In the early hours of 1 September 1939, the Government’s plans for evacuation swung into operation and the majority of the schools, teachers and mothers were moved before war was declared on 3 September. Such was the scale of the operation that Mr James Ede, the MP for South Shields, announced in Parliament, on 14 September 1939, that ‘we have during the past few days seen the most remarkable movement of the civil population ever recorded in history’.
Jessie Hetherington (née Robertson) was a Gateshead teacher who described the evacuation of her senior school, as being part of that ‘remarkable movement’:
As I prepared to leave home that morning, news came through that Germany had invaded Poland, and that Britain and France were mobilising. So, with a heavy heart and many forebodings I left home for school. During the afternoon teachers, children and tearful parents gathered in the playground where information was given as to our various destinations in the many pit villages of County Durham.
My destination was to a village near to Bishop Auckland with my pupils – about 40 thirteen and fourteen year olds. As the practice was to keep families together, there were younger brothers and sisters in my care. After tearful farewells between parents and children we boarded coaches to go to catch the train.1
Maureen Brass described the evacuation of children from St Dominic’s Infant School, in London, to Kettering:
The week before the evacuation, we gave parents lists of what the children should bring with them, made labels showing their names, the name of the school and the school number. Ours was school number 0302. On the morning of September 1st 1939, all the children assembled in school around 7.00am. The staff had arrived at 6.00am. At 8.00am we set out from the school, waved off by tearful mothers, grandmothers and others. The groups, Seniors, Juniors and Infants, with staff and helpers walked in fours to Kentish Town West Station. We all boarded a train that was waiting for us and set out into the unknown.2
Having helped prepare for the evacuation of Southpark School in Ilford, A.D. Wilshere went on to recount the moment of departure:
The playground was swarming with people. I made my way across it and found my helpers in the classroom. I read the instructions and distributed armbands as far as they would go. When I opened the door and found, not only the playground full but most of the ground floor as well, I confess I felt a momentary wave of helplessness. However I rallied a few staunch masculine helpers and kept the people where they were – confused bunches of women and children, husbands, friends.
We moved them upstairs into the respective classrooms, getting some order out of hopeless chaos and checking their names against my lists. We were now working against time but the checking was finished and the Town Hall was on the phone wanting to know my numbers. There were 430, but only to be expected as half of them had turned up in yesterday’s evacuations. Coaches had arrived and husbands were hastening to Seven Kings station with the evacuees’ luggage. At the station I handed over all the tickets and one list of names and then all into the waiting train.3
Many child evacuees remember leaving without an opportunity to say goodbye to their parents. Harry Flack’s mother took him to school that day, as usual, then returned home. ‘In less than fifteen minutes we left for the railway station. It was so quick that that my poor mother was unable to return in time to wave goodbye to the train that she knew I would be travelling on. She never forgot it!’4
James Martin and his brothers set off for Bridgwater, Somerset: ‘One day we were evacuated and a neighbour ran to tell our Mum that we had been taken to the train station. Mum ran to the train to wave goodbye, she had no idea where we were going.’5
When children did not return home from school at their usual time, parents gathered at the school gates to read the short, stark notices which announced the destination of the pupils and staff. When some of the children from Doreen Frisby’s school were put onto the wrong train, it caused confusion: ‘We girls had been put onto the wrong train at Waterloo Station to Templecombe in Dorset whilst our boys were sent to Petersfield. It was a couple of days before our parents knew where we had gone and a notice could be posted at our school.’6
Syd Hodges wrote to his wife, Hetty, regarding the evacuation of their daughter:
I walked by the school this morning and there was a poster outside saying that the school party had arrived at Keswick safely and that parents could write to their children thus:- Elizabeth Hodges, Central Newcastle High School, c/o Post Office, Keswick.7
Whilst some never had the opportunity to say their goodbyes, others were more fortunate. Nine-year-old John Hawkins described leaving Birmingham with his sister Rosie:
I arrived at school where a teacher was marking names off a clipboard. I joined Mum and Rosie then a teacher touched Mum’s arm and said softly ‘You can leave them now, Mother, they’ll be safe with me.’ Mum’s lips begin to tremble - she crouched down and kissed us tenderly on the cheek. The teacher shepherded us both into the waiting lines and handed us our evacuation labels. I slipped the bootlace over Rosie’s head, then my own, then tried to catch a glimpse of Mum amongst the crowd who waved at us through the railings. On we children marched, past the houses, shops and factories that we all knew so well, from which poured housewives, factory workers, shop assistants, men and women, young and old, to loudly cheer us on our way.
