Authors: John E. Forbat
Evacuee Boys
4
Life and Limb in Wartime London
In August 1939 I had just finished a glorious holiday with friends in Cambridge, for the first time in my life experiencing a real detached house and garden (complete with luscious plum trees). Little did I know, the Second World War was about to be declared.
On 2 September 1939, a day before the Second World War began, my brother and I were evacuated along with thousands of other children from London – our destinations kept absolutely SECRET. Nearly 11 and still a keen Wolf Cub, my evacuation from the anticipated bombing of London, together with my brother Andrew (nearly 15), would be with my school, West Kensington Central School. Reminiscent of the film
Hope and Glory
, mother took us to High Street Kensington station on the District Line, where a milling crowd of evacuees and their parents churned on the platform while authoritative teachers barked orders and tried to keep control. We were each issued with a gas mask in a brown cardboard box – the use of which had been demonstrated amid hilarious farting noises as they breathed out with extra vigour. More interesting was the carrier bag with several large bars of Cadbury’s Fruit & Nut chocolate and other goodies to see us through our train journey into the country.
Contrary to the film
Hope and Glory
, mother did not change her mind and, after the District Line took us there, the train pulled out of Ealing Broadway station with the loud steam chuffing of the period, almost drowned by the excited chatter of children embarking upon an adventure. After emigrating from Hungary in 1936, now came another ‘emigration’.
Evacuee boys with their gas masks. (Public information)
We arrived in the small Wiltshire town of Melksham, our worried parents remaining in London. The letters that we sent them, which form this book, graphically depicted our daily lives, the vital importance and difficulties of keeping in touch, and our urgencies and needs – without telephone communication and largely without money for daily necessities. Andrew was the highly conscientious, responsible and thoughtful elder brother who wrote most of the letters, and I was the little tearaway who tried to be good (as far as I was able). Our parents’ normal import/export business was made impossible by the war, so they ran a bridge club in their Kensington rented house and were rather hard up.
Our sporadic letters and postcards still survive. Some are written in Hungarian, some in faded or tattered handwriting; all illustrate our life, trials and tribulations away from our parents and our maternal grandmother, Noni. Often poor spellings and punctuation are reproduced, essentially as we wrote them. Some letters are (childishly) repetitive, others are historically priceless.
Amongst the rest of the contingent from London’s West Kensington Central School, we arrived in Melksham by the train from Paddington station. Carrying our suitcases, gas masks and issue of chocolates in bags handed out before the journey, we boys were taken round to various houses where we might be billeted with local families. The government would pay the families 10/- (10 shillings) a week per child. In our case, the first billet only lasted one day, and then we moved into a longer-term billet.
The school had no premises in Melksham, so the location of our schooling was also a problem to be tackled. Most of the younger teachers had been called up for military service, so many of the teachers also moving to Melksham were elderly, some brought out of retirement.
At the Kellys’ with Rosemary. (Author’s collection)
Despite being a fully embedded cockney, with Hungary on the wrong side of the war I soon became classed as an Enemy Alien. The Wiltshire burr was also quite foreign and the locals received us
Londonerrrs
with mixed reactions – from ‘Do we have to have them here?’ to ‘Yes, I’ll look after these two’. Not unlike the slave trade in reverse, we were taken around house to house where potential foster parents looked us over and, by the end of the day, all of us had somewhere to sleep among families willing to take us in return for 10/- per week. After the first day, Andrew and I were billeted with the family of a (to us) well-to-do factory manager, who aspired to a detached house and their own car, an Austin Ten.
Our letters commenced on 3 September 1939, the day the Second World War was declared.
Dear Mum & Dad
3
September
1939
Dear Mother and Father,
Fernleigh, 13 Sandridge Road, Melksham Wilts.
First of all, I have to tell you that I changed address as above & I think I shall be much better off in this house. The reason that they put me here is that we only had one single bed for the two of us, & were not very comfortable. I shall come to that later, as I will tell you what I was doing all the time since I got here.
I had quite a pleasant journey, although we were a bit crowded in the tube as you saw at the station. Then at Ealing Broadway, we changed to the GWR [Great Western Railway] which took us right here, without a single stop (except of course at signals).
When we arrived at Melksham, we went to the school buildings & waited there to be put into our billets. While we were waiting, we had tea, milk or water, as we chose. I was called out to talk to a Czechoslovakian girl who has been here for three months. I had to speak to her in German & got on quite well.
The billet I was put into at first was 2 George Street. I had a very nice & kind old lady & she gave me tea as soon as I arrived, that was about three o’ clock. We then went for a little walk & came back to put our things into the drawer.
Later in the evening, Mr. Williams & Mrs. Hirst called upon us & asked if we were all right and comfortable. I told him yes & they asked if we had tea, what it was like, what our beds were like & if the landlady was kind.
I told him that we only had one single bed for both of us (which he noted down as a complaint) & that we received tea, which was all right. I told him that I was satisfied otherwise & that the landlady was very kind. We were told to assemble at the Recreation Ground from where we might go the Church. They also asked me if I had any objections to attending a Church of England service. I told them that I was Jewish so I’d rather not. That was arranged too. Mr. Williams seemed to be exceptionally kind yesterday.
We slept quite well in the single bed – not too much & we got on all right. For supper, we had cocoa, bread and butter. I shall write you, what I was doing today, tomorrow, as I want to catch the nine o’ clock post.
The address is c/o Mrs. Kelly.
Your loving son
Andrew
… continued by John – his added ‘letter’ was not quite as informative!
Dear Mum and Dad!
We moved to-day to a better house. Here we have got a lovely big bedroom and a lovely big bed. Mr. Kelly has a car. They have two big gardens, one is full of fruit and vegetables, and the other one has just grass and some trees. There is a little girl of seven years old. Will you write as much as you have time for.
From your loving son,
John
5
September
1939
– a letter from a local gentleman who helped with the billeting of children
I thought you might like to hear from me that both your sons are well, happy and comfortably placed.
They were a little unfortunate in their first billet, but were transferred after the first day or two to a very nice house in one of the best roads in the town.
The people here are wonderfully kind, and cannot do too much for our boys. The lady in charge of the billeting told me that she could have placed almost another thousand of our boys in billets, the people think so highly of them. She was most anxious that every boy should be thoroughly comfortable, and offered to transfer any boy who was not. I have asked the boys over and over again if they are quite happy and comfortable, and they assured me that they were.
This is a quiet little town about 100 miles from London, set amidst some very pleasant scenery.
There is no need for you to feel any anxiety about your sons; they are quite happy and comfortable.
Kind regards and best wishes,
Yours sincerely,
Fred. R. Norton