Primary School

I went to Halstow Road School -primary – I was still only eight years old. But it seemed it was time to move on – Blackheath was becoming too exciting – after all, it was also on the flight path of the Luftwaffe on their way to bomb the hell out of London!!! and the arrival of the unexploded land mine seemed to decide matters!! And above all, wonder of wonders – my Mother was pregnant.

Then we moved to Knebworth staying with an elderly couple who really couldn't take to the barbaric Londoners. The feelings were mutual - neither my Mum nor my Aunt Em could take to the elderly couple who had taken us in under duress it seemed. Where next? the grown ups must have been thinking. They always came up with a solutions – that's what grown ups are for!!!

My Uncle George and his wife, Auntie Amy, had some sort of priority since he was a disabled veteran of WW1 and they were billeted in a big old rambling house in St Ippolyts, with a huge garden which was heaven to us kids and I loved my cousins, Irene, Amy, George and Rosina. It was an idyllic time – except for the fact that toilet facilities were truly rural, consisting of an outdoor shed and a wooden one-holer -well away from the house, which had to cleaned out every so often!!!! A truly new experience!!! One of our jobs, as children, was to cut up the newspaper into squares, thread the sheets with string and hang them in the “carsey”.

We all went to the local school which was a long walk from the house. We didn't mind – it provided another opportunity for fun and games and the countryside was a new experience for me and I loved it.

Came the day when my Mother went to the stately home of the Dewar family, which has been turned into a maternity hospital. My father came to St Ippolyts to greet the new arrival and was taken on the back of Uncle George's invalid chair to the hospital. On his return he just sat one the settee gazing into the distance muttering “Twins, twins!!!” and thus I learned that I had not one, but two sisters!!! I was thrilled, of course.

My brother, who had accompanied my Father, was highly amused. He loved them from the day they were born. My father soon had to return to London and work together with my brother who was on an apprentice scheme in the same factory. I was overjoyed to be staying at St Ippolyts with my uncle, aunt and cousins. But this rickety old house was not the place for my mother and two tiny babies.

We returned to London and my aunt, our mainstay during this difficult period, decided we should go on a Government evacuation scheme. We went on the train to Ashton-under-line and then on a bus to a huge hall, Whilst we were on the bus going to this final destination, a lady came down the aisle and, obviously in sympathy with my mother in having to endure the evacuation with two tiny babies to look after, handed my mother a £1 note. This was an enormous sum of money in those days and brought about a flood of tears from my mother and my aunt!! I was astounded that someone could give another person such a huge sum of money and have never forgotten the generosity of this unknown lady.

When we got off the bus we were directed into a hall, in which mattresses were scattered, and we were allocated our area. The first thing my mother did was to sit down and feed the twins. My mother always fed both babies at the same time. (I don't know whether this was to ensure both got their fair share!) She would have a baby under each arm, with each baby's head on a pillow in front of her, enabling access to my mother's breast, and their legs going round the Mum's back. It would have made a lovely picture it we had had face book !!

So here we were safe from the London blitz, but not very far from Liverpool where the Luftwaffe was giving the docks a pounding!! Next to our allocated place in the hall was a large, very friendly Irish Mother with several children and we had a ball playing on and around the mattresses until we were told off by the grown ups!!

Then came our turn to be allocated to a local family. We arrived at a terraced house and were welcome by the husband and wife. There were no children. We were shown to our room, a bit small for two grown women, a ten year old and two tiny babies, but that didn't matter, we were safe from the blitz! My aunt, who was somewhat fastidious, was examining our accommodation. My mum remarked on the marks on the walls. My aunt knew about such things: “bed bugs” she declared! and then commented on the damp marks about the room.

But, again, no matter: we were safe. We were called downstairs for a cup of tea and in the ensuing conversation, our kind hosts revealed that they had recently lost their baby with pneumonia!! That was it as far as my aunt and mum were concerned. They decided we would be safer, especially for the babies, facing the blitz.

So off we went, back to London again and my aunt and uncle's house (again) in Humber Road, Blackheath. There we spent most nights in the cellar and I went back to Halstow Road Primary School. Then the grown ups had another card up their sleeve to ensure our safety: we moved down to another aunt and uncle's house in Earls wood Street, Greenwich – a stone's throw from Humber Road!!

However, Auntie May and Uncle Ted had a secret weapon – they had a Morrison's shelter!! and my mum used to feed the twins in that and we would all huddle in it when the air raid siren went. As the blitz showed no sign of abating and London took on the chin all that the Luftwaffe could throw at it, it was decided that we had to go away again. My uncle bought a tiny cottage in London Coney not far from St Albans. It was a two up, two down with a scullery and an outside loo, but it was sanctuary as far as we were concerned. It turned out to be the ideal place. Mum and Auntie Em became relaxed and I and the twins thrived.

I went to the primary school in London Coney and the twins were growing up fast and developing into intelligent (and mischievous) girls. I was in my element when my cousin, Ron, came to stay in our “place of safety”. He was near to me in age and we became great mates. At the bottom of the garden was a gate and it allowed us access to gravel pits which had been flooded to make wonderful water places for birds, other animals and fish. My cousin Ron and I made rods and lines and floats and hooks and had a wonderful summer catching roach, perch, bream and the occasional pike. It was truly idyllic. But I had to go to school and Ronnie went back home.

At the local primary school I sat the 11 plus as it was called then. I passed and got a place at Parliament Hill Girls Grammar School. The London school had been evacuated to the St Albans' Girls Grammar School and since I was deemed a Londoner that's where I was placed I was delighted to get a telegram of congratulation from my Dad who was still in Welling and working in the Woolwich Arsenal. I'd never received a telegram before and I felt very important.

I was pleased I had got a place in what was a very good school and I started at the beginning of the Autumn term 1942. However I didn't appreciated at this time the privilege and opportunities I had access to. I didn't work very hard and my behaviour was deplorable – I was noisy and uncontrolled. I made a friend of Margaret who, like me, was confused with all the changes that were taking place in her life and was as daft as me. We were nicknamed Wallop and Jollop for some unknown reason by our classmates and I think we gloried in our apparent role as rebels. For me it was a salutary jolt when I was hauled up before the Headteacher and called to account about my behaviour and threatened that "there were many other girls wanting a place in the school who would be please to take my place". I think this brought me up with a jolt and I began to settle and make the most of the educational opportunities to which I had access.

My Mum's sister, Auntie Em was married to Charles who was a photographer with a national newspaper. He was a cultured, intelligent man and persuaded my Mother to send me to music lessons with a local teacher. I had started when I was about 10 and had made respectable progress, but starting at a selective school with the emphasis on homework it was a cast iron excuse to claim that I hadn't got time to practice as much as I should and therefore the music lessons ceased, which I came to bitterly regret later in life!

My Mother and Aunt used to go into St Albans to shop and on an occasion when my Mother went alone she returned highly excited with pilchards, a rare delicacy in those war years. Sadly my Mother had a very poor send of smell and when she opened the package to reveal her prize my Aunt reeled back. The pilchards were way past their best and were immediately consigned to the bin. My Mother was desolate!!! and so were we all.