When we reached Tyseley station, Rosie and I hoped that we might catch a fleeting glimpse of Mum, but were swiftly ushered into a compartment. Howls of alarm arose from brothers and sisters who, with all the pushing and shoving, found themselves separated. Suddenly, everyone turned in amazement to see a frantic mother dash from the crowd and blindly force her way through the barrier onto the platform, to scoop her tiny, frightened daughter into her arms. She then ran, sobbing bitterly, from the station. Finally, when the platform was emptied and all the carriage doors had slammed noisily and firmly shut, a shrill whistle blew and the train slowly moved forward. Suddenly the watching crowd at the station erupted into a waving, shouting mass, whilst from every carriage window, little arms waved back frantically in reply, and kept on waving, until Tyseley station and their weeping parents, had completely disappeared from sight.8
On Guernsey, Ron Gould said farewell to his father: ‘He gave me what he had in his pocket, which was a ten shilling note [50 pence} and a nice, nearly new, penknife. The ten shillings lasted for two weeks and sadly I lost the knife on the River Bollin later in the year.’9
Lily Dwyer was six years old when she was evacuated from Liverpool to Gresford, North Wales: ‘I remember being at the railway station with my mother and lots of parents and young children. Quite a lot of the children were pleading with their parents not to send them away. I didn’t cry. I just accepted what was happening to me. However, my mother did cry and she kept on hugging me.’10
Marion Wraight was evacuated from Margate on the Kent coast with her brother:
Mum came to school to say goodbye to us and she had a parcel of clothes for Bill and me, but somehow I lost it. I didn’t mind being evacuated. My Mum, Rosa, had left my Dad in 1938 and took my sisters Lillian and Jean with her. Dad was really violent towards Mum, and I was frightened of Dad because he used to hit me with a belt when I was just 3 years old. He was a drinker, possibly alcoholic, I wasn’t too happy a lot of the time. I loved my brother, Bill, he was 2 years older than me, and he looked out for me when we were evacuated.11
Doreen Acton (née Mason) left Southend with Westcliff High School:
I remember waving good-bye to my mother at our house and was surprised to see her eyes fill with tears. There did not appear to be any immediate danger either to my parents or to us. We had no idea where we were going and as the long train journey progressed, rumours began to circulate. Finally we were told it was to be Chapelen-le-frith in Derbyshire. We had been told to bring sleeping attire and a change of clothes and toiletries. It was rather like going off to Guide camp.12
Jean Noble will never forget the chaotic and even traumatic scenes she witnessed at Waterloo railway station:
Just before Mum took the two of us to Waterloo, my grandmother hugged and kissed us tearfully and stood at the corner of Rectory and Brook Roads, waving after us until we disappeared from sight. Having experienced being taken fighting and screaming from home on a stretcher when I had been ill, I realised there was nothing I could do to prevent what was happening so I just accepted it. Waterloo was busy - the forecourt was packed with people, buses, coaches, taxis and cars mobilised to bring school children and their escorts to the station. The noise in the concourse was tremendous with hundreds of bewildered children, panicking parents, agitated teachers, concerned station attendants, WVS members, and assertive charity workers, some carrying a banner with a school number on it, milling about while trying to gather their groups together.
The crush was frightening with children trying to keep connected to their own little group while being pushed and jostled towards various railway platforms. Many appeared bewildered or close to tears as they were pressed forward towards the gates to the platforms as those in charge tried to prevent their group breaking up while trying to keep some sort of order. I learned later that parents were not supposed to accompany their children to the station unless they were helping with the evacuation arrangements because there was no room for them, but many parents were trying to link up with their children at the station before they boarded the train. I held tightly on to Mum’s coat as she juggled with two large suitcases and two children aged 7 and 10.
