’ as evacuees, taken by bus to Waterloo station and on by train to Devon. On arrival at Exeter Central, we were shepherded to the civic hall and thence allocated to a bus bound for the village of Pinhoe. It was here that I began a whole new existence that would alter the course of my life for ever. My sister was billeted with a Mrs Goldsworthy, while I was taken into the home of Liz and Frank Harris, five minutes’ walk away. It was as though I had fallen down Lewis Carroll’s rabbit hole, such was the difference between my life in London and in Devon. Firstly, I was now an only child instead of one of five, and not only did I have a bed to myself, but a whole bedroom. Then I had my first experience of a family pet in Sally, a rough-coated fox terrier. We took to each other at once and I don’t know who derived the most pleasure from our walks. Immediately opposite the Harrises’ terrace cottage was the school I attended, and next to that was Mr Harris’s place of work, a baker’s shop. Two doors away from the cottage was a sweet shop, so you will understand why I felt like Alice In Wonderland. Over the three years I spent with Frank and Liz, I explored the village and developed an affection for the bucolic lifestyle that involved picking bluebells, acorns, blackberries and apples. It was Mrs Harris who introduced me to Christianity by taking me to church on Sunday mornings. My father was an atheist, probably due to what he had experienced as a solder in the Great War. In 1942, my parents and remaining siblings also left London owing to the bombing and found accommodation in Exeter, where I joined them. While living in Exeter, I maintained contact with Mr and Mrs Harris by regular visits, and when we returned to London in 1952, I visited them during holiday trips. In my early teenage years, I discovered the joy of cycling and explored the West Country, adding to my deep love of both the countryside and the sea. We returned to London in 1952 where I met the girl I went on to marry. In 1966, we moved with our two children to the market town of Basingstoke in Hampshire. Although it has grown a lot since then, there are still semi-rural locations nearby to remind me of Devon. Summing up the benefits of my evacuation, I would say that I derived a true and deep appreciation of country life, an understanding of the spiritual elements of our existence, and the independence of spirit engendered by being free to explore the environment on two wheels. I really have been blessed by having two sets of parents.

Stan V. Bennett, Basingstoke, Hants.