Western Morning News (Saturday)
Moving home from Devonshire to Devon – the long way round
My Story: Catharine Russell recalls her early life – many thousands of miles from her current home in Exeter
Some of my first memories are of sunshine, beaches and the sea – always the murmur of the sea. We lived near Devonshire and Somerset, but actually in Paget. No, I’m not confused. These are parishes in Bermuda, which was “discovered” in 1609 when Sir George Somers’ ship was wrecked there on the way to America.
It seems that a number of the early settlers came from the Westcountry and named parts of this small island, only 30 miles long and three miles wide, after their home counties.
Dad and Mum loved the outdoor life and frequently took myself and my brother for outings to the beach. In those days Bermuda wasn’t crowded with tourists, as now. The only people allowed to have cars were doctors and the military so my brother and I learned to cycle when very young, and also, of course, to swim.
We were there during the Second World War but had a much easier life than those getting bombed in this country. As a small child, I wasn’t much aware of what was going on except that Dad would go off in his uniform for practices with the Home
Guard – more business-like than TV’s Dad’s Army!
Much of the island’s food was imported, and attacks on shipping made the supply deliveries precarious. Part of my father’s job as Director of Agriculture was to encourage Bermudians to grow food. We grew our own vegetables and fruit, kept rabbits for meat, ducks for eggs, and Mum made her own bread. For much of the war two aunts were staying with us. One of them had a fiance who had been posted to East Africa. No Skype or mobile phones then; they had to communicate by letters – affectionate lengthy ones – which, amazingly, arrived eventually. Letters were censored and once my aunt found a note added to the letter she’d received, which read: “If the letters were shorter, they would get to you quicker.” The poor official must have got tired of reading.
At the beginning of 1945 my father was posted back to Britain. My mother, brother and I followed a while later, the first stage being to fly to New York. It was exciting in the plane, seeing the clouds beneath us apparently floating on the sea, corresponding with an inner feeling of being suspended in time, having said goodbye to all we knew and uncertain of the future.
My mother had some uncertainty to handle. Everything was still quite hush-hush and, when we arrived in New York, we were not told when or what ship would take us to Britain. She was given money for a week’s food and a hotel room – but in the end we had to stay for three weeks. A kind Afro-American porter at the hotel told her of cheap places to eat and things to do that were
We saw the Statue of Liberty and spent most days on deck
free. An untoward happening also saved money. We went to see some friends of my parents a little distance away. At lunchtime I said I felt sick and promptly was. Later both my mum and brother succumbed to the bug and we had to stay with our hosts for three days, not eating much, I guess!
When at last we embarked, it was on the Queen Mary, then a troop ship but also taking civilian passengers. We saw the Statue of Liberty and then spent most of the four days playing on deck. Princess Juliana (who in 1948 became Queen of the Netherlands) was also on board. She had a birthday and the chefs made her a cake. One of her daughters, about my age, brought round slices for us. My brother, who was two years younger than me, looked her up and down in her shorts and shirt and commented: “Do you mean to tell me she’s a princess?” In his view a princess should have a crown and long dress..
Mum had been worried how to tell Dad to meet us, because she was not allowed to name our destination. She got round the rule by sending a telegram to say we were landing where he had – and he duly met us at Gourock in Scotland. It was good to see a familiar face to greet us in the rain.
We spent the night with relatives nearby and then took the train to London where for the next year we lived with Dad’s parents because housing was extremely short just after the war.
Now I’m elderly I realise how kind they were with us children, especially as, coming from a warmer climate, we never remembered to shut doors. London was not my favourite place, with its grey bricks, grey weather, and bomb sites. The countryside was better. It took a number of years before I felt Britain was my home country and I’ve always had a heart for those coming to the UK from abroad. Even now my first choice for a holiday is by the sea.
While preparing this article, I wondered if my memories were correct as I didn’t have anything written or remember in what month we arrived. I discovered from the internet that Princess Juliana had a birthday on April 30 and flew with Queen Wilhemina to the liberated part of the Netherlands on May 2, so we must have docked on May 1. The odd thing is that the records of the Queen Mary’s voyages have nothing for late April and May. Maybe someone can explain that.