Because we were not being evacuated with a school she was allowed to accompany us onto the platform where she reminded me that my brother Bern, who was three years older, was in charge. On reflection - for a ten year old he took his responsibility seriously and was stoical and not showing any sign of distress. Mum found us a carriage with seats by the window and then waited on the platform, calling out last minute instructions to behave ourselves and who to look out for when we arrived. I sat letting all this flow around me and then, as the guard blew his whistle and the train started to pull away, I saw my mother’s face crumple in abject misery and her floodgate of tears opened, which set me off and I grizzled for the rest of the journey.13
Alfred Goble also has vivid memories of evacuation day:
We went down to Hollington School down in Battle Road. My dad and elder sisters couldn’t go, but my younger sister, myself and mum went. We waited for the buses and it seemed eternal! All we kept saying to Mum was ‘Let’s go home!’ Anyway, at last the coaches came to take us to the station. We got on the train and it took ages and ages. They had to keep stopping because of air raid attacks along the way and some of them were a long time waiting, making us fed up and miserable.14
Some evacuees remember very little about the journey to their new home, whilst others can recall almost every detail. Peter Campbell travelled by train to Wales, a journey which seemed endless:
It was a terrible journey - the sun was too hot through the windows of the train and there were air raids. We did not reach Merthyr Tydfil until 5.30pm. There were no buses to meet us so we were told we would have to walk to a mission hall, which was at the top of this steep hill. We set off to walk in twos hand in hand. People were lining the street right to the top, waving flags and cheering. I think they were trying to make us welcome, some were crying especially the women. I suppose they felt sorry for us.
Half way up the hill the string on my parcel came off and I dropped everything all over the street. Some kind ladies ran forward and picked them all up, wrapped them up again and carried it up to the mission hall. When we arrived we were given lemonade and cakes to eat while the teachers and staff decided what would happen next. We were all very tired and wanted to sleep. After a while they came to us, that is me and my brother and sisters, and told us we would not all be able to stay together, that me being the youngest would stay with my eldest sister Pat which was good but my other sister Ivy would be on her own, as would Gordon and Terry. Soon a couple came to us to take us to their home, a Mr and Mrs Evans.15
Peter Hopper’s mother died when he was six months old so it was his father who made the decision to send him away with a group of Grimsby evacuees: ‘When my father prepared for war service with the RAF, the choice for me was to be placed in a children’s home, or be evacuated. So I joined the train taking three hundred other children heading for Skegness.’16
Audrey and Gwen Woodhatch were evacuated to Devon in early June 1940 and Audrey recalls:
We had our photographs taken in the garden at Kangley Bridge Road and then, with our gas masks on our shoulders, we waved goodbye at the local school and boarded a coach. The journey from London on a steam train for 5 hours or more was obviously very boring for a little 5 year old so I remember passing the time with my knitting.17
Alan Boast lived in a children’s home in Lowestoft and remembers the journey to Derbyshire during his evacuation in great detail:
On this Sunday, us Home boys were told to be ready for Church early! This was unusual, as I didn’t think it was the Sunday for Holy Communion – something was going on! We had some breakfast, which proved the point because you didn’t eat before communion. However, gas masks at the ready off we set. To our surprise we didn’t turn into St. Margaret’s Church but carried straight on past the big tree in the road, over Rotterdam Road Bridge and through the town. Straight to the station we went, which was near the bridge.
The sight that met my eyes when we arrived at the station was something I will never forget. There were children everywhere, hundreds of them – and I was one! We were told we were being evacuated for our safety, and would be going school by school, not as Home boys. We were told that along the road, at the side of the station, our teachers would be waiting for us, as they were coming with us. So us Home boys were split up into our school classes. We then had to wait until our school was called. We were taken to the front of the station where ladies were waiting for us.
They had lots of labels and wrote our name, school and age on each one and tied or pinned it to our clothes. This must not be taken off, we were told. On to the platform where our train was being reversed in. If needed – go to the toilet, as it would be some time before we could go again! We were then lined up, and more ladies arrived, with a trolley-full of boxes. They gave us two sticks of barley sugar each. These were long sweets. We were told to wait until we were on our way before sucking them, as they were to combat ‘travel sickness’ – whatever that was! Where on earth they produced barley sugar sticks from I shall never know – but somebody had thought about it - talk about being organised! Into the carriages we were shown, teachers and all, and off we went! Major Humphrey (the Mayor) spoke to every child that left that day. He told us that the honour of Lowestoft rested on our shoulders, and we had to be wellbehaved. A lot of the boys had never been on a train before, but of course, having lived at Yarmouth with my Uncle Fred (a traindriver) I knew all about it.
