WDHG Oral Histories

In October 1939, Mum said “I’ve had enough, we must evacuate”. Our home town of Canterbury was being bombed every night. Many of the German aircraft had failed to reach their target, London’s dockland. After being damaged by the RAF fighters defending London, in their retreat, limping back to France, they left their mark on the Kentish towns and countryside. Crashed planes would become tomorrows adventure for souvenir hunters.

However, the main damage came from their jettisoned bombs. This was done to speed-up their journey home. Their route across Kent took them over Gravesend, Chatham, Gillingham, Sittingbourne, Faversham, Canterbury, and Margate. They all suffered from this second-hand blitz. Not a heavy death toll, but severe damage to gas, water and electricity supplies. Railway and bus timetables were a lottery.

At this particular time in our history, most of the population did not possess a car. In our street there were no cars, only two people had bicycles. When a bomb blast blew out our windows and doors, brought down our chimney, and cut off gas and water, it was time to move. Notices were already circulating of plans to evacuate schools to Wales. Mum would not, could not wait for this to happen. One of my sisters was working as a nanny in Devon, much safer than bomb alley. Mum did not need further debate; we were going to Devon.

This was easier said than done. The train service now was non-existent. The general idea everybody had now was to get a train and leave town. We queued at the station before dawn. A train appeared very slowly, no-one seemed to know its destination but just swarmed aboard. A guard was shining his torch to show up the carriage doors, so it must be alright. Old-fashioned carriages with a steam engine at front and rear.

There were extra carriages lengthening the train, so when the first ones were full, it crept on a bit to get more people on board. The passengers were a very mixed bunch. A private school was trying to stick together without much luck. Babies in prams finishing up in the goods van, assorted service men with huge packs, and loads of also-rans. By the time we squeezed on, all seats were taken so we stood in the corridor with a long line of soldiers.

We had left home with all our possessions, mainly clothes, crammed into one suitcase. I had my gas mask box hanging around my neck, Mum had left hers, intentionally, on the kitchen table. She hated it, which seemed to me very strange as Dad had suffered from WW1 gad inhalation. Mum was a skinny woman so she was able to perch on our suitcase. I sat on the floor, softened by a kind soldiers greatcoat. I was quite excited; a great adventure was about to begin.

Dawn was creeping up as the train crept out of Canterbury. My friends were not about friends and relatives we were leaving. A feeling of relief about not being able to take the eleven plus exam. I hoped that our cat Timmy who had disappeared? Aunty Molly who lived undamaged further along our street, promised me to take care of him. I also had a smile of relief at no more Sunday school or choir practice.

I hoped that friends George and Albert would find our football which I had hidden in our coal shed. Thanks to just one broken window, street football was frowned upon. Probably the biggest worry was for my lead soldiers, cigarette cards and stamp collection. Mum had insisted they would still be there when we came back. As our home had no front door, this was rather too optimistic. I decided I would write a letter to Albert and ask him to hide them somewhere safe.

Whilst I am looking out of the steam-covered windows, I could see Mum’s reflection. She was wiping her eyes with one of her best lace hankies. The soldier put his head into the crowded compartment. “Anybody feel like giving up their seat for this poor lady?” A rather smart lady who looked like a school teacher came out and gave Mum her seat. I took over the suitcase seat. I know Mum was crying because she was leaving my two sisters behind. Both of them were married and with their own children. Their homes were still intact. Gladys’ husband was in the civil defence, and Phyllis’ husband was at Dunkirk. Neither of my sisters wanted to leave home.

The air on the rain was getting worse. The moment the train started moving, a long queue formed for the toilet. Not a tidy queue. It extended in two directions, trying to get past all us bodies jammed in the corridors. It did not help when one of the soldiers managed to open a carriage door window. A difficult operation which involved pulling and pushing a leather strap. The air in the compartment was changed, but not for the better. Steam and soot from the coal fired engine was sucked in and added to the crowded human odours. Then it became an even bigger struggle to close it again.

The journey proceeded at snail’s pace. Passing the time was a test of ingenuity. In Mum’s compartment, eight people had great difficulty in moving. In the early stages, conversation between passengers was not happening. However, an old man shared his newspaper with anybody who was awake. My Mum was either asleep or pretending to be. Opposite Mum a nun was counting her beads. In the corridor the soldiers were singing “Goodbye Dolly” and other well-known songs. One of them played a harmonica very sadly. His “Danny Boy” even had women’s voices joining in.

Sometimes the train would stop at a signal box where the guard (who rode up with the engine driver) would phone ahead. The soldiers said he was checking on rail damage. This determined our safest route westwards. The soldier next to me asked me where I was going and I told him Devon. He said that was the wild west. Then he explained that we would follow the sun as it rose in the east and rested in the west. Unknowing our future, he said we would be in Devon before the sun got there.

