The War and Evacuation

 I knew little about the tensions of 1938 and 1939 until just before war was declared however one episode stands out. One night, after I was in bed, I was awoken by a knock at the front door. My father answered the door and an argument broke out between him and the visitors. After the front door closed with a bang I heard him say to my mother ‘Damned Blackshirts’.
I then heard the sound of heavy footsteps passing along the street and peeping out of the window to see what ‘Blackshirts’ looked like  saw two dark threatening shadows passing. 
 I asked my mother the next day who the Blackshirts were and she told me of  the persecution of Jews in Germany. At this time my mother was cleaning for a Jewish family who lived in Benthall Road and she would take me with her to play with their children. The incident with the Blackshirts caused me to have nightmares about my friends trapped in a blazing house, screaming for help, with no one to save them.
Amongst our neighbours were orthodox Jews who took the religious laws very seriously. Occasionally, after dark on a late Friday afternoon in winter, as my brother and I were on some errand up to the High Street shops for our parents, one of our Jewish neighbours would call to us from their doorway to ask us to turn a light on for them and we were given a couple of coppers for doing so. At the time I didn’t understand the reason and it seemed very strange that they unable to turn on the light for themselves.
 At Sunday School we were told of events taking place in Germany and Jewish refugee children were beginning to arrive in the country and because of my nightmares my mother kept me away from Sunday School for a time.
 During and after the evening meal our parents and grandmother  discussed the political situation and, as I sat on the rug in front of the fire, they used the word ‘war’ frequently so it is not surprising that we were aware of their concern. 

 A brick shelter was erected on the Common near the railway line andbrick air raid shelters were built at the side of roads,  and Anderson shelters were being installed in back gardens. These were 6 foot high, 6 ½  foot long and 4 ½ foot wide and were buried 4 foot in the ground. It took a lot of work to dig out the soil to bury it and the soil from the hole was piled on top until it was 15 inches high. This was supposed to protect the inhabitants. When bunks were installed down each  side it left little room for anyone else. Surprisingly, despite having a garden large enough for one, we did not have one.

 The evening meal, until then, had always been a happy family event with Mum and Nan bustling around cooking and serving the meal while Dad lit the gas lamps and drew the curtains or played with us in the garden before being called in for supper.  Now at six o’clock every evening, when  the family gathered together for the main meal of the day and the radio turned on for the news, the mood around the table was sombre with everyone pre-occupied with the news.  The evening news and supper had always been an occasion for laughter and family banter but now it became a serious event and we had to keep quiet to allow our parents and Nan  to hear the events of the day.

 Parliament decided that in the event of war with Germany  children in vulnerable areas would be evacuated into the countryside.  No one realised at the time that separation from their family might have a detrimental effect on the emotional growth of some children.
 Things soon started to change at school as well. Morning assembly ended with special prayers for refugees who were fleeing their homes in Europe. Frequently classes were interrupted when teachers were called away to meetings with the Head to discuss the preparations being made for the evacuation of the whole school.
 In 1938 gas masks were issued and  we were instructed to keep it with us at all times because it might save our lives one day. Supplied in small cardboard boxes with a string attached to allow them be carried across the shoulders. At first I thought mine would be great fun but after testing it out I found that not only did it smell of rubber but the eyepiece steamed up and breathing was claustrophobic. By the September everyone was carrying one and soon gas mask covers and pouches for them were being sold in the shops. 
Eventually, at various strategic places, a yellow board was erected with a notice informing us that if the colour changed to green, the dreaded mustard gas had been detected.

Almost daily at school we were given notes for our parents which described the arrangements being made for the school’s evacuation. These included lists of what should be packed to ensure we were ready for the event and the sort of bag they should be carried in. Dad felt that small knapsacks would be easier for us to manage since they left our hands free,  and these went with us to school every day.
 As instructed, packed into my knapsack to which a special label was attached, were a change of clothes, toothbrush, comb and handkerchief and a bag of food to last a day. Every day as we set off Mum gave strict instructions never to allow anyone to use our toothbrush or comb.
 From one day to the next we did not know if we would be returning home that afternoon and it must have been very distressing for my mother when she saw us off to school in the morning.