The journey took a long while and we stopped twice for toilets. On the platform were ladies of the WVS with urns of lemonade, cakes and biscuits etc. The organisation was spot-on – this had all been arranged in such a short time! While everybody was milling about on the platform, I took a stroll down to the front of the train, to see the engine. I wanted to see what kind it was, didn’t I – well that’s me! I recall speaking to the driver and fireman. When I returned to the carriage, I was told off, and also told not to wander about as it was dangerous. All aboard and off we go again and at last we reached our final destination. There it was, a little village station – the name plate on the platform said Clowne. I said, ‘Clowne? Hang about – they are funny people who run around in a circus!’ As things turned out, it was to be my home for the next year and nine months.18
During his journey, Francis Rutter was separated from his brothers and sisters:
The train ride from London was cramped and we didn’t even have access to a toilet. Some children had to wee on the floor, including my poor sister as it was such a long journey. However, the hardest part was saying goodbye to my brothers and sisters when they all got off the train at Oxford. Being so young I didn’t understand why we couldn’t all be together. I had to stay on the train until we reached Redruth, Cornwall.19
Many other evacuees remember the lack of toilet facilities on those overcrowded trains. When a group of mothers was put on a train to Wrexham which had no facilities, the matter was subsequently raised in the House of Commons: ‘They were taken a journey of 120 miles in a non-corridor train. Who was responsible for that?’20
During these long journeys, a great deal of kindness was shown to the evacuees by volunteers, many of whom were members of the Women’s Voluntary Service. John Mallett recalls: ‘We were not allowed off the carriages, so the ladies held up to us unbuttered fresh bread and hunks of cheddar cheese, which up to that day I had not particularly liked. To this day, I look at cheddar cheese with great respect and liking!’21
When Irene Wood left Salford for Hambleton, Lancashire, she was given a bag which contained food items. ‘Among these were a thick block of chocolate, a packet of biscuits and a packet of cream crackers,’ she recalled. ‘The mischievous older lads began shouting “When this is gone, that’s your lot. You’re going to starve to death” which reduced some of the girls to tears.’22
Thousands of evacuees travelled to their new homes by ship. One of these youngsters, George Osborn, was evacuated from Portsmouth to the Isle of Wight:
The great engines, powered by steam from the coal-fired boiler, slowly turned the two large paddles, thrashing and churning a watery roadway of bubbles in their wake. What a thrill, and how very different from the little paddle boats we had seen on the boating lake at Southsea in the summer months. When we arrived at Ryde Pier, my sister Brenda and I were no more than six miles from our home in Portsmouth, as the seagull flies, but we may as well have been a hundred miles away.
At the reception end, things weren’t quite so well organised. They had not been told how many children were coming, what time they would arrive, their ages, how many mothers were coming (with children under five years of age), and many other things. In fact it was so chaotic that an immediate thinning out was achieved at the reception end, by several mothers and their toddlers or babies simply catching a return train and ferry back home to Portsmouth! We then boarded a train at Ryde pierhead. Children, helpers, teachers and a few mothers with their under-fives were then dropped off at each railway station between Ryde and Newport.23
After a five-mile walk to Dagenham docks, Derek Trayler’s school boarded paddle steamers bound for Yarmouth:
I remember being got up for school while it was still dark and our parents coming right into our class and talking to our teacher and the other parents. Then we were going along Kenneth Road, Dagenham, which runs parallel with the High street. We came out into Station Road at the foot of the bridge that leads up to Chadwell Heath railway station. Two roads converge at this point with Wangey Road and Station Road merging to go over the station bridge. There was a crocodile of children going back as far as you could see and going up the bridge until they disappeared down the other side.
We joined the procession and started to move up the bridge to the station at the top. This is about 100 yards and normally takes a few minutes but we were moving very slowly.