The soldiers spent a long time singing and telling jokes. When we stopped for a signal box enquiry, some would jump out for a pee. Not easy climbing back in. Once we stopped for a long time and they jumped a fence into an orchard and picked up some very old apples off the ground. They shared them with the other passengers but one bite was enough. They were rotten. There was a big guessing game going on about where we were. Nobody seemed to have any food although the soldiers had their water bottles.

We eventually stopped at an unnamed station. The guard shouted “Half hour break.” People ran on to the platform seeking food and drink also washroom. Mum sneaked to the train toilet then we got off and joined the Salvation Army queue. Mum got a cup of tea with no milk and sugar. I got a cup of lemonade and two biscuits. The siren began wailing. Shouts of “Air raid!” Everybody got back on the train. Even those of us in the corridors stood exactly the same place. The train pulled out, too quick for some people who got left, running on the platform.

Shortly after leaving the station we eased slowly into a tunnel. Windows shut tight against the smoke and steam. The engine kept running, this was to keep the lights working in the dark compartments. The stationary train made me aware of passenger noise; babies crying, mothers shouting, soldiers singing. Somewhere close by someone was being sick out a carriage window. This could have been quite boring; we were in the tunnel a long time.

My soldier friend and I had a conversation mainly about school. I told him I was good at English. He said maybe one day I would be a reporter on the Kent Herald. He said he had a daughter. They lived in married quarters in Dover, but they were evacuating. He said I was a good boy to look after gran. I was not able to tell him she was my Mum. Once the train got moving again, he opened our window and I put my head out into the fresh air. The smoke and the steam were blowing down the other side.

So, the journey staggered on, hour after hour. The sun was now ahead of us. We passed through many small unnamed stations, and just as it was getting dark, we stopped at a second larger station. This time we had a longer break. There were some very busy refreshment tables. Mum found tea with sugar, got a small smile from her. Mum has a very sweet tooth. Since rationing came in, she’s topped up with saccharine.

There were tables with sandwiches and buns. The station canteen was open but the soldiers complained, no beer. They did buy cigarettes but they were cheap ones with no picture cards. It was dark when we got back on board. The guard announced there would be no lights on the train because of black-out rules. Once we are back on the train all the soldiers sat on the corridor floor. Once again, the train slowly rocked along. Time dragged on very slowly. Mum seemed to be able to sleep. I just sat on the suitcase, nodding half asleep. Occasionally I tried to listen to the soldier’s stories.

I had eaten an egg sandwich at the last stop and still had a sticky bun in my pocket. A lot of smoking was now going on, to add to all the other smells. It was impossible to open the window just a little bit. There was a lot of coughing everywhere. A lady sitting next to Mum spent too long in the toilet. People waiting had to keep knocking on the door. All of this was happening in pitch blackness, just the glow of burning cigarettes. The sun had gone.

We shared a mouth organ lullaby session. Very peaceful, people humming. The passenger noise was much quieter; babies not crying, people not talking, just either humming or snoring. The train had no heating so the soldiers shared their great coats with some of the passengers. I still had my overcoat on, with my bun slowly crumbling in my pocket. In my other pocket I had a conker, which I decided would be my souvenir of Canterbury.

Mum’s head had dropped forward, resting on her large handbag; well asleep. The nun was asleep with her hands in prayer position. I think this was the first time ever that Mu had not said the lord’s prayer at bed time. We stopped again in the middle of nowhere, one or two soldiers got out again, letting very cold air in, and a few shouts of “Shut that door!”. I found myself whispering the times table from two to twelve, and was rewarded with a drink from an army water bottle. I thought all my school friends would be very jealous of me and my travelling soldier companions. They did not seem to need sleep and I tried to keep awake with my new gang.

The train guard walked through every carriage carrying a torch, a first aid kit, a bottle of water and bag of toilet rolls. While he waited outside our toilet to change the toilet paper, he told us about the train driver. He should not drive more than four hours really, so sometimes he swapped places with the rear driver and sometimes we stopped when he had a flask of tea and a cigarette. I must have had some sleep, wedged between suitcase and soldier.

Eventually bodies were moving. Out of the grimy window the sun was rising. The train was now at a very steady speed. Dawn had fully broken as we began to enter a quite large station. A lot of activity on the train. All the soldiers were disembarking. My friend shook my hand and he whispered “Salisbury” in my ear. He waved to Mum and took me to a chocolate machine on the platform. There he put in some coins and got me a bar of Fry’s chocolate sandwich. This bar had two layers of milk around a layer of plain.

Outside the station I could see loads of army trucks. He was now in a long line of men being loaded on to trucks. A goodbye wave and he was gone. The lorries drove away with a cheerful load of singing soldiers. The rest of the passengers were off the train, to the café, the paper stall and the toilets. Mum had tea, I had milk, and we shared toast and lime marmalade. No butter or marg. Lime marmalade was a surprise luxury.

