Birmingham and Harrogate
D-Day June 1944 was an uplifting time for Britons. At last, we were taking the initiative, we were moving forward. For once, fewer bombs were falling on London than on German cities.
No doubt
this really ticked off Hitler who had engaged the services of Wernher Von Braun https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wernher_von_Braun the scientist with a penchant for
inventing flying objects. Londoner’s
first introduction to his skills was on June 13th 1944 when the first
of the flying bombs christened “Buzz
Bombs” or “Doodle Bugs” made its
appearance. Because of the limited range
of these objects, South London where we lived was a prime target.
V1 - Buzz Bomb or Doodlebug |
Anyone
unfortunate enough to have experienced these V1’s will tell you that the thing
they remember is the sound. It did not
sound like a plane. It was a hard to
describe “buzzing” sound. (I’ve heard it described as a motor cycle
engine). The scary part was when this
sound stopped, that meant the bomb was ready to drop! Unless you were a Saint,
everyone wished for the sound to continue and for someone else to be its
victim.
Soon,
however, Von Braun upped the stakes. The
silent and stealthily V2 rockets became the norm. So, this may have been the time when we once
again took up our evacuation adventures.
But then again my memory being what it is these trips could have occurred
earlier.
In order to
write these stories I’ve been doing quite a bit of research on the internet
about World War II and evacuees. While it’s a wonderful source for checking
dates it’s also a treasure trove of personal stories. When I read some of these accounts where
children were ill-treated, some half-starved, I am forever thankful that our
mother fit the criteria for accompanying us:
pregnant women and mothers with children under five. Sometimes she fit into
both categories.
By now, our
evacuating family has reached it full complement: Mum, Me, LS, LB, and finally
LLB. This is a good point to pop in one
of the lovely poems by LS:
My mother’s third baby's expected
She tells us she's going to knit
An undershirt for this unborn one
A miracle if it should fit
She bought herself a ball of white
wool
A very good pattern and read it
She'd never done any knitting before
So we had to give her credit
Many times with wool in hand
The pattern she'd try to figure
The undershirt remained at row one
But her tummy sure grew bigger
My mother’s fourth baby’s expected
She tells us that she will finish
The undershirt for this unborn one
Her hopes we wouldn’t diminish
It could
have been around this time when we were sent to Birmingham. I’ve never been able to figure out why
Birmingham? It was and is an industrial
city that suffered bombing throughout the war, so why send evacuees there?
Perhaps a more pertinent question would be why
would they want us? Surely it wasn’t for
the money.
We couldn’t
have been there very long because I have an almost blackout of memories from
that period.
However, I
do know that Mum being Mum was not one to forego an opportunity because I
recall a visit we all made to a WVS (Women’s
Voluntary Service) centre where we were all outfitted with clothing for
free. I remember it most vividly because
the shoes I was given were hideous to my burgeoning teenage eyes!
Our next
stopover is in Harrogate, Yorkshire. Here
we are billeted in a huge communal stop-over type of building, prior to being boarded
elsewhere. We are housed in a room that
had bunk beds that I thought were pretty neat; I’d never seen the like
before. It was fair sized room that
overlooked a large garden that backed onto railway tracks. The sound of the trains became a comforting
sound that I’ve always liked.
Every family
was expected to contribute to the running and care of the household. We sat as a large group for meals and while
I’m sure there was a roster for all kinds of jobs I only remember having to
help with the washing up.
Our stay
here was delayed because LS became very ill and needed to be hospitalised. Also, there probably were not a lot of
households ready for a mother and four young children. After LS returned, our
billeting came through and I hated it!
Mum and the two youngest were in one house with sweet pea flowers around
the front door, and LS and I were living in a house controlled by a miserable
harridan of a woman, on the opposite side of the street.
I think it
was while we were there that notice came that I had won a scholarship to attend
a school that also had been evacuated and was operating from a satellite site
in the countryside of Woking. Time again
to pack up and leave!
1946 Edition of first Post-War School Magazine |
However, I
never did get to the Woking site for Mayfield
Grammar School for Young Ladies; by the time forms had been completed, uniforms
arranged and directions received, wonder of wonders; the war was over and the school
returned to its home in Putney.
Evacuations
are done with and life returns to normal, but that begs the question: what is normal for this little Covey of Cockneys? Is there another
another tale to be told?
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