It was still dark at the bottom but dawn was breaking by the time we got halfway. It was completely light by the time we got to the top and could see the other side. What we saw was the most amazing sight and one I hope we never see again. From the station and all the way down Valance Avenue was a complete line of young children going on into the distance. Out of each side turning there were more crocodiles of children emerging. Each one was adding to the line which by now was spreading half way across Dagenham. It was as if some modern Pied Piper was luring away all the children from the borough.
Eventually we arrived at Dagenham docks after walking five miles. Facing us were three paddle steamers tied up at the wharf. These normally took Londoners on excursions to Southend and Margate but had been chartered to take evacuees out of London to avoid the Blitz. We crossed the gangplank with the usual cries of, ‘Don’t look down’ but of course we did!! On deck we were told to go on round to the other side where we crossed an even longer gangplank to the next ship. Finally we got to the far side and hung on the rail without moving, all the way down the Thames, up the East Coast until we turned in to Yarmouth.24
Ronald Brash left Pollokshields, Glasgow, with Kelvinside Academy, for the Isle of Arran:
At the entrance to Hampden Park football ground were to be seen groups of boys, teachers and parents. Rector Mr S W Clark was going around talking to the boys, some of whom, perhaps, he was speaking to for the last time. Arrangements were made for cars to carry all the luggage to Crosshill Station whither we now set out. After final farewells to parents and friends, we trooped down into the station and boarded the train. Soon we were speeding away from Glasgow, on the rarely-used Caledonian line to Ardrossan.
There the difficulty of transporting luggage from the train to the boat arose, but somehow or other we managed it. The excursion steamer Duchess of Hamilton was being used as an ‘evacuee ship’ as there were so many children from other schools being brought to Arran as well as ourselves. The calm sea was a deep blue and a heat haze enveloped the lofty peaks of distant Arran which was to be our home for – no one could tell how long. We stood on the upper deck eating sandwiches, cold pies and other victuals we had brought with us to sustain ourselves on the journey, whilst a cool breeze fanned our faces.25
Ralph Risk was also evacuated with Kelvinside Academy:
I was six years old and do not remember the train journey from Hampden Park to Ardrossan, nor the ferry trip. This is surprising as my father was President of Queen’s Park Football Club! However, I remember being very upset that evening, and was comforted by Mrs Young, the junior school teacher. The following day was fateful for Britain but also for me. It was my 7th birthday and at 11am it was announced on the radio that Britain was at war with Germany. I had received a present of a Dinky truck complete with a wind-up barrage balloon, and was very upset when the older boys used the balloon as a football and damaged it beyond repair.26
Over 25,000 school children, infants and mothers were evacuated from the Channel Islands of Jersey, Guernsey, Alderney and Sark in June 1940. Although some left by air, the majority crossed the English Channel in overcrowded mail and cargo boats. Ted Hockey, the harbour signaller, heard officials persuading people not to leave Guernsey:
They said that trade would carry on as usual, there would be no worry or trouble and if it came to the worst, they would see that everybody got safely away. They had cars going round with posters saying ‘Don’t be yellow.’ As a result of this, I saw one ship which could have carried 4,000 people and I doubt she carried more than 50.27
Also on Guernsey, student teacher Merle Roberts recalled ‘people trying to decide what to do. The noise was terrific, with broadcasts telling people “not to be yellow” or not to leave the island.’28
During this confusion, some parents changed their minds about sending their children to England, and Guernsey’s Education Council noted:
Throughout the evacuation, the ship’s crews were greatly handicapped by parents changing their minds. Actually 755 teachers and helpers had registered at the Vale and Torteval schools but there were many withdrawals at the last moments. We were able to get 76 Alderney children aboard the Sheringham, in addition to the local schools.29
The crew of the SS Antwerp assisted with the evacuation of Guernsey and Second Officer, Cliff Witchell, noted in his journal:
