Far Side of the World (and back again!)
The war had been going for nearly a year when my parents received the news that my sister Joyce (aged 12) and I (aged 10) had been selected with other children from Bristol to be evacuated to New Zealand through the CORB Scheme.
I was not aware at the time that we had been chosen from "deprived" families. I knew that we were not rich but we did have our own shoes! Some official help was given in outfitting the pair of us to the required standard and for the first time in my life I had all new clothes, instead of second-hand, and I had a real toothbrush with a small tin of toothpaste.
For security reasons, our parents were given strict instructions not to tell anyone we were leaving. So, apart from everyone at school and all our relatives, nobody knew! There were hurried goodbyes to members of the family and I raised the princely sum of twelve shillings and sixpence to take with me. For someone used to two pence a week pocket money this was a small fortune.
I was not sad to leave. Home was a tiny terraced house with a small backyard and the remains of our neighbour's house across the road staring at us through our cracked front windows. I shared a bed with the lodger and felt hard done by most of the time. We lived near a crossroads and every night the anti-aircraft gun arrived and disturbed us more that the Germans ever could as Mum, my sister and I tried to sleep under the stairs. Dad and the lodger curled up under the table during prolonged night raids.
At school we spent a great deal of our time in the damp, smelly shelters under the school playground and our education was beginning to be seriously interrupted on a daily basis. I was, however, up to date with the "Sea Vacs" serial in my weekly comic so I knew exactly what to expect. There would be fun and games and I would be the hero who sighted the u-boat periscope and saved the convoy!
We nearly did not get away. There was a long air raid that morning and Dad got hold of two air raid wardens to escort us all to Templemeads Station on foot as trams stopped running during the alert. Access to the station from our direction was blocked because of unexploded bombs and we had to take an alternative route, arriving with minutes to spare and just enough time to register and get our little labels. Then time to say goodbye. We were not a demonstrative family so the goodbyes were brief. Joyce and I joined the others on the train and I was too excited to even look back as the train steamed out of the station.
We arrived at Liverpool and stayed for a few days at what appeared to be a large school. We then embarked on RMS "Rangitata" one evening and overnight slipped out of harbour. It was 28 August 1940. The next morning we awoke to a steward with a cup of tea and a biscuit and the throb of giant engines under our feet. A new, strange and exciting world!
Outside of the ship we were surrounded by ships stretching in all directions. We were centre of Convoy OB 205 bound Liverpool to Halifax. To our right, not far away, was the Dutch liner "Volendam" carrying evacuees to Canada, children we had been playing with only the day before. A lone destroyer patrolled between the columns of ships, causing great excitement each time it passed.
Instead of bread and marge in the mornings I now had a fried breakfast with bread rolls (never heard of them before). There was mid-morning and mid-afternoon tea. Instead of dinner in the middle of the day we had "lunch". In the evenings I could tuck into soup followed by what seemed to be a Sunday dinner and pudding - every day. What luxury! Luckily, our table steward was able to show me how to navigate through all the knives and forks.
The downside for me was that we were in the clutches of Miss Dromgool, the head escort. She was a strict disciplinarian and, looking back, I suspect a number of us were in need of a little discipline! Our batch escort was Kyrsty Page, a wonderful, caring lady who kept us clean and tidy and looked to all our wants and welfare. Cuddles were never known in my home, but Kyrsty was always willing to cuddle away any perceived problems or worries. I was to know her for many years and, like all those who were privileged to know her, loved her dearly.
Like many escorts, she was left with precious little appreciation from a government which found it difficult to thank her, and those like her, on our behalf. Some escorts actually lost life and limb as a reward for their efforts. Were she here today, she would no doubt say that the life long love and devotion of "her children" was thanks enough.
For the first days, many children were quite sick. The sea was dark and forbidding and the fun and games of the "Sea Vacs" were yet to materialise. The more adventurous of us began finding our way around with a view to future fun and enjoyment although Miss D had promised us some schooling when things had settled down.
Unknown to us, however, a U-boat lurked ahead of us and the convoy was attacked late in the evening of 30 August. I was suddenly woken to thumping noises and the sound of the alarm bells. We put on our lifebelts and stumbled our way to the boat stations on the first class deck, on the way sighting the "Volendam", brightly lit and apparently on fire, falling astern of us. Someone said that a lookout on the front of the ship had actually seen the torpedo passing just a yard ahead of the "Rangitata" before it hit the unfortunate ship. We heard that the convoy had been ordered to scatter and felt the engines below vibrating as the ship picked up speed. It was probably a terrifying night for the older children and adults but I found it an exciting experience. We lay on the deck just outside the lounge, wrapped in blankets. There was chatter, chaos, hot Bovril and biscuits to see us through until morning. Despite being summer, it was quite chilly and we were eventually taken under cover and fell asleep on the soft luxurious carpet of the first class lounge.
It was some time before we were allowed to take our lifebelts off and return to our own accommodation. Then day followed day with mornings devoted to simple lessons and afternoons full of wonder at the size of the ocean and the wide open skies. The weather warmed and life was great. My sea experience until that time had been a day at Weston-Super-Mare or a day trip to London and a return ticket on the Woolwich ferry. Unbelievably deep blue sea and bright blue skies became an enduring memory.
