Harringay evacuees

My Mum (now 89) was brought up in Harringay.

She has written a book recording the war years 1939 - 1945 as they affected her and her family. Obviously I'm not going to copy and paste the whole thing here, but I wondered if this extract sparked any memories:

"On that Friday morning we all massed in the playground – hordes of children from both South Harringay School and Hornsey County Grammar School. Mums were there to wave their children off, while others, like ours, were coming with us, complete with toddlers and babies.

 The officials tried to assemble us in some sort of order; with our party it was difficult for Dorothy should have gone with her Junior School classmates, me with the Hornsey County group, and Mum and John with the mother and toddler contingent. We were on three separate lists it appeared. Mum was not having that and insisted we were all staying together, even though the officials assured her we’d all eventually arrive at the same place.

 Fleets of coaches, or charabancs as we called them in those days, were lined up outside the school to transport us to we knew not where.  Nobody knew where we were going; it was all a deadly secret, very hush-hush. Parents were virtually sending their children off into the unknown, and there were many exhortations to “write and let us know where you are” passed around. Why the parents could not be told where their children were going I do not know, many must have spent anxious days worrying about their children and waiting for information as to their whereabouts.

 As Mum was so insistent that we four were to travel on the same coach, it was finally agreed that Dorothy and I should join a mother and toddler group. We waved our respective classmates onto their coaches and climbed aboard a coach full of mothers and under fives. Dorothy and I were the only school-age children on that coach – a fact that was to cause problems later on. The coaches eventually took off in convoy; it was all very exciting with everybody waving to each other. The mothers left behind looked rather forlorn as the coaches increased speed and some of the children on them became tearful.

 I thought I ought to be singing my head off - all that rehearsing! But none of the Mums on our coach looked like breaking into song and I did not feel like starting up on my own. Because of the young children on our coach, the driver was obliged to make several stops – comfort stops I believe they are called now – and eventually the inevitable happened. He got left behind and completely lost track of the other coaches. The driver had not been told our final destination, he only knew that it was somewhere on the Cambridge/Norfolk border.

 The coach kept on going and by the middle of the afternoon everyone was becoming increasingly frustrated. Babies and toddlers were tired and crying, mothers tried to cope with them, while the harassed driver desperately tried to find his way. He kept stopping at villages, asking for news of the rest of the evacuation party, but nobody had seen any coaches passing through. We went round and round, and on and on, until eventually he drew up at a large hall in the village of Upwell.

 **************

 The W.R.V.S. were out in force and great excitement greeted our coach. They had been told to expect some evacuees, and having laid on urns of tea, cakes and sandwiches etc. were becoming increasingly worried when no evacuees had turned up. Cries of welcome greeted us and we were helped off the coach, but before the first cup of tea passed anyone’s lips, it was realised that we were not the expected party, but a different group altogether. There we stood, the mothers tired and gasping for a cup of tea, while the good ladies of the W.R.V.S. wondered what to do. They were reluctant to dispense their tea and cakes to this stray crowd, when any minute now, their bona-fide evacuees could also turn up needing refreshment.

 After much discussion, and probably telephone calls to some distant body, we were all led into the hall and the food and the tea made available. We still did not know if we were staying there, but eventually the powers that be stated that as we were ‘in situ’ as it were, Upwell might as well have this lot rather than those planned for the village. Though it was a bird-in-the-hand situation, the Upwell officials were not very pleased. They had been told to expect school children and had canvassed the village for householders willing to take in a child. To be suddenly faced with placing mothers and toddlers was a very different proposition.

 We all sat around on long forms, for hours it seemed, while villagers were encouraged to take their pick. They came in, in ones and two’s, walked around us and looked us over; it was a most unnerving experience. We sat still and quite, trying to look pleasant and acceptable, whilst warily eyeing up our would-be hosts. After careful deliberation one little family would be chosen, usually a mother with just one child, and they would be transported away by a member of the W.R.V.S. Our party was the largest with Mum and three children and the officials said we would have to be split up; nobody in the village could take us all. Mum did her solidarity bit again and said we were all staying together, she would not hear of us being separated. We sat on while the room slowly emptied of mothers and children.

 We had all been given a brown carrier bag of ‘iron rations’ to be given to our prospective householder. Delving into this bag – which we had been expressly forbidden to do – I found an enormous bar of Cadbury’s milk chocolate. I had never seen such a large bar before; we often had a small bar each at home, but this bar was more mouth-watering than anything I had ever seen. When we had our little bars, Dad had always insisted that we broke off a square at a time and daintily popped this morsel into our mouths. I had always longed to chomp at the total slab, and now here was this enormous bar in my hands! Behind cover of the bag, and shielded by Mum, I surreptitiously peeled off the silver paper and took one huge bite.

 Suddenly the air was rent by a thunderous shout from a hatchet-faced lady who rushed over and snatched the chocolate from my hands. She proceeded to rant and rave at me for daring to open my bag, let alone to actually start eating its contents – this appeared the ultimate sin! Mum was rounded on for letting me behave in this way, which left her quite bewildered as she had not even been aware of my misdeeds. Poor Dorothy was subjected to a lecture should she have the temerity to touch her bag, which succeeded in reducing her to tears. In all the upset and shouting little John wet himself and a large puddle slowly crept over the floor."