Thursday 20 June - Left at 12:30. Air raid on. Planes overhead but no action. Fires started in Southampton. Arrived at Guernsey at 8:35 and left at 9:45 with 1200 women and children. Arrived Weymouth and anchored at 3:00. Hove up at 6:15. Alongside 6:45. Left at 8:15 and anchored. Bed at 10:30pm. Saturday 22 June – Some day! Arrived Guernsey 6:30am. Paddy, self and Warrant Officer busy for 2-3 hours taking evacuees by car to (SS) Sheringham. Sailed at 1:00 with 1978 passengers. Arrived Weymouth and anchored 6:15. Alongside 9:45, but only 1000 allowed off. Passengers sleeping all over decks and my cabin full up.30
John Petit was shocked by conditions on board his evacuation ship:
The vessel taking us to England was the Batavia IV and the whole school, with its teachers, filed in an orderly fashion on board. We descended into the acrid-smelling between decks and lower holds of the ship. The holds emitted a strong smell of excrement and urine and we learned later that the vessel had been used to evacuate British troops from St. Valery in Normandy.31
Violet Hatton’s husband, Elijah, was among the troops who had been evacuated from Normandy. Violet fled Guernsey with her mother, sisters and six-month-old son, Brian. When she reached Weymouth, she was offended by the reaction of some of the volunteers: ‘There were French interpreters who thought we spoke a foreign language and that we wore grass skirts! One of them even showed us how to use an electric light! We told them we were British citizens and that we had everything like that in the Channel Islands.’32
Leonard and Alyce Garfath Cox fled Jersey with their four children. Leonard later recalled:
Our sons were put onto a cargo boat but the rest of us could not find room on any ship. I returned to the boys’ boat, asking ‘Will you please just take my wife and daughters? I’m too old.’ The man on the gangway agreed, then as he saw our tearful farewells, said ‘Oh come on, old man, get on!’ We settled down on the hatch-cover of a hold as the sun was setting on a calm sea, and after an uneventful night, we berthed at Weymouth. We were asked if we had relatives or friends who could accommodate us in the UK, but like us, the majority had nowhere to go and very little money.33
Graeme Cox adds to the family story:
We boarded a train and soon realised that we were heading north. The following morning we pulled into a station where I managed to read a painted-out sign ‘Rochdale.’ I had never heard of the place, but someone mentioned that it was where Gracie Fields came from. This trivial bit of information was strangely comforting. I had seen Gracie Fields in films and felt that if they were like her in Rochdale we would be all right. We were taken to a large empty house where women and girls were placed in some rooms and men and boys in others and my father was put in charge of the group. Our reception by the local people was basic but wonderful because they were so welcoming.34
During this hectic cross-channel activity and despite the very real and growing threat of a German invasion, on 22 June 1940 a holiday advertisement appeared in The Times: ‘Channel Islands, Jersey. St Brelade’s Bay Hotel. The safest place on earth. Dream in peace to the whisper of the warm south winds, where summer is ever a reality.’
Marjorie Lewis will never forget the kindness of a London policeman:
We travelled on the Duke of York to Weymouth then, through the army, we got tickets to go to where Bert was stationed in Yorkshire. We stopped off in London to have a break for a day and night, but could find no lodgings; I broke down and sat down on the street and cried that no one wanted us. A policeman came and rescued us and took us to his lodging room, however, the two ladies that rented his room to him didn’t want to know and refused us his room. I ran down the stairs into the street crying, ‘They don’t want us either.’ The policeman brought us back and explained to the two old ladies, they could not have been kinder to us all. On Monday, Bert went to the army people and he got tickets for Rosemary and I to travel back to Weymouth to join the other evacuees.35
Miss Grace Fry arrived in Weymouth just as an air raid warning was taking place:
My pupils and I were pushed out of the building onto a bus, then to my horror, the driver locked the door and disappeared. The children had been sick on the boat and were dropping off the bus seats in the dark because they were tired. After an hour, I had given up and thought, ‘Well, this is the end, if a bomb falls on us, I hope it happens quickly!’ Then the driver unlocked the door and said ‘Out!’ I had to feel with my foot under the seats in the dark to check whether I had all the children or not! We were then sent to the railway station.