There was no hurry, we stayed there quite a while. Our engine was swapped for another one. The salvation army were handing out packets of biscuits and apples. Eventually we began to get back on board. Some civilians must have gone because I could sit opposite Mum. A few old newspapers and magazines laying around. I started reading a ‘Picture Post’, a favourite of my sister Doris. We gently moved off westward again, although I could not see the sun.

Mum easily went back to sleep. In between reading, I kept dozing off. This part of the journey is vague. I remember we had two big stops at least. Lots of door slamming and people coming and going. At sometime after Salisbury, we had lost the company of the posh school kids. A policeman visited all the carriages and we had to show our identity cards. This was quite embarrassing as Mum had to unpack her large handbag.

The corridor had now changed uniforms. Mainly air force and navy blue. No longer a queue for the toilet. After the policeman, two red cross nurses came around. They seemed mainly interested with the ladies with babies. They had a box of baby feeding bottles filled with Ostermilk. I remember this name because they always had lots of adverts next to Ovaltine and Horlicks and Farleys rusks. We also had a visit from our new guard. He had to announce at every carriage “Lot of lost property in the guards van.”

Mum did not have a watch so I had to ask an airman the time. When he realised I did not know 1300 hours was he explained 1 o’clock. I spent some of the journey time trying to commit to memory what I thought was a military timescale. I told him about a German Heinkel aeroplane which crashed near our street. He said he was on rescue service for airmen ‘ditched’ in the sea. He was training to be school teacher before the war. The compartment was pretty boring and I enjoyed talking to the airmen and sailors in the corridor.

One window was permanently stuck open. This was a good job as every one of them smoked non-stop. However, I must have slept at some time because Mum said I missed the sailors cheering and dancing when they saw the sea. Knowing no local geography, I was unable to guess where we might be. I did know that all our seaside resorts were out of bounds. Our winkle man told us everyone that the beach at Whitstable was full of hidden mines and covered with barbed wire. “Sorry no winkles until after the war”. This also covered cockles and whelks.

The train, more stops at bigger stations, but no clues where we were. None of the military people got out. Another cup of tea and apple juice. Everything was much quieter. Someone played a flute in the next carriage. It must be afternoon because I can see a game of rugby in the distance. This was a first for me. After the last station, a small group of people went slowly into each compartment, asking questions. Mum told them my sister’s address and her host families phone number. Also, “Why wasn’t the boy with his school?”. Mum told them our house had been bombed so we had nowhere to live. Mum was given a badge with a number on it, and they moved on to the next compartment.

A lady sitting next to Mum heard this conversation and started talking to Mum. Mum was not a big talker so she spoke to both of us. She said she was training as a red cross nurse Before the war she worked in a brewery office. Very top secret, no names mentioned. She gave me a little note book and so started writing down the full times table very slowly, avoiding further conversation.

But she kept a one-way conversation with Mum. An old man was listening, kept nodding or tut-tutting about the war, but I don’t think he said a word. Because he did not say anything I wondered if he was a German spy. I considered telling the airmen in the corridor but Mum had made me take my shoes off, so I wasn’t going anywhere. It must have been late afternoon, as it was getting dark again. A guard came into the door “You have reached your destination.” The old man smiled and said we were coming into a town in Devon called Totnes. Both he and the nurse started putting on coats and gloves. Mum said “Let’s hope Doris is waiting for us.”

We had no contact with her since we left home. There was nobody in King Street with a phone, she could not contact our other sisters. All she could possibly do was meet every train arriving. Her work was in a village outside town. She had no car. Perhaps we would spend all night in the station waiting. Now the journey was turning from an exciting adventure to a mystery. As the train pulled into the station it was almost dark. Again, the only light came from the guard’s lamp. Someone with a tiny torch helped Mum and I get off the train.

We set foot in Totnes, looking for Doris. I saw the nurse helping mums and little children; many were crying. It was cold and raining and very dark. The station was very busy with other trains arriving. A group of ladies were searching for evacuees, shouting “Evacuees to booking office please.” We had to cross over to the other platform. Someone carried our suitcases and we gathered in a dimly lit cold waiting room. Mum had to find the card with its special number.

Now it gets complicated. No Doris, no details of our future home. Mum showed them Doris’ letter and we were in luck. A lady in Ashprington had space for two evacuees, at Avenue Cottage on the Sharpham Estate. At Totnes station we were given tea and sandwiches whilst we waited for a car. We were taken in a car with another family going to somewhere else out of the town. A dark, wet journey, no street lights, no house lights. My first ride in a car. We had a long, wet walk from the lane, down a steep drive to Avenue Cottage. Noisy pigeons all the way to the front. Journeys end. [Peter and his Mum subsequently moved to Ashprington House a couple of days later]