Author: Lynn

Page 2

committee began sorting out the children to be billeted with the local inhabitants.  I waited and waited, until just Wendy and myself were left.  We then learned we were to be billeted at the Rectory with my school-teacher and his wife.  I had seen the Rector pacing up and down, and heard him saying something about they were rather in a muddle, having just arrived back from their holidays in France.  Anyhow off we went.  The Rectory was a huge rambling place, with a beautiful garden and orchard.  We learnt later that a former minister of the church who had resided there years before had planted an apple or pear tree for every child his wife bore.  The result an orchard of 22 trees!  I was asked to wait in the lounge with Wendy.  As I stood there in the middle of the floor, and looked slowly around ending up looking at Wendy’s and my reflection in the mirror over the fire-place, I suddenly felt lonely, lost and depressed.  Tears welled up in my eyes.  What a pitiful looking sight we were.  Footsteps sounded along the hall, and I blinked back the tears, and almost tripped over a moth-eaten looking tiger rug, which Wendy didn’t like at all.  They showed us to a cosy looking little bedroom.  Then Wendy started to howl, she wanted to go home.  We had been told to bring only the absolute necessities.  As my Mother was working in a tobacco and sweet shop, it was left to little old me to pack our bags.  The results being, I didn’t have another thing to wear for either of us, and no night-clothes.  What an unpractical dreamer.  Mrs. B., the teachers wife bought some flannelette and made Wendy some night-gowns.  Later in the day more children were brought to the Rectory:  Dorothy and Margaret, 10 year old twins, and Renee from my school, which made me feel a little better.  The next day, we awoke to the twittering of birds, and wonderful country air.  A young parson’s wife and 2 year old son arrived to take up residence, where-upon I was removed from my cute little bedroom.

As I walked along Lavender Hill on that August night, to me, a child of 14, the atmosphere seemed to be filled with tension.  Workmen were busy painting the edges of the side-walks with bright white paint (ready for the great black-out).  Being a very romantic and imaginative young girl, it all seemed very exciting.  A year before everyone had thought there would be a war, and the first thing the authorities did, was to issue everyone with gas masks.  Thank goodness we never had to wear them, as they were the most horrible suffocating contraptions.  They had also had a trial black-out, and my Mother and myself groped our way to Clapham Common to watch the troops work a search-light back and forth in the sky.  One day I volunteered to be a casualty in a mock air-raid.  The attendants tied labels round our necks, and the next thing I was lying on a stretcher, feeling very foolish.  We were all hoisted into ambulances, that were more like tin boxes without any springs and proceeded on a ride around Clapham Common, after an exceedingly bumpy, rattling ride we arrived back where we started from, rather shaken up I’m afraid.

On September 1^st, we were told to report to the school playground, I with my young sister Wendy, who was only 3 years old.  My teacher had assured my Mother that his wife would take good care of Wendy.  The great evacuation from London was on.  Labels with our names and addresses were tied on us, and we proceeded to walk to the station.  Photographers were all over the place, and although I felt very excited, I felt a pang of regret; no one knew where we were going.

We finally got in a train at Clapham Junction, and were taken into the beautiful English Countryside, where-upon we were all herded into buses, and finally arrived at our destination, which in our case turned out to be a small hamlet in Surrey, named Alfold.  In the little village school, each child was given a bag, containing an apple, orange, chocolate etc.  After a few formalities, a local