Young soldiers began to push the children onto a train, then suddenly this big Major came out of the darkness, and said ‘Madam, will you go on with your children?!’ and I said ‘But where?’ Well, the train started to move, and a young Lieutenant came running down the platform, grabbed my hand and said ‘Can you run?’ and we set off at a terrific lick! A steward appeared in a white coat, at the open train door, and this young soldier pushed me into his arms, and then off we went. We were sent to Pollokshields, Glasgow, where one of the volunteers asked me if my group were Belgian!36
Mr Frederick Veale acted as a Liaison Officer, assisting thousands of evacuees:
Whilst the evacuation was proceeding, very little was known of the final destination of the refugees in England. I was selected as one of three Liaison Officers who would deal with matters between the English and Guernsey authorities. We left Guernsey on 22 June and were received with courtesy in Weymouth, but found that most of the refugees had moved on with others volunteering to join H.M Forces. We were advised that care had been taken to place food and water on all the trains.
I later discovered that many had travelled long distances without refreshments, and that some were actually locked in trains without sanitary conveniences. They had arrived at their destinations in a distressed condition. In some areas the officials were working closely to the Ministry’s instructions for dealing with ‘foreign war refugees’ and restrictions which were designed to deal with groups of aliens – causing some friction between the officials and the islanders, who are of course, British subjects.37
Philip Godfray was Headmaster of Alderney School and he described the Channel crossing:
The total length of the journey from Alderney to England was sixty hours, with the delays. For the whole of this period the amazing spirit and faith of the children enabled them to respond to our guidance without a single whimper or word of complaint. At 5.30pm the ship parted from the historic quay. The National Anthem was struck up as the gap quickly widened between the silent crowds on shore and on board. It was, as any other music would have been, ridiculously inappropriate, but both sides, linked across the space by so many ties of parenthood and ‘islandship’ felt the need for a parting act together, and so that unique and mercifully short music filled the gap.
I was standing just below the boat’s bridge when the Blue Warning was brought down to me – an Air Raid at sea. I sent the boys down into the hold, while the others crowded under the shelter of the superstructure. Ten minutes crept by, half an hour. The gunner looked about him with a slightly disappointed expression. His rugged face seemed to say ‘Just let me have a shot at the blasted Nazis.’ More time passed. We began to nibble the sandwiches made in Guernsey. This frugal meal broke the spell. Ninety minutes. Suddenly the transmitted buzzed and spluttered into welcome staccato. It was over. And then, to the delighted eyes of our boys and girls, came the Cliffs, the long lanes of ships, the Docks, the trains, each to be explained, each part of the blessed wonder – of England.38
In July 1940, Lourdes Cavilla was evacuated from Gibraltar with her mother and younger siblings:
Before we sailed for the UK, I remember my father sewing with a huge needle a large white stencilled material with our name on it, which contained our personal effects. He made a great job of it. We did not possess or couldn’t afford suitcases. It felt like a long time on board the ship, I think it was seventeen days to the United Kingdom, zigzagging due to U boats. We were treated very kindly by the sailors but it was very uncomfortable in the hold of the ship. I have hated boats ever since, especially the smell!39
The Gibraltar evacuees endured terrible journeys due to overcrowding. Lourdes Galliano also recalls that there were food shortages on her ship:
Due to poor storage conditions and the intense heat, everything was covered in green mould. A human chain was formed on the deck and out of the hold came the meat, bread, fruit and vegetables that were to have fed us for the rest of our journey. They were thrown overboard to give the fish a good meal! The next day we were given boiled rice, which we could not eat because it was full of weevils, but the day after that when the rice came round, we decided it was better than nothing. After that, rice became our daily ration (the weevils were pushed to one side) till the end of our journey which was still 12 long days away.
As the days passed, our rice ration became smaller and we began to develop boils and mouth sores. Some days later there was excitement as we saw land. As we neared the harbour, small craft came alongside and asked, ‘How are you? is there anything you want?’ We were leaning out over the deck and someone shouted ‘We are hungry! We want bread!’
After a while two speedboats appeared which were loaded with baskets full of loaves of bread. We sat down on the deck and people handed each person a whole loaf, then a basket of tomatoes appeared and we had one each. Finally a basket of eggs. We berthed, but that evening the ship had to raise anchor and move out into the Bristol Channel as a big air raid took place. We watched, terrified, as bombs fell and exploded on the town. They eventually died away and we were allowed to berth once more.40