 Every morning the whole school trooped out into playground where our teachers organized us into class lines and started checking and questioning us. Did we have our bag? Was our label attached? Each child’s belongings were then checked against a list to ensure everything was in order.  All this took time because some children had items missing and a note had to be written to the parents.
This all meant much standing around waiting for our return to the classroom. Additionally there were air-raid drills when classes were interrupted and everyone trooped quickly out  into the playground to be  counted.

In November 1938 Dad joined the Auxiliary Fire Service (a temporary fire service which gave standard training in case of war) and he was posted to the nearby Brook Road fire station near the High Street. He still continued his full time work at the laundry.

 During 1939 air-raid posts, protected by piled up sandbags, started to appear and the ground floor windows of official buildings such as police stations and town halls were  protected by piles of sandbags.
 If we went to war it was thought necessary for there to be no lights showing during the hours of darkness so everyone was being instructed on how to black out thei windows. ‘Blackout’ was made from a variety of materials including wooden frames covered in thick card and heavy curtains. White lines were painted along pavement kerbs and road islands to help pedestrians and motorists in the dark.

 Families received instructions on what to do in the event of war and everyone, even the children,  knew what it was all about now and  that war was likely to be declared any day. Identity cards were issued and everyone was expected to memorise their number. Mine was DSAL 198/6.
 Now, at school, instead of hanging up our coats and bags in the cloakroom, we kept them beside  us in class and the checks in the playground increased to to morning and afternoon, to ensure that the contents of our bags had not changed during the lunch break. Did we have a luggage label pinned to our jackets or coats giving our  name and address? Did we have another label with the school’s identification number? On no account were we to remove these for without it no-one would know who we were or where we came from. Becoming lost seemed to me to be a very real possibility and my mother reminded me daily that I  must try to stay with my brother who was at the same school.

 At any moment we expected to be ordered to assemble and prepare to march off to the railway station or to board a  bus and lessons were practically at a standstill. From one day to the next we did not know, when we left for school each morning, when or if we would see our parents again.
 At the end of the afternoon, with no orders for departure having arrived, we plodded home with our bags over our shoulders only to go through exactly the same procedure the following day.

 On 30 August 1939 evacuation of children from London started. We now seemed to spend the whole school day lined up in the playground waiting for the news that we were off and for some schools, including mine, Northwold Road Elementary School, this continued for several.

 On 31 August 1939 auntie Flo, Nan’s sister, died. The story I have from my father does not exactly fit with the facts. He said when  Frank's wife Charlotte was taken mentally ill and put into an asylum Flo went to housekeep for him in Manchester but they quarrelled and she left and nothing was heard of her for some time.
 Then Ellen, her sister, was contacted by the police who said Florence (known as Flo) was in St Pancras Hospital and the only identification she had was her pension book and ID card. She had been found in the East End of London in a state of malnutrition and had been badly beaten. She never recovered and died soon after. She was apparently unable to say, and no-one ever discovered, what had happened to her.
 I sent for a death certificate for Florence Corbitt and was a little confused when it first arrived because it did not fit with some of the details my father had related to me. For a start the death was in Manchester not London. But careful study of all the details on the certificate make it clear it is for her.
  31August 1939 at 20  Nell Lane, Withington: Florence Corbitt 71  years of St Marylebone Institution, London UD Spinster Nurse Daughter of  -- Corbitt, of Arterio Sclerosis. Certified by W Morton, MD. Informant: W H Woodhall, Occupier, 20 Nell Lane,  Withington.  (Arterio sclerosis is hardening of the arteries.) 20  Nell Lane, Withington is very close to Withington Hospital where her brother Bertie had died in 1903.
 The certificate shows she was a nurse at St Marylebone Institution, London and to further confirm that this is the correct death certificate agrees with  the Manchester funeral director‘s invoice, which was in my father‘s possession. William H Law of 176 City Road, Hulme  arranged her burial on Sep 7 1939 with her parents and brother at Sale Cemetery also points to her dying in Manchester. ‘To furnishing the Funeral of the Late Miss F Corbett. To Coffin Shroud & ect (sic) Hearse & 4 Bearers ... Grave at Brooklands Cemetery. £9.’
 It is possible that my father's memory had, over time, confused the place she worked with the place she died, the St Pancras and St Marylebone parishes adjoining each other. However why he said she had been found in the East End of London in a state of malnutrition and badly beaten is a mystery.
 Frank, her brother seemed to be aware of the circumstances in which Flo died for he wrote from 12 Waylen Street, Reading on 11 November 1939 to Annie Studd in Canada  ‘My Dear Annie, You will see by the above that I have changed my address, and am now in Reading with Doris. ... There is nothing to keep me up North, so thought it best to get down here and have a quiet time for once in a way. ...  & now I have to tell you that poor old Flo passed away Sept 14 and we buried her at Brooklands on the 18th. She had been ailing for 12 months & passed painlesly away.’ From his letter it appears that his wife Charlotte had died since he moved from Manchester to Reading possibly during 1939.
 I do not recall being told Flo had died but perhaps the events taking place at school overshadowed the event. Poor Flo who loved children but never had any of her own andt, whenever she could, worked in situations where she could look after them.  In the November George Twyford, who was a memorial sculptor wrote to Nan suggesting that the headstone in  Sale Cemetery required a suitable inscription.