The fate of those aboard "Volendam" and the more melancholy circumstances surrounding the fate of those aboard "City of Benares" was kept from us for a long, long time.
For us, however, the bright sunny days passed rapidly as we proceeded direct to Panama. On arrival, we evacuees were met by many of the local people who took us out for the day, showed us the sights of the Canal Zone and completely spoilt us. It was a day to remember. More sunshine, lemonade and all the good things you could eat. The wonderful hospitality and the thrill of passing through the canal added more to our abiding memories.
The Pacific crossing was some three weeks of more glorious sunshine, blue seas, swimming in the little pool the crew made up and more fun and games. I really felt I was a true "Sea Vac" even if I had not seen the submarine periscope and saved the convoy.
Eventually, we arrived at our destination and secured alongside at Wellington. My sister and I were in a party of 24 children who were sent off to Auckland. We travelled overnight by train, passing real volcanoes and arrived at our destination early the next morning. We stayed at a children's home for a few days and were then parcelled out to foster parents. It seemed that no one wanted a pair so Joyce and I were split up. I went to a very rich family in Remuera and Joyce to a working class family on the other side of the city. We met once a fortnight for a couple of hours' play.
I was overwhelmed by my new family. They had a large house in what seemed to be a park to me. They had two cars and their back garden had its own lagoon where all the boys had their own small boats, sailing dinghies, canoes etc. They had a large property to the north of the city with its own private beach where we spent holidays. I knew I was not in Bristol, finding myself in an environment where boys did not play out in the street and where strange things like doing dishes, cleaning your own room and helping cut the lawns were part of every day life.
I had hard lessons to learn. My foster mother was sweet and kind and looked after me. My foster father was quite strict and supervised me having cold showers every morning and scrutinised every piece of work I had to do. They had one son, a year older than me. I was bullied a little and, looking back, I can understand the culture clash of a back-street boy from Bristol descending on a refined and respected local family.
My table manners left a lot to be desired and it was hard being taught, quite severely at times, how to eat food and behave properly at the table.
After nearly two years, there was some sort of illness in the family and I had to "move on". I found myself with an elderly couple in the middleclass area of Parnell. It was pleasant enough here and I was allowed to have outside friends. My new foster mother felt that I was too young to clean myself (at 12!) and spent an awful lot of time giving me a daily bath. At least I had no daily chores to do.
This situation only lasted a few months. They had a son in the RNZAF and he was invalided out after an accident. There was no room for me to continue staying so I was on the move again.
There was some difficulty finding me another home at this time. The novelty of poor English children had obviously worn off. A place was eventually found for me with relatives of the family my sister stayed with. My new foster parents were an 86 year old Maori princess and her unmarried daughter who had recently had a stroke!
Here again, I became a bit of a drudge doing gardening, grass cutting and generally finding life very hard. No chores, no pocket money! Nevertheless, I was not far from my sister. After a while, I settled down and began to enjoy myself. I made many friends, including my first girl friend. I had a short period at Grammar School and won a scholarship to the School of Art.
I joined the Boy scouts, where I managed to become acting Troop Leader before returning home. I took up a paper round which gave me good pocket money and a certain amount of independence. As I learned to work hard, I earned the respect of "Grandma" as I used to call her and she was a fund of interesting Maori history and customs. I learnt much from her.
My little world came to an end when Germany surrendered. CORB, for some reason, decided that we evacuees should now return to UK. So it was, Joyce and I found ourselves back at Wellington embarking on SS "Themistocles" which sailed for UK in August 1945. The ship was five days out when the Japanese surrendered. To this day, I cannot understand why CORB risked sending us across the wide Pacific whilst the war with Japan was still raging.
There were not many passengers on board. Half of them were returning evacuees, nineteen boys and twenty-one girls. We spent over seven weeks on the voyage passing through the Panama again and spending a week at Jamaica. What a trip that was! Blue seas, sunshine and all of us between 15 and 20. The ship remained blacked out until we passed through the canal, although we were allowed on deck after dark. I do not think my comic would have had any episodes of this trip in their "Sea Vacs" adventures!
All good things come to an end. We eventually arrived at a grey, subdued Liverpool, stayed the night at a horrendous house where all there was to eat was dark bread and margarine. "There's been a war, you know!" The following day, we took a train through the most dull, overcrowded and dismal countryside I could ever remember and finally met my mother and the lodger at Templemeads Station. Dad was still somewhere overseas. Over five years had passed and we did not know each other. Mum had moved to Bath so we still had a bit further to travel, wondering at the immense bomb damage everywhere.
Late that night, Joyce and I went to bed and the world was never the same.
I was not allowed to continue with my arts studies and found it hard to settle down. After a year or so I ran off and joined the Royal Marines where I found a home for over 23 years.
My parents and I tried hard to understand each other but we remained virtual strangers until they both died. Sadly, I could never appreciate how they felt and whilst the great adventure may have made a different, better person of me it did nothing towards the deep personal relationship that should have existed between me and my very close kin.
Even so, in retrospect, I would not have missed the experience
Joyce, very wisely, returned to New Zealand many years ago where she still lives happily.
