The Thirties: The Evacuation

By W.T. Doyle

The Thirties: The Evacuation is a nonfiction that follows William’s journey from Stoke Newington in London to the rural settings of Hertfordshire and the family who adopted him. It shares William’s laughter and tears and true stories from the war years, including the young American pilots who were based locally and the British Army girls who fell in love with them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: May 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781984589613

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Copyright © 2019 by W.T. Doyle.

ISBN:                    Softcover                        978-1-9845-8962-0

                            eBook                                978-1-9845-8961-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 04/24/2019

Xlibris

800-056-3182

www.Xlibrispublishing.co.uk

794377

CONTENTS

Chapter 1 My Second story

Chapter 2 Our New Location

Chapter 3 I Met an Angel

Chapter 4 Meeting the Family

Chapter 5 Finding my Sister

Chapter 6 School days

Chapter 7 Autumn Days

Chapter 8 Those Busy Hands

Chapter 9 Dickinson Stationers

Chapter 10 The Accumulator

Chapter 11 Hey little Hen

Chapter 12 Christmas day arrived

Chapter 13 Shendish House - Such splendor

Chapter 14 Icy Days

Chapter 15 A New School

Chapter 16 Hot Sunny Days

Chapter 17 The Death of a Fighter ace

Chapter 18 Such Special Days

Chapter 19 The Cricket Match

Chapter 20 I was Working for a Pig

Chapter 21 Mr. Felminham, our Woodwork Master

Chapter 22 Watching the sky - Also learning to Read

Chapter 23 The Arrival of Hollywood

Chapter 24 We Met Harold Weston

Chapter 25 We were Heroes

Chapter 26 Caroling for Three Pence

Chapter 27 The New Arrival at No 46

Chapter 28 Sunday Dinner, Not to be Missed

Chapter 29 The Good Guy

Chapter 30 That Wonderful Day

Chapter 31 Meeting all those Special People

Chapter 32 That Frightening moment

Chapter 33 The Hunts and the Wedding’s

Chapter 34 That Dark Sleepy Night

Chapter 35 The Big Squeeze

Chapter 36 The North Wester

Chapter 37 Those Stars of the Screen

Chapter 38 Jack Ford

Chapter 39 The House

Chapter 40 That Lucky Strike

Chapter 41 I was touched and tearful

Chapter 42 What a Laugh we Had

Chapter 43 A Very Sore Point

Chapter 44 Those Chalk Hills

Chapter 45 The Mooing of a Troubled Cow

Chapter 46 A Great Friend

Chapter 47 Those Early Mornings

Chapter 48 A Time of Tears

Chapter 49 The Hunts

Chapter 50 The House Move for Sisters

Chapter 51 1944 thinking of leaving school

Chapter 52 The Pocket Envelope Department

Chapter 53 A Year or More Had Past

Chapter 54 A Memory of Hash

Chapter 55 The Xmas Club

Chapter 56 That Proud Moment

Chapter 57 New Beginning

Chapter 58 Who Was There

Chapter 59 Pop’s new boots with a difference

Chapter 60 Out on the Road

Chapter 61 It was a Joy Going to Work

Chapter 62 Meeting Farmers, also land Army Girls

Chapter 63 My Enjoyable Days

Chapter 64

Chapter 65 The Meeting with Mr Curtis

Chapter 66 Those Frosty Mornings

Chapter 67 Motoring On

Chapter 68 The Germans

Chapter 69 Our Mum, Such A Wonderful Special Lady

BOOK 2. The Evacuation.

CHAPTER 1

My Second story

There was a promise in the sky of a bright sunny day, when Lilly and I were told to take some clothes and what ever we would need. We had sacks that were fashioned to fit on our backs, much like the modern haversack.

I was told to go with sister Lilly to her school, Dad said that we mustn’t be separated, telling Lilly she must hold my hand. We said goodbye to Dad and sister Ann, then turned to walked away, heading for Wordsworth street school. To listen to the teachers, having a roll call of all the pupils names, I was nine years old, Lilly coming up to thirteen.

Then after a few organization changes by the teachers, an hour or so had past. Then with some order - we then assembled in the play ground, much like a military operation, then in two by two marched out of the school with mother’s and other family relations following. It was just Lilly and I, we heading for the railway station. Dalston Junction was a mile or so away.

The Station was ancient and dirty- yet fascinating with its posters on its walls. Of Bisto, Brylcream, Pears Soap, Coalman’s Mustard and Fry’s Chocolate bar One penny from the machine that stood against the wall outside the waiting room, with the Chewing Gum machine. This station was enclosed except for the gaps in its broken glass canopy. where shafts of sunlight found their way to illuminate,some of the kids standing in line, while mothers and teachers did their best to keep some order. The smells which hang in the air from those giant pieces of engineering, which puffed and filled the station with its wet white steam also its coal black dirty clouds of smoke, some founding it’s way escaping through vents and broken roofing, into sunlight and the heavens.

Our train finally arrived- all stood back until it came to a halt, a hiss of steam escaping in clouds, making kids and others vanish for a moment, as teachers shouted orders to board the train- they running at a trot amongst mothers hugging and howling, finally letting go of their little treasures. Hankies for wiping eyes and sniffing noses were also raised to wave, as the green flag was held high; then a whistle was heard. The train inched its way out of the station; with heads looking and arms waving through open windows; many also with wet handkerchiefs, were lost from view. As was also the black dirt and grim of the buildings and houses that sat close to the station soon faded.

