Author Topic: Evacuation  (Read 2003 times)

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Offline alffox

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    • The Fox family from Kelfield, Yorkshire and Edmead - Kelly - Brett
Evacuation
« on: 05 January, 2009, 03:14:43 PM »
I am seeking any information on the evacuation of myself and brother Joe to Cambois, Blyth, Northumberland.    Dad was a War Reserve Police Constable in the West Ham, Poplar and North Woolwich area and as a result we were evacuated to a wonderful family in Northumberland - the father was the Village Constable in Cambois and it was a connection through the Police that enabled us to be sent there.  Have been in touch with the family and have a picture taken whilst in Cambois but would like to know more.  When did we go?   How long did we stay?  etc.   Can anyone help.   

Offline nellanhoj

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Re: Evacuation/Somerset
« Reply #1 on: 10 March, 2009, 10:45:37 PM »
My first evacuation was to Long Aston, Bristol, with my brother and two sisters. We only stayed a short while and I returned home to Limehouse because Bristol was a wartime target. I was only five at the time. Although I remember the very happy time I spent there I don't remember going or even coming back. Weird really, seeing how many children younger than me can remember the most vivid details. My memories are of my stay there. The rest is just memories related from my brother and sisters.
   Early in 1940 I was sitting on the pavement, in Limehouse Causeway, scrapping out the dirt from between the paving slabs, when my mother asked me if I would like to go to Chard, in Somerset and live with my brother. This was obviously because the intelligence service must have had knowledge of the forecoming blitz. Anyway, the next thing I know was I went to a railway station in London somewhere, and i still don't know where even after 69 years, with my gas mask, jam sandwiches [no butter] wrapped in newspaper, a bottle of water and my gasmask: put into a carriage and told not to move or get out until the guard came and told me to. Quite an adventure for a six year old. the only person I remember entering the compartment was a women who years later I realised was dressed in a heavy tweed costume. When I got older I always referred to this lady as my Margaret Rutherford lady: because of the way she was dressed in a film I saw once. The women could of course have been in the WVS or some other voluntary service. After spending 2-1/2 very happy years living with a blacksmith in Chard where me and my brother lived and was treated like kings, Spending time on a farm, and helping the milkman deliver milk from a pony and trap, visiting the forge and being allowed to work the bellows, gingerly leading the horses out of the workshop, etc. attending a school that was featured on a TV programme {that has disappeared now, along with the cattle market-that wasn't featured]. I returned, for some reason, early halfway through the war to Forest Gate [which justifies why a Limehouse kid is writing on a Newham Board] just in time for the doodlebugs, rockets, etc. and the end of the war. Having spent my youth in West Ham, Canning Town, Plaistow and Stratford Manor Park, {but never Newham I don't think?] I wouldn't change a single part of my youth in the Borough. What memories! Stratford Town Hall, the Palais, skating rink, jive dive, pictures, East End pubs, Vi's pies, Goff's savs stall, all the factory social club dances, running the gauntlet on my bike down Carpenter Road where  all the heckling girls where on their way to work in Yardley's, etc. Oh, and of course, the pie shops and the markets. Great memories. Wouldn't alter a thing of my youth. Great times and great memories.    
« Last Edit: 18 February, 2011, 10:54:53 PM by nellanhoj »

Offline Bert

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Re: Evacuation
« Reply #2 on: 11 March, 2009, 12:12:14 AM »
I'm a decade or more older than some of the wartime evacuees but I well remember, when I came on or returned from, RAF leave during the war, seeing the lines of children at London rail termini waiting to board trains to their evacuation destinations. There they were, clean and smart with their gasmasks slung on their shoulders, identity labels pinned on them and cared for by their teachers. I used to think, "Poor little sods. God help them." They were so orderly and well-behaved - a different race of children from today's.