Evacuee: From the Liverpool Blitz to Wales

By Barbara Warlow Davies

The remarkable story of Barbara Warlow Davies, an English-speaking four year old, who was evacuated from Liverpool to Talgarreg in Ceredigion during the Second World War.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Y Lolfa
• Release date: Apr 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781784613600

Book preview

Evacuee%20-%20Barbara%20Warlow%20Davies.jpg

With fond memories of my late husband Gareth,

to Carol and Richard,

and my many friends and acquaintances

who have enriched my life

First impression: 2016

© Barbara Davies & Y Lolfa Cyf., 2016

This book is subject to copyright and may not be reproduced

by any means except for review purposes without the

prior written consent of the publishers.

Cover design: Y Lolfa

ISBN: 978 1 78461 291 7

E-ISBN: 978-1-78461-360-0

Published and printed in Wales

on paper from well-maintained forests by

Y Lolfa Cyf., Talybont, Ceredigion SY24 5HE

e-mail [e-mail]

website www.ylolfa.com

tel [phone]

fax 832 782

Foreword

I would like to take this opportunity to acknowledge the warm welcome and kindness I received from John and Rachel Davies when I was a four-year-old who spoke no Welsh, only English. These two became my special ‘Uncle’ and ‘Aunty’, but in all honesty they became more like a mother and father to me. I also thank Uncle and Aunty’s extended family for accepting me into the fold.

I am deeply indebted to Talgarreg School: to the two teachers, Miss Watson from New Quay and Miss Elen Thomas of Green Grove, Talgarreg, and especially Mr Tom Stephens, the headmaster, for the care, kindness and education I received. Tom Stephens’ love for the Welsh language soon became ingrained in me, and I still have a great love for all things Welsh.

Many of my memories are about neighbours, ordinary people from a small rural community, full of character, kind people, all remembered with great fondness.

Lastly, I thank the publishers, Y Lolfa; Eleri Davies, for encouraging me to publish this book, always giving me her support and friendship; and Manon, who typed some of my notes. But my special thanks go to my friend, Martin Griffiths, who typed, corrected, and made valuable suggestions as well as editing.

1

The Background

During the Second World War, events happening in many cities – London and Coventry, for example – were given greater publicity than Liverpool. Indeed, Liverpool was hardly ever mentioned in the press because the Government prohibited the reporting of any disasters there.

It was only sixty years later, in April 2001, that the general public became more aware of what had really happened in Liverpool during the war. The German Luftwaffe had made Liverpool one of its most important targets because it was conveniently situated for convoys carrying essential supplies from across the Atlantic.

Night after night the bombers darkened the skies over Liverpool and their distinctive drone made them easily recognisable from the allies’ aeroplanes. These sounds will remain with me until my dying day.

The worst period of all became known as the May Blitz. This heavy bombing continued nightly from 1 to 8 May 1941. Some two thousand people were killed and many were injured, seventy-five thousand people were made homeless and ninety thousand homes were completely destroyed. It was a scene of great devastation and much loss of life. The city centre with its shops, museums and important buildings were flattened. It greatly affected every citizen in Liverpool.

As the Liverpool Echo reported on 30 April 2001:

In Mill Road Hospital, an operation was in progress, when a bomb hit the hospital and the patient was buried under the rubble. The patient was later dug out of the debris and the operation was completed successfully.

A mother and her daughter were killed when a bomb destroyed a shelter at the bottom of their garden where they thought they were safe. They had moved to this house only a few weeks earlier after their previous home was destroyed. They usually took cover under the stairs but unfortunately decided on the shelter as being safer.

Six days after their wedding a young couple were killed when a bomb destroyed part of the house in which they were sheltering. The young man was home for a very short leave from the army.

An elderly couple were celebrating their Golden Wedding and their six children and their families were there to celebrate the happy occasion. As the old lady was preparing to cut the cake a bomb fell directly on the house, killing everyone except the eldest son, who lived to tell the tale.

The story of the May Blitz is a grim one, but it is also a brave story of brave people whose streets and homes were the front line in the Battle of the Atlantic.

They knew fear but they didn’t run. This is a proud story of a proud people.

This pride was certainly true of the district of Wavertree where I was brought up.

Every morning, after breakfast, the wives of each household donned their ‘turbans’ and pinnies, and the first chore of each day was to polish the brass – each house had large brass doorknobs, keyhole surrounds, letter box, and a wide strip of brass at the base of each door, and a fierce competition ensued to see who had the shiniest brass in the street!

Then, with a bucket of soapy water they cleaned the one big bay window. Afterwards, with a scrubbing brush and red brick, they scrubbed the two or three slate steps leading up to the front door. When that was done the next job was to scrub the pavement with soapy water and a household brush, each lady cleaning the section of pavement the width of her house.

However, the clean, gleaming house front would not be clean for very long. Liverpool in those days was a very dingy city – every house had coal fires, and smog was very common, with tiny black flecks covering everything. So the cleaning process had to be repeated daily, with the same enthusiasm, vigour and competitiveness.

2

Living through

the Blitz

I was born at 36 Crosfield Road, Edgehill, Liverpool 7, three years before the outbreak of the Second World War. We moved to a nearby house in Scourfield Street soon after I was born. I was the second child of our family; my brother, Bill, was eight years older.

My father’s name was William Richard Warlow. He was the eldest of three sons. By trade he was a painter and decorator, but later on he worked on the railway after being advised by his doctor to change his job as he was very asthmatic and also suffered with bronchial problems.

His father was also called William Warlow. On researching our family history I was surprised to find out that he was from Tenby, Pembrokeshire. He, in turn, was one of seven children born to Richard Warlow, who lived in Frog Street, Tenby. He was a cabinet-maker by trade. (I have traced my father’s family as far back as 1548.)

My paternal grandmother was called Mary Griffith. She was born in Trelawnyd (Newmarket), Flintshire. (She was a widow when she met my grandfather, who was a widower.) My grandmother was a descendant of the famous artist Moses Griffith. He was a companion, servant and illustrator to Sir Thomas Pennant of Downing House, Flint. Moses was an accomplished organist, as was his son, another Moses, who was appointed organist at Mold church.

My grandmother was a very good cook, and during hard times she baked home-made pies and pasties and sold them from the front room, which she opened as a shop or bakery. Later on my grandparents kept a fish and chip shop. By an amazing coincidence when my late husband, Gareth, was a patient at the dialysis unit in Carmarthen (2001–7), I met an elderly gentleman by the name of Bert (I never knew his surname) who originally came from Liverpool, who remembered my grandparents in their fish and chip shop.

My mother’s name was Elsie Povall. Her father was Thomas Ellson Povall. The Povalls originated from Bunbury, Cheshire, and the Ellsons came from Wettenhall, Shropshire. My mother’s grandfather was a tailor and she learnt the tricks of the trade from him. She was a very accomplished tailoress and was equally talented at all forms of needlecraft. Sadly, my mother died on 25 May 1939; she was only twenty-eight years old.

One of my earliest recollections is of a day when there were many strangers in the house, and I wanted my tricycle, which was kept