Soon rhythmic sound of the train gathered speed. Teachers were now coming along the trains corridors, telling us, to close our windows.

Soon more light caught our eyes, and those grimy scenes of London were soon left behind. The sunlight seemed brighter, it settled on fine houses with lush green lawns and flowers of suburbia, the carriage windows were once again opened - as were our eyes.

It was not unusual for city kids in those times of the thirties to have never been further than their own streets, so going on a train and seeing beyond their own limited boundaries was a new world. They had never seen green lawns; neither cows or sheep, or giant trees, in such variety-and in their natural summer beauty, also with countless other eye catching delights, held their faces clued to the windows. So it was that many of the things only seen in books or cinema came alive and that wonder was seen on all our faces. As we all gazed at those passing scenes.

This train past a huge cemetery - I looked at such a vast area of tomb stones with so many shapes and sizes, some were tombs with a small rails around them, with fine statues of Angels in different poses. Strange how I recalled such scenes. Was my own mother among those countless numbers. As I was passing this place - I suppose my life as I had known it also died, having my head out of the window, watching those headstones fade into the distance and past - as our early lives would also be - left far behind.

Other smells and sights filled our minds. These scenes soon gave way to lush cut cricket pitches, hedge rows, trees of all kinds, white clouds and blue sky, replaced smoky filled haze of a London sun, that we were so used to. A fragrance of many smells filled our noses, Blackberries ripening on hedges, Apple trees Pear and Plum in gardens we had passed. Grazing horses and cows, it was a rather exciting journey into a new world. Where none of us knew where we were going.

As some of the kids moved about in the corridor of the train, Lilly came into my carriage with an orange for me, which Dad had given her. I began peeling the orange with my right hand while holding it in my left, putting the peel on the seat beside me, it was then a teacher put her head into our compartment to have a word with all of us about moving about, I listened and while doing so picked the peel from off the seat. With the intention of throwing it out through the window. I still holding the orange in my left hand, I then swapped hands with peel and orange, then- I threw the orange out of the window and sat there with the hand-full of peel. As an orange only came into my hands at Christmas, I cried a little, then giggled through my tears at my stupidity.

I can only recall the train stopping once, that was at Kings Langley station, then moving on, and I looking at the Ovaltine factory, as we slowly past this bright white and clean building. it always was (until this very day, when I past it, or part of it, they were demolishing it for a housing estate, how odd - 67 years have past all but a few months.)

CHAPTER 2

Our New Location

The next stop was Boxmoor station. Now called Hemel Hempstead.

It was here we were told to pick up our belonging and leave the train, we then told to form a line along the platform, soon to march out of the station, turning to our right. Walking two by two along the main road passing beneath those wonderful Horse Chestnut trees that lined our route; also watching the horses and cow’s on the Moors, (acres of grassland) where people were free to walk and pick wild flowers if one wished. It was such a quiet rural scene, nothing used the roads much in those days, only a bus every hour, perhaps one or two cars. I could see a white iron bridge spanning a river, through an avenue of those glorious chestnut trees, such magical scenes for us all to look on while we marched on, all of us lost in wonder in the fragrance of a summers day.

We were walking to Apsley, not too far away. Once arriving we then entered a Baptist church. All us still in line shuffling along, then stopping, to then move on again then again stopping, it was then I stepped to one side, wondering what was at the front, as we shuffled forward, and there I spied three people sitting at a long table. One was a women handing out a tin of Cornbeef then a vicar with a bar of Chocolate and again another women handing us a packet of Biscuits.

I have never stopped laughing about that moment; was it our ration for the duration of the war. People, didn’t know what to do.

it wasn’t only the people, the government also were scratching their heads, looking at each other, waiting for that light bulb to come on in some ones head. What a muddle we were all in, no order, no leader, no more bits of paper with peace in our time left to wave. Two million plus unemployed, our industries ancient, neglected of investment. Then a miracle, money arrives for a war. Then a shuffle in the cabinet brought in Mr Churchhill. He was more in focus in thought and deed. Then it seemed some unity of thought with agreement, moved us all heading in the same direction. Where we were to play our various parts in what- ever costume we chose. In the coming decade of conflict.

CHAPTER 3

I Met an Angel

We filed out of the church, with our bounty of Cornbeef. Chocolate and Biscuits. We were then handed over to three W.V S. (women’s voluntary services.)

These women then divided us into group’s of thirty or more; to walked us around the local streets, knocking on doors of home’s, asking with some authority and even demanding, have you any room in your home for any London children, are all bedrooms being used ? if not, you must take one or more children in your home. So it was that all of my line of children, including sister Lilly, found a home, with a class mate in these local streets. While I now all alone - the very last of a selection from a school full of children, still being hawked around with the W.V.S. lady.

It was as I came to the end of the street, that fate - or was it, took a hand.

We were passing the local corner shop, Brookes the Grocers. When a women came out of the shop carrying some groceries, as we were walking in the same direction, she now looking at the sack on my back and the label that hung around my neck, it must have touched her, she then asked who’s this little boy, an evacuee from London, came the reply— from the WVS women. And where are you taking him she asked, to any one of these houses who will take him in

I’ll take him in - she said, I have a boy like you at home she said- come along with me son,- Then we both continued walking along an unmade rough road until near its far end; where there was a small wooded area with a green, where horse chestnut trees added beauty and shade.

Stopping outside a house where an alley separated two terraced houses; we then walked up this alley. The lady then first opening a gate then a green back door; stepping in the house, she then pushed open another door of a room,