My Story - Wartime Evacuee

My name is Bessie John, and I am being made to go and live in the country because otherwise I might get bombed because of the war. My Ma says that she won’t get bombed because she’s older, but I don’t think she is right. But anyway James (that’s my little brother) and I are leaving tomorrow, and Sally (my big sister) says that I should write a Diary to tell her what happened when I get back. So that’s what I’ll do. Ma says she’ll write every day, and that it won’t feel any different to here. But she’s wrong. It will.

It is the morning now, and Ma is getting James and me ready, she says we have to look smart so that we will look nice for our new family. She gave us our gas masks in their special box, and even brushed my hair. Then Ma and Dad drove us to the train station (Sal had said Goodbye at home). James was really excited now, because he had never been on a train, and he kept making “Choo-Choo” noises. He is 6. When we got there, Ma started looking anxious and asked me to look for our class teacher, Mrs Baylice (we call her Mrs Bedlice). When we spotted her, she was on the platform, surrounded by all our class, and handing out strange little tags that looked like the kind of thing you put on Christmas presents to say who they’re for.  Ma held our hands and took us up to her, and Mrs Baylice smiled (which she very rarely does) and gave James and I our tags. My one said “Elizabeth John, age 12, St Peters Primary School”. I scowled; no-one calls me Elizabeth.

Standing on the platform

Then Ma took me aside, and told me to look after James, because it will be frightening for him without Ma there. I said I would but who would look after me? Then she smiled with tears and said “Oh Bessie!” and gave me a big hug. Dad was giving James a last piggy back, before he went so I asked Ma “How long will we be gone? and where exactly are we going?” She said that James and I would be going to a nice family in the country, maybe who even already had children I could play with, but that she didn’t know when I could come home, but it would be when the war ended.  Then I asked why my friend Maisie wasn’t coming because I couldn’t see her on the platform, and she said that Maisie had gone to stay with relatives, and that her mother had gone too.

I thought that was a bit strange and was just about to ask why Ma couldn’t come with James and I then, when a big Steam-train drew up, billowing a thick fog. James was really excited to see the train, but got really upset and started crying when he realised Ma and Dad weren’t coming. I tried to be big and strong and not cry, but I was sad too, that I wouldn’t see Ma and Dad for ages, so I started crying as well. Then Ma started sniffing lots and I buried my head in her shoulder. Then it was time for us to get on, and Ma said she would know where we were when we got there, and that all our clothes were packed in our little suitcases, which Dad had been carrying. He gave them to us, then ruffled our hair and lifted James, then me into a train carriage. We all hung out of the windows waving, and James was crying lots.

Waving from the train.

When we were on the train I realised that while I had been crying, we had been given little packs of food for the journey. It was nice but I told James not to eat all of it at once. After 5 hours (I counted on my watch) we had eaten all the food, so it was lucky that after 6 hours we stopped and were told to get out, and get onto a lorry. The people in my carriage all went out first, so James and I were last, both carrying suitcases.  On the platform it was unbelievable! There was green and fields everywhere! It was very different from our house on Falconer road. James even stopped crying to stare a bit. It was all sunny as well, very different from the stuffy train.

Getting checked over by a nurse.

We got onto the lorry and James laughed as we bumped and jumped along a little road. It was only then that I realised Mrs Baylice had come with us, and she was sitting with the driver looking a little green.  The drive was reasonably short, and when we stopped, everyone got out and had another good look round. We were at what seemed to be a little hall, where a sign above the door read “Bridlingwell Parish Hall”. We followed Mrs Baylice in, and there was a large group of people in there, who seemed to be waiting for us. All 20 of us were told to stand up on the stage, and people in the crowd would soon come and take us away to their houses. I could feel James was a bit scared, and so was I! What if no-one picked us and we were sent back to the bombs! First a nurse checked our teeth and hair, to see if we were clean, and then people began to choose.

The first people to leave were the little girls with blonde hair, and the older boys who had big muscles. James and I waited patiently, smiling at the crowd, until, when there were about 10 children left, a woman and a man came up to James and said to Mrs Baylice “We’ll have him”. James looked at me and clutched my hand harder. I knew they were going to try and take him away so I said, “Sorry Sir, Madam but could you possibly take me too? because I really don’t want to be separated from my brother”. The man frowned but the woman’s eyes were kind. “Yes of course dear, come along as well”.

She looked at our tags, nodded to Mrs Baylice, who scribbled down their name, and then James and I left the hall, following the lady and the man. She told us her name was Mrs Cheney, and she asked us lots of questions as we walked through Bridlingwell, our names, how old we were, where we came from, if we had been to the country before, and stuff like that. I replied as honestly as I could, (James walked silently, still clutching my hand) and I was beginning to like this lady. I didn’t speak to the man (I suppose he must have been Mr Cheney); he was walking fast up ahead. After about 10 minutes walk we came to a little gate which led up to what looked like a big yellow house with squawking and other noises coming from beyond it.  Mrs Cheney opened the gate, and led us up to the house. As she opened the door she said “Welcome children, to Broadwood Farm”.

Mrs Cheney made us firstly take off our shoes, because they were muddy from the walk, then she told us to go upstairs to our bedroom, and wash our hands ready to eat. She showed us our room, and I was surprised at the size, it was quite small, and there was just enough room to fit 2 beds in it, but I can see that she had tried to make it nice and I was grateful for it. As we washed our hands and faces in the bathroom basin, I heard a strange sound coming from the open window. Being a curious girl, I went on tiptoes to see what it was, and almost fell over with glee. I knew from my storybooks that it was a horse! I hadn’t seen one before, (you don’t get many horses in Coventry) but there was no mistaking it. I really wanted to go and see it at once, but I thought I better obey instructions and walked slowly back down the steep stairs.

When we got downstairs, we found Mrs Cheney in the kitchen cooking. She told us to take a plate of stew through to the dining room and to sit and wait for dinner. As we sat down, Mr Cheney came in and sat down. He was a big burly man, and he looked a lot like a farmer. We didn’t know whether to start eating until Mrs Cheney came in, so when she did, James picked up his spoon and was about to eat when Mrs Cheney cried “Stop!, We haven’t said grace”. This was a little puzzling to James and me, but we just listened to Mrs Cheney say a prayer about food, and then got on with our dinner.

As I sat there wondering what the future in this family would hold, I looked round at my brother, laughing with Mrs Cheney and Mrs Cheney, smiling back, I thought, it might not be too bad, being a wartime evacuee.