 One day, during this period, I arrived home for lunch after a morning of standing around in the playground, and found we had a visitor. It was Nan’s brother Frank who lived with his daughter, Doris, and her husband in Reading. To prevent us being evacuated with the school and billeted with strangers they were offering to take us in.
 A day or so later Mum accompanied us to Waterloo railway station to catch the train for Reading and because we were going to relations we were able to take rather more than had we been travelling with the school. A small suitcase each and our knapsacks.
 Nan hugged and kissed us, and  tearfully stood at the corner of Rectory and Brook Roads as we made our way along Rectory Road to the station, and continued waving until we disappeared from sight.
 Having experienced leaving home before when I had been ill I realised there was nothing I could do to prevent what was happening and I just accepted what was happening.

 Waterloo was busy, even busier than Liverpool Street Station when we went down to Southend for the Bank Holiday. The forecourt was packed with people, buses, coaches, taxis and cars mobilised to bring school children and their escorts to the station.
 The noise in the concourse was tremendous. Hundreds of bewildered children, panicking parents, agitated teachers, concerned station attendants, WRVS members, and assertive charity workers, some carrying a banner with a school, were trying to gather their groups together.
 The crush was frightening with children trying to keep connected to their own little group while being pushed and jostled towards various railway platforms. Many were bewildered or close to tears as they were pressed forward towards the gates to the platforms while those in charge tried to prevent their group breaking up while they tried to keep some sort of order. It all seemed a bit of a free-for-all melee.
 Parents were nor supposed to accompany their children to the station unless they were helping with the evacuation arrangements because there was no room  them but many were parents concerned for their children who were trying to link up with their children at the station before they boarded the train.
 I held tightly on to Mum’s coat as she tried to juggle with two  suitcases and two children aged 7 and 10.
 Because we were not being evacuated with our school Mum was allowed to accompany us onto the platform and she reminded me that Bern, who was three years older than me, was in charge. For a ten year old I thought he took it all rather stoically.
 Mum eventually found us a carriage with seats by the window and stood waiting on the platform for the train to leave while calling out last minute instructions to behave ourselves while away and who we should look out for when we arrived. 
Above the hubbub, shouting and slamming of train doors, the guard finally blew his whistle and the train started to pull away at which point Mum’s face crumpled in absolute misery and the floodgate of tears opened.
 It was then I faced the reality of the situation.  I was being parted from my family again and I began to cry as well.  The platform was almost empty by then and through my tears I strained to keep my eyes on the lonely figure of my mother standing on the platform waving her handkerchief. The train turned a curve and as she disappeared from sight  I felt stunned and held Teddy close. My brother,  looked at me with disdain. It was all a big adventure for him.

 I suppose we were lucky. Most of the other children on the train were travelling to some unknown place in the West Country to be boarded with complete strangers who, had not been checked for suitability. No one knew how long they would be away and their hosts would be their foster parents for the duration of the war.
 Many trains had no toilet facilities and ours was no exception but fortunately, in our case, Reading was less than 40 miles from London and my need to use a toilet did not arise.
 All the other children on the train would be dropped in groups at various stations along the way where local teachers and organisations were ready to receive them and send them on to church and town halls to be placed in foster care.
We were the only children to alight at Reading Station.